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THE
FAMILY SHAKSPEARE.
Sportive Fancy round liim flew,
Nature led him by the hand.
Instructed him in all she knew.
And gave him absolute command.
London ;
Printed by A. Spottiswoode,
New. Street- Square.
TIIK
FAMILY SHAKSPEARE,
IN ONE VOLUME;
IN WHICH
NOTHING IS ADDED TO THE ORIGINAL TEXT.
BUT THOSE WORDS AND EXPRESSIONS ARE OMITTED WHICH CANNOT
WITH PROPRIETY BE READ ALOUD IN A FAMILY.
Kp
o^
By THOMAS BOWDLER, ESQ. F.K.S. & S.A.
eXEMIT I.AnEM, PURIMQUE RKMgUIT
^THEIIKUM SBNSUM, ATQUK AfUAI SIMPr.rcrS IGKKM.
'I'HE NINTH EDITION.
LONDON:
nn\TEl) FOR LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMANS,
l*ATKKNOSTFK-I?OAV
JS47.
TO
THE MEMORY
OF
ELIZABETH MONTAGU,
AUTHOR OF
THE ESSAY ON THE WRITINGS AND GENIUS OF SHAKSPEAREj
IN WHICH
THE BRITISH POET IS COMPLETEIY VINDICATED
FROM
THE MISREPRESENTATIONS AND CENSURES
OP
VOLTAIRE,
THIS WORK IS INSCRIBED,
BY
SINCERE AND RESPECTFUL
FRIENDSHIP.
A 2
Sweetest Bard that ever sung.
Nature's Glory, Fancy's Child ;
Never sure did Poet's tongue
Warble forth such wood-notes wild.
PREFACE
TO
THE FOURTH EDITION.
It lias been observed by a learned writer in a preface to his second edition, that the feel-
ings of an author at that time, are very different from those which he experiences, when
he offers a new work at the tribunal of public opinion. The truth of this observation must
of course be felt more strongly in the present instance, when a fourth edition is committed
to the press. The reception which the Family Shakspeare has experienced from the
Public has indeed been gratifying. It has been commended by all those who have ex-
amined it, and censured by those only who do not appear to have made any enquiry into
the merits or demerits of the performance, but condemn every attempt at removing inde-
cency from Shakspeare. It would, indeed, have given me real pleasure, if any judicious
and intelligent reader had perused the work with the eye of rigid criticism, and had
pointed out any improper words which were still to be found in it. All observations of that
nature would have been candidly and maturely considered, and if well founded, would
have been followed by the erasure of what was faulty. On the other hand, I cannot but
be gratified, ^t perceiving that no person appears to have detected any indecent expression
in these volumes : but this has not made me less solicitous to direct my own attention to
that object, and to endeavour to render this work as unobjectionable as possible. I have,
therefore, in preparing this Edition for the press, taken great pains to discover and cor-
rect any defects which might formerly have escaped my^notice. but they have appeared in
this last perusal of the work to be very fewlri number, and not of any great importance^
Such, however, as I have been able to perceive, I have carefully removed, and I hope I
may venture to assure the parents and guardians of youth, that they may read the Familt
Shakspeare aloud in the mixed society of young persons of both sexes, sans peur et saru
reproche.
My next object was to observe, whether the sense and meaning of the author were in
any degree perverted or impaired by the erasures which I had made. The final decision
of this question must be left to the careful and intelligent critic ; but to myself it appears,
that very few instances will be found in which the reader will have any cause to regret
the loss of the words that have been omitted. The great objection which has been urged
against the Family Shakspeare, and it has been urged with vehemence by those who
have not examined the work, is the apprehension, that, with the erasure of the indecent
passages, the spirit and fire of the poet would often be much injured, and sometimes be
entirely destroyed. ^pThis objection arises principally from those persons who have_£ftp-
iined their study of ShakspcaretolHe^cIoset, and have not learned, icjtbi. theatre^wlth
Riov8:.iuuch safety it is possiljle to make the necessary alterations. J They have not learned,
/or they have forgot, that except in one, or at most in two instances, the plays of our author
I are never presented to the public without being corrected, and more or less cleared of in-
1 decency ; lyet Macbeth and Othello, Lear, Hamlet, and As you Like it, continue still to ex-
hibit th^uperior genius of the first of dramatic poets. The same may be said of his other
transcendent works ; but those which I have named are selected as being five of the finest
plays in the world, the most frequently acted, the most universally admired ; but of which,
tliere is not one that can be read aloud by a gentleman to a lady, without imdergoing
some correction. I have nttPinpt^H tnjln for thp lihrfiry what thp manacrpr Anp<i fcr the
^\^^^.^^^yy']^hS^)^^L^^£$J^3SiiSi~s!^o urgcjhisj^bigction would.C7iamin^ thp playi*; vith
attention. I venture to assert, that in the far greater part of them, they would find that
itinSot diflScult to separate the indecent from the decent expressions ; and they would
soon be convinced, that, by removing the stains, they would view the picture not only un-
injured, but possessed of additional beauty. The truth of this observation has been
expressed with such elegance, and in terms so honourable to Shakspeare, by a very supe-
rior judge of poetic composition, that I cannot resist the temptation of inserting the whole
passage.
After censuring the indecencies of Dryden and Congreve, as being the exponents of
licentious principles, the reviewer observes, in language more expressive than any which
I could have employed, " that it has in general been found easy to extirpate the offensive
" expressions of our groat poet, without any injury to the context, or any visible scar, or
•* blank in the composition. Tliey turn out, not to be so much cankers in the flowers,
" as weeds that have sprung up by their side : not flaws in the metal, but impurities that
" have gathered on its surface, and that, so far from being missed on tlieir removal, the
" work generally appears more natural and harmonious without them."* I will not
• Edinburgh Review, Na L\xl p. 5S,
VI PREFACE TO THE FOURTH EDITION.
weaken the foregoing quotation by adding any less forcible language of my own, but I
will endeavour to prove by examples the perfect justice of the observation. It \^ indeed
a difliculty, and a very great '^'^^, iin/^»r yx,h\nU T laTwijr, that it is not possible for me to
state t|j^;,wonlv; ulii(Ji J liiiy;^ jDjmittcd ; but I think that I may adduce oTTeTnstance, wliich,
without ofll'iuling the eye or the ear of modesty, will sufficiently confirm the remarks of
the judicious reviewer, and prove that a whole scene may be omitted, not only without
injury, but with manifest advantage to the drama.
In the second scene of the third act of Henry V., the English monarch, after taking
Harfleur, is preparing to march towards Calais. In the fourth scene of that act, we find
the French king and his counsellors deliberating on the means of intercepting the Eng-
lisli army. These scenes naturally follow each other — but what is the intermediate
scene, the third of the third act ? It is a dialogue between the French princess and her
female attendant, of whom she is endeavouring to learn the English language. She
asks her,
Kath. Comment appellez-vous la main en Anglois 9
Alice. La main 9 EUe est appellee de hand.
Kath. De hand. Et les doigts ?
Alice. Les doigts 9 Je pense quils sent appelUe dejingres, ouy defingres.
Kath. ComTnent ajrjyellez-vous les angles 9
Alice. Les angles 9 les ajipellons de nails.
I will not tire my readers with a longer extract from this uninteresting dialogue ; it is
continued through more than twenty questions and answers of the very same nature ; and
as there is not a single word on any subject but the foregoing, every person will be ready
to ask, what could induce Shakspeare to insert so useless a scene ? The answer, I be-
lieve, must be, that it was written in compliance with the bad taste of the age, for the
express purpose of raising a laugh at the conclusion, by introducing, through the me-
dium of imperfect pronunciation, the two most indecent words in the French language.
At the mention of those words, the princess is shocked, as every virtuous woman would
be, if she were either here or elsewhere, to see them written, or hear them repeated. Is it
possible that any person will feel regret at perceiving that, in the Family Shakspeare,
the beautiful play of Henry V. is not interrupted in a very interesting part of the nar-
rative, by so improper a scene — by a scene so totally unconnected with every thing which
precedes or which follows after it, that if it were taken by itself, no reader would be able
to discover in what act it was meant to be inserted? Let it not be said as an excuse,
that it introduces to our acquaintance the princess, who is afterwards to be the wife of
Henry. The excuse is too trifling to be admitted.
I may next observe, that the scene which I have here quoted, is by no means a solitary
instance. Examples of a similar nature are to be found in several of the plays, comedies as
well as tragedies. In most of these cases, the objectionahle parts are so CQmplptply ^ppon-
nected with the nlay^ that one mi^ht almost "Ge inclined to suppose., that Shakspeare.
in the first in'^tfltifp, composed one of Jiis be^ii|ifn| Hramagj aqd aftpr it was finished,
was'cQmuelled, bv the wretched taste of the age, to add sompfhingr nf ^ jnw and lilc' i-
crous nature. The passages thus inggrted. have really, in many cases, the appearance of
interpolations ; and adopting the expressive language of the reviewer, they are weeds
which have sprung up by the side of the flowers, and the former being removed, the lattei^
appear with additional beauty. What has been said of whole scenes in some instancesjB «
may be applied in a great many, to speeches, to parts of speeches, and to single words.
From Macbeth, the noblest effort of dramatic genius that ever was exhibited in any age
or in any language (I do not except the OEdipus of Sophocles), very little has been
erased ; but the description of the effects of drunkenness, which is given to Macduff' by
the porter at the gate of the castle, is of so gross a nature, that it is impossible that any
person should be sorry for its omission. The same may be said of the indecent words
which are addressed by Hamlet to Ophelia, before the representation of the play. These,
like most other alterations, were made without difficulty, but I confess that there are three
plays, which form exceptions to what I have advanced respecting the facility of the task
that I have undertaken. To Measure for Measure, Henry^ IV., and Othello, I ha\e _an-
nexed particular prefaces, statingthe difficulties whfch oxisted^and thejnetho^^
I shoujd endeavour to overcomethem. In the first of the three, I hope I have succeeded ;
and I should not be sorry iFthe merit of this whole work were to be decided by a com-
parison of this very extraordinary play, in the original, and in the Family Shakspeari
Of Falstaff* and Othello, I shall only say, that I acknowledge the difficulty of my taskk
I have indeed endeavoured, as cautiously as possible, to remove the objectionabl
speeches, without injuring the characters ; but wantonness of expression and action ar
very closely connected with Falstaff"; and the infuriate passions of rage, jealousy, and
revenge, which torture the breast of Othello, are like " Macbeth's * distempered cause,"
incapable of being completely buckled within the belt of rule. "
Preface
TO
THE FIRST EDITION.
Jf a presumptuous artist should undertake to remove a supposed defect in the Trans-
figuration of Raphael, or in the Belvidere Apollo, and in making the attempt should
injure one of those invaluable productions of art and genius, I should consider his name
as deserving never to be mentioned, or mentioned only with him who set fire to the
Temple of Diana. ^*f>But the works of the poet may be considered in a very different
light from those of the painter and the statuary. Shakspeargj, inimitable Shakspeare. will
remainOie subject of admiration as long as taste and literature shall exist, and his writings
will be han^d_^df)W" topgsterlty iu-their native beautv. although the present attempt to
add to his fame should prove entirely' abortive. Here, tnen, is the great difference. Tf
the endeavour to improve the picture or the statue should be unsuccessful, the beauty of
the original would be destroyed, and the injury be irreparable. In such a case, let the
artist refrain from using the chisel or the pencil : but with the works of the poet no such
danger occurs^ and the critic^need not be afraid of employingjiis pen ^~for~THe original
will conriiJUjLJiiiiIDJpaiI^~arthough"liis own labours^ho'uldjmmedia^ to
oblivion. That Shakspeare Ts tHe"lirs£~6r dramatic writers will be denied by few, and_^
I doubt whether it will be denied by any who have really studied his works, and com-
pared the beauties which they contain with the very finest productions either of our own
or of former ages. It musl^ however, be acknowledged, by his warmest admirers, that
some^defeqts <^reto be fQUja^:4ft.4fae>^'nTtting8--jaf -oiig-imm<irtaI hand. The language is
not always faulHcssTiltlany words and expressions occur which are of so indecent a
nature as to render it highly desirable that they should be erased. Of these, the greater
part are eyidentl^Jntrpjdui^ed^ to gratify the bad tastg^gf the age in which he lived, and
the rest may perhaps be ascribei3ToTiTs own unbridled fancy. But-jjeither the jisipus
tast^ of the age» pof jhe mostjjxilliant eflfjisions of-j^it, can-a^ord an excuse for.profime-
nesg.jir.obscenit_yj and if these could hs. obliterated^_the transceiideat geiwus-of the p««t
would jiudoubtedly shine with more_unclouded Fustre. To banish exeiX-thing of this
natjicafrnm the, writtngsr'gf^SEakspeare is thp nljprt of thp prpspnt iinHprtglring My
earnest wish is to render his plays unsullied by any scene, by any speech, orTTTpossible,
by any word that can give pain to the most chaste, or offence to the most religious of
his readers. Of the latter kind, the examples are by no means numerous, for the writings
of our author are, for the most part, favourable to religion and morality. There are,
however, in some of his plays, allusions to Scripture, which are introduced so unneces-
sarily, and on such trifling occasions, and are expressed with so much levity, as to call
imperiously for their erasement. As an example of this kind I may quote a scene in
the fifth act of Lovers Labour's Lost, in which an allusion is made (very improperly) to
one of the most serious and awful passages in the New Testament. I flatter myself that
every reader of the Family Shakspeare will be pleased at perceiving that what is so
manifestly improper, is not permitted to be seen in it. The most Sacred Word in our
language is omitted in several instances, in which it appeared as a mere expletive ; and it
is changed into the word Heaven, in a still greater number, where the occasion of using
it did not appear sufficiently serious to justify its employment.
Nee Deus intersit nisi dignus vindice nodus.
In the original folio of 1623, the same alteration from the old quartos is made in a great
variety of places, and I have followed the folio.
I wish it were in my power to say of indecency as I have said of profaneness, that the
examples of it are not very numerous. Unfortunately the reverse is the case. Those
persons whose acquaintance with Shakspeare depends on theatrical representations, in
which great alterations are made in the plays, can have little idea of the frequent recur-
rence in the original text, of expressions, which, however they might be tolerated in the
sixteenth century, are by no means admissible in the nineteenth. Of these expressions
no example can in this place be given, for an obvious reason. I feel it, however, incum-
bent on me to observe, in behalf of my favourite author, that, in comparison with most
of the contemporary poets, and with the dramatists of the seventeenth century, the plays
Vlll PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.
of Shakspeare are remarkably decent ; but it is not sufficient that his defects are trifling
in comparison with writers who are highly defective. It certainly is my wish, and it has
been my study, to exclude from this publication whatever is unfit to be read aloud by a
gentleman to a company of ladies. I can hardly imagine a more pleasing occupation
for a winter's evening in the country, than for a father to read one of Shakspeare's plays
to his family circle. My object is to enable him to do so without incurring the danger
of falling unawares among words and expressions which are of such a nature as to raise
a blush on the cheek of modesty, or render it necessary for the reader to pause, and exa-
mine the sequel, before he proceeds further in the entertainment of the evening. •
But though many erasures have for this purpose been made in the writings of Shak-
speare in the present edition, the reader may be assured that not a single line, nor even
the half of a line, has, in any one instance, been added to the original text. I know the
force of Shakspeare, and the weakness of my own pen, too well, to think of attempting
the smallest interpolation. In a few, but in very few instances, one or two words (at the
most three) have been inserted to connect the sense of what follows the passage that is
expunged with that which precedes it. The few words which are thus added, are con-
necting particles, words of little moment, and in no degree affecting the meaning of the
author, or the story of the play. A word that is less objectionable is sometimes substituted
for a synonymous word that is improper.
In the following work I have copied the text of the last Edition of the late Mr. Stee-
vens. This I have done so scrupulously, as seldom to have allowed myself to alter either
the words or the punctuation. Othello's speech, for example, in the second scene of the
fifth act, will be found as it is in Mr. Steevens, and in the old editions of Shakspeare, not
as it is usually spoken on the stage. In a few instances I have deviated from Mr. Steevens,
in compliance with the original folio of 1623. I do not presume to enter into any critical
disputes as to certain readings of " Judean or Indian," " Sables or Sable," or any thing
of that nature, respecting which many persons of superior abilities have entertained con-
trary opinions. The glossary (but nothing except the glossary) is borrowed from the
edition of 1803. It was compiled by Mr. Harris, under the direction of Mr. Steevens.
My great objects in this undertaking are to remove from the writings of Shakspeare
some defects which diminish their value, and at the same time to present to the Public
an edition of his plays, which the pai'ent, the guardian, and the instructor of youth may
place, without fear, in the hands of the pupil ; and from which the pupil may derive in-
struction as well as pleasure; may improve his moral principles while he refines his
taste ; and, without incurring the danger of being hurt with any indelicacy of expression,
may learn in the fate of Macbeth, that even a kingdom is dearly purchased, if virtue be
the price of the acquisition.
* My first idea of the Family Shakspeare arose from the recollection of my father's custom of reading
in this manner to his family. Shakspeare (with whom no person was better acquainted) was a frequent
subject of the evening's entertainment In the perfection of reading few men were equal to my father ;
and such was his good taste, his delicacy, and his prompt discretion, that his family listened with delight
to Lear, Hamlet, and Othello, without knowing that those matchless tragedies contained words and ex-
pressions improper to be pronounced ; and without having reason to suspect that any parts of the plays
had been omitted by the circumspect and judicious reader.
It afterwards occurred to me, that what my father did so readily and successfully for his family, my
inferior abilities might, with the assistance of time and mature consideration, be able to accomplish for
the benefit of the public. I say, therefore, that if " The Family Shakspeare " is entitled to any merit,
it originates with my father.
tf
TEMPEST.
' '/
' '
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
Alonso, King of Naples.
Sebastian, his Brother.
Prospero, the nghtful Duke of Milan.
Antonio, his brother, the usurping Duke of Milan.
Ferdinand, son to the King of Naples.
GoNZALo, an honest old Counsellor of Naples.
Adrian, \ t 1
Francisco, J
Caliban, a savage and deformed Slave.
Trinculo, a Jester.
Stephano, a drunken Butler.
Master of a Ship, Boatswain, and Mariners.
SCENE, the Sea, with a Ship /
Miranda, Daughter to Prospero.
Ariel, an axry Spirit.
Iris,
Ceres,
Juno,
Nymphs,
Reapers,
Spirits.
Other Spirits attending on Prospero.
afterwards an uninhabited Island.
A BRA9B VESSfcl.,
WHO HAD MO DOOBT SOME NOBLK CRKArORFS IM HER
IJASH'U ALL TO PIKflRH.
TEMPEST.
ACT I.
SCENE l. — Ona Ship at Sen.
A storm with thunder and lightning.
Enter n Ship-master and a Boatswain.
Master. Boatswain, —
Ii'i(t/s. Hero, master : what cheer ?
.Master. Good : Speak to the mariners : fall to't
yarcly ', or we run ourselves aground : bestir, bestir.
[Exit.
Enter Mariners.
lioats. Heigli, my hearts ; cheerly, cheerly, my
hearts ; yare, yare : Take in the top-sail ; Tend to
the master's whistle Blow till thou burst thy
wind, if room enough !
Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, pERniNANn,
GoNZALo, and others.
Alon. Good boatswain, have care. Where's the
master ? Play the men.
Boats, I pray now, keep below.
j4nt. Where is the master, boatswain ?
Boats. Do you not hear him? You mar our
labour ! keep your cabins . you do assist the storm.
Gon. Nay, good, be patient.
Boats. When the sea is. Hence ! What care
these roarers for the name of king ? To cabins :
silence ; trouble us not.
' R«'adily.
I Gon. Good ; yet rememl)er wimm thou Ikjm
I aboard.
j Boats. None that I more love than myself. You
\ are a counsellor ; if you can command these ele-
j ments to silence, and work the peace of the present-,
we will not hand a rope more ; use your authority.
If you cannot, give thanks you liave lived so long,
and make yourself ready in your cabin for the
mischance of the hour, if it so hap. — Cheerly, good
hearts. — Out of our way, I say. {Exit.
Gon. I liave great comfort from this fellow ;
metliinks, he hatli no drowning mark upon him !
his complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast,
good fate, to his hanging ; make the rope of his
destiny our cable, for our own doth little advantage !
If he be not born to be hanged, our case is miser>
able. [E remit.
He-enter Boatswain.
Boats. Down witli the tojimast ; yare ; lower,
lower ; bring her to try with main course. [A cry
ttithin.] A plague upon this howling! they are
louder than the weather, or our office —
Re-enter Skbastian, Antonio, and GoNrAi.o.
Yet again ? wiiat do you here? Shall we give o'er
and drown ? Have you a mind to sink ?
Seb. A plague o' your throat ! you bawling, blius-
phemous, uncharitable dog !
* Presenl instam
TEMPEST
Act I.
Boats. Work you, then.
Ant. Hang, cur, hang ! you insolent noise-maker,
we are less afraid to be drowned than thou art.
Gon, I'll warrant him from drowning ; though
the ship were no stronger than a nut-shell.
Boats. Lay her a-hold, a-hold ; set her two
courses ; off to sea again, lay her off.
Enter Mariners, wet.
Mar. All lost ! to prayers, to prayers ! all lost !
\_Exeunt.
Boats. What, must our mouths be cold ?
Gon. The king and prince at prayers ! let us assist
them.
For our case is as theirs.
Seb. I am out of patience.
Ant. We are merely 3 cheated of our lives by
drunkards. —
This wide-chapped rascal ; — 'Would, thou might'st
lie drowning,
The washing of ten tides !
Gon. He'll be hang'd yet ;
Though every drop of water swear against it.
And gape at wid'st to glut him.
{A confused noise within.] Mercy on us ! — We
split, we split ! — Farewell, my wife and children ! —
Farewell, brotlier ; — We split, we split, we split ! —
Ant. Let's all sink with the king. f Exit.
Seb. Let's take leave of him. [Exit.
Gon. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of
sea for an acre of barren ground ! long heath, brown
furze, any thing : The wills above be done ! but I
would fain die a dry death. [Exit.
SCENE IL
The Island: before the Cell of
Prospero.
Enter Prospero and Miranda.
il/»'a. If by your art, my dearest father, you
have
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them :
The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch.
But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's clieek,
Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffer'd
W^ith those that I saw sufl'er ! a brave vessel.
Who had no doubt some noble creatures in her,
Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock
Against my very heart ! Poor souls ! they perish'd.
Had I been any god of power, I would
Have sunk the sea within the earth, or e'er
It should the good ship so have swallowed, and
The freighting souls within her.
Pro. Be collected ;
No more amazement : tell your piteous heart.
There's no harm done.
Miro. O, woe the day !
Pro. No harm.
I have done nothing but in care of thee,
'Of thee, my dear one ! thee, my daughter!) who
Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing
Of whence I am ; nor that I am more better
Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell.
And thy no greater father.
Mira. More to know
Did never meddle with my thoughts.
/Vo. 'Tis time
3 Absolutely.
I should inform thee further. Lend thy hand,
And pluck my magic garment from me. — So ;
[Lai/s down his mantle.
Lie there my art. — Wipe thou thine eyes ; have
comfort.
The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd
The very virtue of compassion in thee,
I have with such provision in mine art
So safely order'd, that there is no soul —
No, not so much perdition as an hair,
Betid to any creature in the vessel
Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink.
Sit down ;
For thou must now know further.
Mira. You have often
Begun to tell me what I am ; but stopp'd
And left me to a bootless inquisition ;
Concluding, Stay, not yet. —
Pro. The hour's now come ;
The very minute bids thee ope thine ear ;
Obey, and be attentive. Canst thou remember
A time before we came into this cell ?
I do not think thou canst ; for then tliou wast not
Out 4 three years old.
Mira. Certainly, sir, I can.
Pro. By what ? by any other house, or person ?
Of any thing the image tell me, that
Hath kept with thy remembrance.
Mira. 'Tis far off;
And rather like a dream than an assurance
That my remembrance warrants : Had I not
Four or five women once, that tended me ?
Pro. Thou had'st, and more, Miranda : But
is it,
That this lives in thy mind ? What seest thou else
In the dark backward and abysm of time ?
If thou remember'st aught, ere thou cam'st here,
How thou cam'st here, thou may'st.
Mira. But tliat I do not.
Pro. Twelve years since,
Miranda, twelve years since, thy father was
Tlie duke of Milan, and a prince of power.
Mira. Sir, are not you my father ?
Pro. Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and
She said — thou wast my daughter ; and thy father
Was duke of Milan ; and his only heir
A princess ; — no worse issued.
Mira. O, the heavens !
What foul play had we, that we came from thence ?
Or blessed was't we did ?
Pro. Both, botli, my girl :
By foul play, as thou say'st, were we heav'd
thence ;
But blessedly holp hither.
Mira. O, my heart bleeds
To think o' the teen ^ that I have turn'd you to,
Which is from my remembrance ! Please you,
further.
Pro. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd Anto-
nio, —
I pray thee, mark me, — that a brother sliould
Be so perfidious ! — he whom, next thyself,
Of all the world I lov'd, and to him put
The manage of my state ; as, at that time.
Through all the signiories it was the first,
And Prospero the prime duke ; being so reputed
In dignity, and, for the liberal arts,
Without a i)arallcl : tliose being all my study
J
Scene II.
TEMPEST.
The government I cast upon my brother,
And to my state grew stranger, being transported,
And wrapt in secret studies. Thy false uncle —
Dost thou attend me ?
Mira. Sir, most heedfully.
Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suits.
How to deny them ; whom to advance, and whom
To trash " for over-topping ; new-created
The creatures that were mine ; I say, or chang'd
them,
Or else new-form'd tliem : having both the key
Of officer and office, set all hearts
To what tune pleas'd his ear ; that now he was
The ivy, which had liid my princely trunk,
And suck'd my verdure out on't. — Thou attend'st
not :
I pray thee mark me.
Mira. O good sir, I do.
Pro. I thus neglecting wordly ends, all dedi-
cate
To closeness, and the bettering of my mind
With that, wliich, but by being so retir'd,
O'er-priz'd all popular rate, in my false brother
Awak'd an evil nature : and my trust,
Like a good parent, did beget of liim
A falsehood, in its contrary as great
As my trust was ; wliich had, indeed, no limit,
A confidence sans bound. He being thus lorded,
Not only with what my revenue yielded.
But what my power might else exact, — like one
Who, having unto truth, by telling of it,
INIade such a sinner of his memory,
To credit liis own lie, — ■ he did believe
He was the duke ; out of the substitution.
And executing the outward face of royalty.
With all prerogative : — Hence his ambition
Growing, — Dost hear ?
Mira. Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.
Pro. To have no skreen between this part he
play'd
And him he play'd it for, he needs will be
Absolute Milan : Me, poor man ! — my library
Was dukedom large enough ; of temporal royalties
He thinks me now incapable : confederates
(So dry he was for sway) with the king of Naples,
To give him annual tribute, do him homage ;
Subject his coronet to his crown, and bend
The dukedom, yet unbow'd (alas, poor Milan !)
To most ignoble stooping.
Mira. O the heavens !
Pro. Mark his condition, and the event ; then
tell me.
If tliis might be a brotlier.
Mir. I should sin
To think but nobly of my grandmother.
Pro. Now the condition.
This king of Naples, being an enemy
To me inveterate, hearkens my brother's suit ;
Which was, that he in lieu o' the premises, —
Of homage, and I know not how much tribute, —
Should presently extirpate me and mine
Out of the dukedom ; and confer fair Milan,
With all the honours, on my brother : Whereon,
A treacherous army levied, one midnight
Fated to the pur|iose, did Antonio open
The gates of Milan ; and i' the dead of darkness,
The ministers for the purpose hurried thence
Me, and thy crying self.
* Cut away.
Mira. Alack, for pity !
I, not rememb'ring how I cried out then,
Will cry it o'er again, it is a hint.
That wrings mine eyes.
Pro. Hear a little further,
And then I'll bring thee to the present business
Which now's upon us ; without the which, this
story
Were most impertinent.
Mira. Wherefore did they not
That hour destroy us ?
Pro. Well demanded, wench ;
My tale provokes that question. Dear, they durst
not;
(So dear the love my people bore me) nor set
A mark so bloody on the business ; but
With colours fairer painted their foul ends.
In few, they hurried us aboard a bark ;
Bore us some leagues to sea ; where they prepar'd
A rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg'd.
Nor tackle, sail, nor mast ; the very rats
Instinctively had quit it : there they hoist us.
To cry to the sea that roar'd to us ; to sigh
To the winds, whose pity, sighing back again.
Did us but loving wrong.
Mira. Alack ! what trouble
Was I then to you !
Pro. O ! a cherubim
Thou wast, tliat cuq preserve me ! Thou didst
smile.
Infused with a fortitude from heaven,
When I have deck'd the sea with drops full salt j
Under my burden groan'd ; wliich rais'd in me
An undergoing stomach 7, to bear up
Against what should ensue.
Mira. How came we ashore ?
Pro. By Prondence divine.
Some food we had, and some fresh water, that
A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,
Out of his charity (who being then appointed
Master of this design), did give us ; with
Rich garments, linens, stuffs, and necessaries,
Wliich since have steaded much ; so, of liis gen-
tleness.
Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me.
From my own library, witli volumes that
I prize above my dukedom.
Mira. 'Would 1 might
But ever see that man !
Pro. Now I arise : —
Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow.
Here in this island we arriv'd ; and here
Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit
Than other princes can, that have more time
For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful.
Mira. Heavens thank you for't ! And now I
pray you, sir,
(For still 'tis beating in my mind,) your reason
For raising this sea-storm ?
Pro. Know thus far forth. —
By accident most strange, bountiful fortune.
Now my dear lady, hath mine enemies
Brought to this shore : and by my prescience
I find my zenith doth depend upon
A most auspicious star ; whose influence
If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes
Will ever after droop. — Here cease more ques-
tions:
^ Stubborn resolution.
B 2
TEMPEST.
Act I
Tlioii art inclin'd to sleep ; 'tis a good dulness,
And give it way; — I know thou canst not choose
[MlftAjtfDA sleeps.
Come away, servant, come : I am ready .nqw :
Approach, my Ariel ; come.
Enter Ariel.
Ari. All hail, great master ! grave sir, hail ! I
come
To answer thy best pleasure ; be't to fly,
To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride
On the curl'd clouds ; to thy strong bidding, task
Ariel, and all his quality.
PrO' Hast thou, spirit,
Perform'd to point 8 the tempest that I bade thee ?
Ari. To every article.
I boarded the king's ship ; now on the beak,
Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin,
I flamed amazement : Sometimes, I'd divide.
And burn in many places ; on the top-mast.
The yards, and bowsprit, would I flame distinctly,
Then meet, and join : Jove's lightnings, the precur-
sors
O' the dreadful thunder-claps, more momentary
And siglit-outrunning were not : The fire, and
cracks
Of sulphurous roaring, the most mighty Neptune
Seem'd to besiege, and make his bold waves tremble.
Yea, liis dread trident shake.
Fro. My brave spirit !
Who was so firm, so constant, that this coil 9
Would not infect his reason ?
Ari. Not a soul
But felt a fever of the mad, and play'd
Some tricks of desperation : All, but mariners,
Plung'd in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel.
Then all a-fire with me : the king's son, Ferdinand,
With hair up-staring, (then like reeds, not hair,)
Was the first man that leap'd.
Pro. Wliy, that's my spirit !
But was not this nigh shore ?
Ari. Close by, my master.
Pro. But are they, Ariel, safe ?
Ari. Not a hair perish'd ;
On their sustaining garments not a blemish.
But fresher than before ; and, as thou bad'st me,
In troops I have dispers'd them 'bout the isle :
The king's son have I landed by himself;
Whom I left cooling of the air with sighs.
In an odd angle of the isle, and sitting.
His arms in this sad knot.
Pro. Of the king's ship,
The mariners, say, how thou hast dispos'd.
And all the rest o' the fleet ?
Ari. Safely in harbour
Is the king's ship ; in the deep nook, where once
Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew
From the still-vex'd Bermoothes ', there she's hid :
The mariners all under hatches stow'd ;
Whom, with a charm join'd to their suffer'd labour,
I have left asleep : and for the rest o' the fleet.
Which I dispers'd, they all have met again ;
And are upon the Mediterranean flote %
Bound sadly home for Naples ;
Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd.
And his great person perish.
Pro. Ariel, thy charge
8 The minutest article.
1 Bermudas.
9 Bustle, tumult.
2 Wave.
Exactly is perform'd ; but there's more work :
What is the time o' the day ?
Ari. Past the mid season.
Pro. At least two glasses : The time 'twixt six
and now,
Must by us both be spent most preciously.
Ari. Is tliere more toil ? Since thou dost give
me pains.
Let me remember thee what thou hast promised,
Whicli is not yet perform'd me.
Pro. How now ? moody ?
What is't thou canst demand ?
Ari. . My liberty.
Pro. Before the time be out ? no more.
Ari. I pray thee
Remember, I have done thee worthy service ;
Told thee no lies, made no mistakings, serv'd
Without or grudge or grumblings : thou didst
promise
To bate me a full year.
Pro. Dost thou forget
From what a torment I did free thee ?
Ari. No.
Pro. Thou dost ; and think'st
It much, to tread the ooze of the salt deep ;
To run upon the sharp wind of the north ;
To do me business in tlie veins o' the eartli.
When it is bak'd with frost.
Ari. I do not, sir.
Pro. Thou liest, malignant thing ! Hast thou
forgot
The foul witch Sycorax, who, with age and envy,
Was grown into a hoop ? hast thou forgot her ?
Ari. No, sir.
Pro. Thou hast : where was she born ?
speak ; tell me.
Ari. Sir, in Argier.3
Pro. O, was she so ? I must.
Once in a month, recount what thou hast been.
Which thou forget'st. This vile witch, Sycorax,
For mischiefs manifold, and sorceries terril)le
To enter human hearing, from Argier,
Thou know'st, was banish'd ; for one thing she did,
They would not take her life : Is not this true ?
Ari. Ay, sir.
Pro. This blue-ey'd hag was hither brought with
child,
And here was left by the sailors : Thou, my slave,
As thou report'st thyself, wast then her servant :
And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate
To act her earthly and abhorr'd commands,
Refusing her grand bests *, she did confine tlice.
By help of her more potent ministers.
And in her most unmitigable rage.
Into a cloven pine ; within which rift
Imprison'd, thou did'st painfully remain
A dozen years ; within which space she died,
And left thee there ; where thou didst vent tlijT
groans,
As fast as mill-wheels strike: Then was this island
( Save for the son that she did litter here,
A freckled whelp, hag-born,) not honour'd with
A human shape.
Ari. Yes ; Caliban her son.
Pro. Dull thing, I say so ; he, that Caliban,
Whom now I keep in service. Thou best know'st
What torment I did find thee in ; thy groans
Did make wolves howl, and penetrate the breasts
Algiers.
* Comnmnds.
Scene II.
TEMPEST.
Of ever-angry bears. This Sycorax
Could not again undo ; it was mine art,
When I arriv'd, and heard thee, that made gape
The pine, and let thee out.
jiri, I thank thee, master.
Pro. If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an oak,
And peg tlicc in his knotty entrails, till
Tliou hast howl'd away twelve winters.
^ri. Pardon, master:
I will be correspondent to command,
And do my spriting gently.
Pro. Do so ; and after two days
1 will discharge thee.
Art. That's my noble master !
What shall I do ? say what ? what shall I do ?
Pro. Go make thyself like to a nymph o' the sea;
Be subject to no sight but mine ; invisible
To every eye-ball else. Go take tliis shape,
And hither come in't : hence, with diligence.
lExU Ariel.
Awake, dear heart, awake ! thou hast slept well ;
Awake !
Mira. The strangeness of your story put
Heaviness in me.
Pro. Shake it off: Come on,
We'll visit Caliban, my slave, who never
Yields us kind answer.
Mira. 'Tis a villain, sir,
I do not love to look on.
Pro. But, as 'tis.
We cannot miss him : he does make our fire,
Fetch in our wood ; and serves in offices
That profit us. What ho ! slave ! Caliban,
Thou earth, thou ! speak.
Cal. [JVUhi7i.] There's wood enough within.
Pro. Come forth, I say : there's other business
for thee :
Come forth, thou tortoise ! when ?
Re-enter Ariel like a water-nymph.
Fine apparition ! My quaint Ariel,
Hark in thine ear.
Ari. My lord, it shall be done. [^Exit.
Pro. Thou poisonous slave, come forth !
Enter Caliban.
CaU As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd
With raven's feather from unwholesome fen.
Drop on you both ! a south-west blow on ye.
And blister you all o'er !
Pro. For this, be sure, to-night thou shalt have
cramps.
Side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up ; urchins *
Shall, for that vast of night that they may work.
All exercise on tliee : thou shalt be pinch'd
As thick as honey-combs, each pinch more stinging
Than bees that made them.
Cal. I must eat my dinner.
This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother.
Which thou tak'st from me. When thou earnest
first.
Thou strok'dst me, and mad'st much of me;
would'st give me
Water with berries in't ; and teach me how
To name the bigger light, and how the less.
That bum by day and night : and then I lov'd tliee,
And show'd tliee all the qualities o' the isle,
» Fairies.
The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place, and fer-
tile ;
Cursed be I that did so ! — All the charms
Of Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, liglit on you !
For I am all the subjects that you have.
Which first was mine own king : and here you sty me
In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me
The rest of the island.
Pro. Thou most lying slave,
Whom stripes may move, not kindness ! I have us'd
thee.
Filth as thou art, with human care ; and lodg'd thee
In mine own cell, till thou did'st seek to violate
The honour of my child. Abhorred slave ;
Which any print of goodness will not take.
Being capable of all ill ! I pitied thee,
Took pains to make tliee speak, taught thee c^ch hour
One thing or other : when thou didst not, savage,
Know thine own meaning, but would'st gabble like
A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes
With words that made them known : But thy vile
race.
Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good
natures
Could not abide to be with ; therefore wast thou
Deservedly confin'd into this rock.
Who hadst deserv'd more than a prison.
Cal. You taught me language; and my profit on t
Is, I know how to curse : the red plague rid ^ you,
For learning me your language !
Pro. Hag-seed, hence !
Fetch us in fuel ; and be quick, thou wert best.
To answer other business. Shrug'st thou, malice ?
If thou neglect'st, or dost unwillingly
What I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps ;
Fill all thy bones with aches ; make thee roar.
That beasts shall tremble at thy din.
Cal. No, 'pray thee ! —
I must obey : his art is of such power, [Aside.
It would control my dam's god, Setebos,
And make a vassal of him.
Pro. So, slave ; hence !
\^Exit Caliban.
Re-enter Ariel invisible, playing and singing,-
FKRvivAifD following him.
Ariel's Song.
Come unto these yellow sands
And then take hands :
Court' sied when you have, and kiss'd,
{The wild waves whist ")
Foot itfeatly here ayid there ;
And, sweet sprites, tlie burden Uar,
Hark, hark !
Bur. Bowgh, wowgh. [difpersedly.
The vmtch-dogs bark :
Bur. Bowgh, wowgh. [disperscdly.
Hark, hark ! I hear
The strain of strutting chanticlere
Cry, cock-a-Soodle-doo.
Fer. Where should this musick be ? i' the air, or
the earth ?
It sounds no more : — and sure, it waits upon
Some god of the island. Sitting on a bank,
Weeping again the king my father's wreck,
This musick crept by me upon the waters ;
« Destroy.
' Being stilled, silenced.
B 3
TEMPEST.
Act I. Scene II.
Allaying both their fury, and my passion,
With its sweet air ; thence I have foUow'd it,
Or it hath drawn me rather ; — But 'tis gone.
No, it begins again.
Ariel sings.
Full fathom five thy father Iks;
Of his bones are coral made :
Those are pearls, that icere his eyes :
Nothing of him that dothfadej
J3ut doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell :
Hark ! now I hear them, — ding-dong, bell.
[Burden, ding-dong.
Fer. The ditty does remember my drown'd fa-
ther : —
This is no mortal business, nor no sound
That the earth owes 8 : — I hear it now above me.
Pro. The fringed curtains of thine eye advance
And say, what thou seest yond'.
Mira. What is't ? a spirit ?
See how it looks about ! Believe me, sir,
It carries a brave form : — But 'tis a spirit.
Pro. No, wench ; it eats and sleeps, and hath
such senses
As we have, such : This gallant which thou seest,
Was in the wreck ; and but he's something stain'd
With grief, that's beauty's canker, thou might'st
call him
A goodly person : he hath lost his fellows.
And strays about to find them.
Mira. I might call him
A thing divine ; for nothing natural
I ever saw so noble.
Pro. It goes on, [Aside.
As my soul prompts it : — Spirit, fine spirit ! I'll
free thee
Within two days for this.
Fer. Most sure the goddess
On whom these airs attend ! — Vouchsafe my prayer
May know, if you remain upon this island ;
And that you will some good instruction give.
How I may bear me here : My prime request.
Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder !
If you be maid, or no ?
Mira. No wonder, sir ;
But, certainly a maid.
Fer. My language ; heavens ! —
I am the best of them that speak this speech.
Were I but where 'tis spoken.
Pro. How ! the best ?
What wert thou, if the king of Naples heard thee ?
Fer. A single thing, as I am now, that wonders
To hear thee speak of Naples : He does hear me ;
And, that he does, I weep : myself am Naples ;
Who with mine eyes, ne'er since at ebb, beheld
The king my father wreck'd.
Mira. Alack, for mercy !
Fer. Yes, faith, and all his lords ; the duke of
Milan,
And his brave son being twain.
Pro. The duke of Milan,
And his more braver daughter, could controls thee,
If now 'twere fit to do't : — At the first sight
[Adde.
They have chang'd eyes : — Delicate Ariel,
" Owns.
» Confute.
I'll set thee free for this ! — A word, good sir ;
I fear, you have done yourself some wrong : a word.
Mira. Why speaks my father so ungently ? Tliis
Is the third man that e'er I saw ; the first
That e'er I sigh'd for : pity move my father
To be inclin'd my way !
Fer. O, if a virgin,
And your affection not gone forth, I'll make you
The queen of Naples !
Pro. Soft, sir ; one word more. —
They are both in either's powers ; but this swift
business
I must uneasy make, lest too light winning [Aside.
Make the prize light. —One word more ; I charge
thee.
That thou attend me : thou dost here usurp
The name tliou ow'st not ; and hast put thyself
Upon this island, as a spy to win it
From me, the lord on't.
Per. No, as I am a man.
Mira. There's nothing ill can dwell in such a
temple :
If the ill spirit have so fair an house.
Good things will strive to dwell vdth't.
p^n. Follow me. — [To Ferd.
Speak not you for him ; he's a traitor. — Come.
I'll manacle thy neck and feet together :
Sea-water shalt thou drink, thy food shall be
The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots, and husks
Wherein the acorn cradled : Follow.
Fer. No ;
I will resist such entertainment, till
Mine enemy has more power. [He draws.
Mira. O dear father.
Make not too rash a trial of him, for
He's gentle, and not fearful. '
Pro. What, I say,
My foot my tutor ! — Put thy sword up, traitor ;
Who mak'st a show, but dar'st not strike, thy con-
science
Is so possess'd with guilt : come from thy ward "2 ;
For I can here disarm thee vdth this stick.
And make thy weapon drop.
Mira. Beseech you father !
Pro. Hence ; hang not on my garments.
Mira. Sir, have pity ;
I'll be his surety.
Pro. Silence : one word more
Shall make me chide thee, if not hate thee. What !
An advocate for an impostor ? hush !
Thou think'st there are no more such shapes as he,
Having seen but him and Caliban : Foolish wench !
To the most of men this is a Caliban,
And they to him are angels.
Mira. My affections
Are then most humble ; I have no ambition
To see a goodlier man.
Pro. Come on; obey: [To Ferd.
Thy nerves are in their infancy again.
And have no vigour in them.
Fer. So they are :
My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up.
My father's loss, the weakness wliich I feel.
The wreck of all my friends, or this man's threats,
To whom I am subdued, are but light to me,
Might I but through my prison once a day
Behold this maid : all corners else o' the earth
Let liberty make use of; space enough
Have I in such a prison.
1 Frightful. 2 Guard.
1
Act II. Scene I.
TEMPEST.
Pro. It works : — Come on. —
Thou hast done well, fine Ariel ! — Follow me. —
[To Ferd. and Mir.
Hark, what thou else shalt do me. [To Ariel.
Mira. Be of comfort ;
My father's of a better nature, sir,
Than he appears by speech ; this is unwonted,
Which now came from him.
Pro. Thou shalt be as free
As mountain winds : but then exactly do
All points of my command-
^^' To the syllable.
Pro. Come, follow : speak not for him. [Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I. — Anothei' part of the Island.
Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo,
Adrian, Francisco, and others.
Gon. 'Beseech you, sir, be merry : you have cause
(So have we all) of joy ; for our escape
Is much beyond our loss : our hint of woe
Is common ; every day, some sailor's wife.
The masters of some merchant, and the merchant.
Have just our theme of woe : but for the miracle,
I mean our preservation, few in millions
Can speak like us : then wisely, good sir, weigh
Our sorrow with our comfort.
^^<>^' . Pr'ythee, peace!
Seb. He receives comfort like cold porrido^e.
Ant. The visitor will not give him o'er so.
Seb. Look, he's winding up the watch of his wit •
By and by it will strike. '
Gon, Sir,
Seb. One : Tell.
Gon. When every grief is entertain'd, that's
offer'd.
Comes to the entertainer
^*- A dollar.
Gon. Dolour comes to him, indeed; you have
spoken truer tlian you purposed.
Seb. You have taken it wiselier than I meant you
should. ^
Gon. Therefore, my lord, —
Ant. Fie, what a spendthrift is he of his tongue '
Alon. I pr'ythee, spare.
Gon. Well, I have done : But yet
Seb. He will be talking.
Ant. Which of them, he, or Adrian, for a good
wager, first begins to crow ?
Seb. The old cock.
Ant. The cockrel.
Seb. Done : the wager ?
Ani. A laughter.
Seb. A match.
Adr. Though this island seem to be desert,
Seb. Ha, ha, ha!
Ant. So you've pay'd.
Adr. Uninhabitable, and almost inaccessible,
Seb. Yet.
Adr. Yet —
Ant. He could not miss it.
Adr. The air breatlies upon us here most sweetly.
Gon. Here is every thing advantageous to life.
Ant. True ; save means to live.
Seb. Of that there's none, or little.
Gon. How lush 3 and lusty the grass looks ' how
green!
Ant. Tlie ground, indeed, is tawny.
Seb. With an eye * of green in't
3 Rank.
< Shade of colour.
Ant. He misses not much.
Seb. No : he doth but mistake the truth totally.
Gon. But the rarity of it is (which is indeed
almost beyond credit) —
Seb. As many vouch'd rarities are.
Gon. That our garments, being, as they were,
drenched in the sea, hold, notwithstanding, their
freshness, and glosses ; being rather new dy'd, than
stain'd with salt water.
Ant. If but one of his pockets could sptak,
would it not say, he lies ?
Seb. Ay, or very falsely pocket up his report.
Gon. Methinks, our garments are now as fresh
as when we put them on first in Afric, at the mar-
riage of the king's fair daughter Claribel to the king
of Tunis.
Seb. 'Twas a sweet marriage, and we prosper
well in our return.
Adr. Tunis was never graced before with such a
paragon to their queen.
Gon. Not since widow Dido's time.
Ant. How came that widow in ? Widow Dido !
Seb. What if he had said, widower ^neas too ?
good lord, how you take it !
Adr. Widow Dido, said you? you make me
study of that : she was of Carthage, not of Tunis.
Gon. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage.
Adr. Carthage?
Gon. I assure you, Carthage.
Ant. His word is more than the miraculous harp.
Seb. He hath rais'd the wall, and houses too.
Ant. What impossible matter will he make easy
next?
Seb. I think, he will carry this island home in
his pocket, and give it his soil for an apple.
Ant. And, sowing the kernels of it in the sea,
bring forth more islands.
Gon. Ay?
Ant. Why, in good time.
Go7i. Sir, we were talking, that our garments
seem now as fresh, as when we were at Tunis at tlie
marriage of your daughter, who is now queen.
Ant. And the rarest that e'er came there.
Seb. 'Bate, I beseech you, widow Dido.
Ant. O, widow Dido ; ay, widow Dido.
Gon. Is not, sir, my doublet as fresli as the first
day I wore it ? I mean, in a sort.
Ant. That sort was well fish'd for.
Gon. When I wore it at your daughter's mar-
riage?
Alon. You cram these words into mine cars
against
The stomach of my sense : 'Would I had never
Married my daughter there ! for, coming thence,
My son is lost ; and, in my rate, she too.
Who is so far from Italy removed,
B 4
8
TEMPEST.
Act II
I ne'er again shall see her. O thou mine heir
Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish
Hath made his meal on thee !
Fran. Sir, he may live ;
I saw him beat the surges under him.
And ride upon their backs ; he trod the water.
Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted
The surge most swoln that met him : his bold head
'Bove the contentious waves he kept, and oar'd
Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke
To the shore, that o'er his wave-worn basis bow'd.
As stooping to relieve liim ; I not doubt,
He came alive to land.
Alon. No, no, he's gone.
Seb. Sir, you may thank yourself for this great
loss ;
That would not bless our Europe with your daugh-
ter.
But rather lose her to an African ;
Where she, at least, is banish'd from your eye.
Who hath cause to wet the grief on't.
Alon. Pr'ythee, peace.
Seb. You were kneel'd to, and importun'd other-
wise
By all of us ; and the fair soul herself
Weigh'd, between lothness and obedience, at
Which end o' the beam she'd bow. We have lost
your son,
I fear, for ever : Milan and Naples have
More widows in them of this business' making,
Than we bring men to comfort them : The fault's
Your own.
Alon. So is the dearest of the loss.
Gon. My lord Sebastian,
The truth you speak doth lack some gentleness,
And time to speak it in : you rub the sore.
When you should bring the plaster.
Seb. Very well.
Ant. And most chirurgeonly.
Gon. It is foul weather in us all, good sir.
When you are cloudy.
Seb. Foul weather?
Ant. Very foul.
Gon. Had I a plantation of this isle, my lord, —
Ant. He'd sow it with nettle-seed.
Seb. Or docks, or mallows.
Gon. And were the king of it. What would I
do?
Seb. 'Scape being drunk for want of wine.
Gon. V the commonwealth I would by con-
traries
Execute all things : for no kind of traffic
Would I admit ; no name of magistrate ;
Letters should not be known ; no use of service.
Of riches or of poverty ; no contracts.
Succession ; bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none :
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil :
No occupation ; all men idle, all ;
And women too ; but innocent and piure : ^
No sovereignty : — .
Seb. And yet he would be king on't.
Ant. The latter end of his commonwealth forgets
tlie beginning.
Gon. All things in common nature should pro-
duce,
Without sweat or endeavour : treason, felony,
Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine.
Would I not have ; but nature should bring forth.
Of its own kind, all foison », all abundance,
5 Plenty.
To feed my innocent people.
I would with such perfection govern, sir.
To excel the golden age.
Seb. 'Save his majesty !
Ant. Long live Gonzalo \
Gon. And, do you mark me, sir ? —
Alon. Pry'thee, no more : thou dost talk nothing
to me.
Gon. I do well believe your highness ; and did
it to minister occasion to these gentlemen, who are
of such sensible and nimble lungs, that they always
use to laugh at nothing.
Ant. 'Twas you we laugh'd at.
Gon. Who, in this kind of merry fooling, am
nothing to you ; so you may continue, and laugh
at nothing still.
Ant. What a blow was there given !
Seb. An it had not fallen flat-long.
Gon. You are gentlemen of brave metal : you
would lift the moon out of her sphere, if she would
continue in it five weeks without changing.
Enter Ariel invisible, playing solemn music.
Seb. We would so, and then go a bat-fowling.
Ant. Nay, good my lord, be not angry.
Gon. No, I warrant you ; I vrill not adventure
my discretion so weakly. Will you laugh me asleep,
for I am very heavy ?
Ant. Go sleep, and hear us.
\^All sleep but Alon. Seb. and Ant.
Alon. What, all so soon asleep ! I wish mine eyes
Would, with themselves, shut up my thoughts : I
find
They are inclin'd to do so.
Seb. Please you, sir.
Do not omit the heavy offer of it :
It seldom visits sorrow : when it doth.
It is a comforter.
Ant. We two, my lord,
Will guard your person, while you t^e your rest,
And watch your safety.
Alon. Thank you : wondrous heavy. '—
[Alonso sleeps. Exit Ariel.
Seb. What a strange drowsiness possesses them !
Ant. It is the quality o' the climate.
Seb. Why
Doth it not then our eyelids sink ? I find not
Myself dispos'd to sleep.
Ant. Nor I ; my spirits are nimble.
They fell together all, as by consent ;
They dropp'd as by a thunder-stroke. What might,
Worthy Sebastian ? — O, what might ? — No
more : —
And yet, methinks, I see it in thy face,
What thou should'st be : the occasion speaks thee ;
and
My strong imagination sees a crown
Dropping upon thy head.
Seb. What, art thou waking ?
Ant. Do you not hear me speak ?
Seb. I do ; and surely.
It is a sleepy language ; and thou speak 'st
Out of thy sleep : What is it thou didst say?
This is a strange repose, to be asleep
With eyes vride open ; standing, speaking, moving,
And yet so fast asleep.
Ant, Noble Sebastian,
Tliou let'st thy fortune sleep — die rather ; wink's!
Wliiles thou ait waking
Scene I.
TEMPEST.
9
Seb. Thou dost snore distinctly ;
There's meaning in thy snores.
Ant. I am more serious than my custom : you
Must be so too, if heed me ; wliich to do,
Trebles thee o'er.
Scb. Well ; I am standing water.
Ant. I'll teach you how to flow.
Seb. Do so : to ebb,
Hereditary sloth instructs me.
Ant. O,
If you but knew, how you the purpose cherish.
Whiles thus you mock it ! how, in stripping it,
You more invest it ! Ebbing men, indeed,
Most often do so near the bottom run,
By their own fear, or sloth.
Seb. Pr'ythee, say on :
The setting of thine eye, and cheek, proclaim
A matter from thee ; and a birth, indeed.
Which throes thee much to yield.-
Ant. Thus, sir.
Although this lord of weak remembrance, this
(Who shall be of as little memory,
When he is earth'd,) hath here almost persuaded
(For he's a spirit of persuasion only,)
The king his son's alive : 'tis as impossible
That he's undrown'd as he that sleeps here, swims.
Seb. I have no hope
That he's undrown'd.
Ant. O, out of that no hope,
What great hope have you ! no hope, that way, is
Another way so high an hope, that even
Ambition cannot pierce a wink beyond,
But doubts discovery there. Will you grant, with
me.
That Ferdinand is drown'd ?
Seb. He's gone.
Ant. Then, tell me.
Who's the next heir of Naples ?
Seb. Claribel.
Ant. She that is queen of Tunis ; she that dwells
Ten leagues beyond man's life ; she that from
Naples
Can have no note, unless the sun were post,
(The man i' the moon's too slow) till new-born chins
Be rough and razorable ; she, from whom
We were all sea-swallow'd, though some cast again ;
And, by that, destin'd to perform an act,
Whereof what's past is prologue ; what to come.
In yours and my discharge.
Seb. What stuff' is this ? — How say you ?
'Tis true, my brother's daughter's queen of Tunis ;
So is she heir of Naples ; 'twixt which regions
There is some space.
Ant. A space whose every cubit
Seems to cry out, How shall that Claribel
Measure us back to Naples ? — Keep in Tunis,
And let Sebastian wake ! — Say, this were death
That now hath seiz'd them ; why, they were no worse
Than now they are : there be, that can rule Naples
As well as he that sleeps ; lords, that can prate
As amply, and unnecessarily,
As this Gonzalo ; I myself could make
A chough 6 of as deep chat. O, that you bore
'J'lie mind that I do ! what a sleep were this
For your advancement ! Do you understand me ?
Seb. Methinks 1 do.
Anl. And how docs your content
Tender your own good fortune ?
^ A bird of the jackdaw kind.
Seb. I remember,
You did supplant your brother Prospero.
Ant. True ;
And, look, how well my garments sit upon me ;
Much feater than before : My brother's servants
Were then my fellows, now they are my men.
Seb. But, for your conscience —
Ant. Ay, sir ; where lies that ? if it were a kybe,
'Twould put me to my slipper ; but I feel not
This deity in my bosom : twenty consciences.
That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they,
And melt, ere they molest ! Here lies your brother,
No better than the earth he lies upon.
If he were that which now he's like ; whom I,
With this obedient steel, three inches of it.
Can lay to bed for ever : whiles you, doing thus.
To the perpetual wink for aye might put
This ancient morsel, this sir Prudence, who
Should not upbraid oiu course. For all the rest.
They'll take suggestion, as a cat laps milk ;
They'll tell the clock to any business that
We say befits the hour.
Seb. Thy case, dear friend,
Shall be my precedent ; as thou got'st Milan,
I'll come by Naples. Draw thy sword : one stroke
Shall free thee from the tribute which thou pay'st ;
And I the king shall love thee.
Ant. Draw together :
And when I rear my hand, do you the like.
To fall it on Gonzalo.
Seb. O, but one word !
\_Thei/ converse apart*
Music. Re-enter Ariel, invisible.
Ari. My master through his art foresees the danger
Tliat these, his friends, are in ; and sends me forth,
(For else his project dies,) to keep them living.
iSivgs in GoNZALo's ear.
While 1/ou here do snoring lie,
Open-ey^d conspiracy
His time doth take :
If of life you keep a care,
Shake off slmnber, and beware:
Awake ! awake !
Ant. Then let us both be sudden.
Gon. Now, good angels, preserve tlic king !
iThey wake.
Alon. Why, how now, ho ! awake 1 Why are
you drawn ?
Wherefore this ghastly looking ?
Gon. What's the matter ?
Seb. Wliiles we stood here securing your reiwsc.
Even now, we heard a hollow burst of bellowing
Like bulls, or rather lions ; tlid it not wake you ?
It struck mine ear most terribly.
Alon. I l>ea"^ nothing.
Ant. O, 'twas a din to fright a nionster's car ;
To make an earthquake ! sure it was the roar
Of a whole herd of lions.
^lon. Heard you this, Gonzalo ?
Gon. Ui)on mine honour, sir, 1 heard a humming.
And that a strange one too, which did awake me :
I shak'd you, sir, and cry'd : as mine eyes open'd,
I saw their weapons drawn : — there was a noise.
That's verity : 'Best stand upon our guard ;
Or that we quit tins place : let's draw our weapons.
Alon. I-rcad oflf this ground ; and let's make fur-
ther search
For my poor son.
10
TEMPEST.
Act II. Scene II.
Gon. Heavens keep him from these beasts !
For he is, sure, i' the island.
j4lon. Lead away.
Ari. Prosper© my lord shall know what I have
done ; [Aside.
So, king, go safely on to seek thy son. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. —Another part of the Island.
Enter Caliban, with a burden of wood.
A noise of thunder heard.
Cal. All the infections that the sun sucks up
From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make
him
By inch-meal a disease ! His spirits hear me.
And yet I needs must curse. But they'll nor pinch.
Fright me with urchin shows, pitch me i' the mire.
Nor lead me, like a fire-brand, in the dark
Out of my way, unless he bid them ; but
For every trifle are they set upon me :
Sometime like apes, that moe 7 and chatter at me.
And after, bite me ; then like hedge-hogs, which
Lie tumbling in my bare-foot way, and mount
Their bristles at my foot-fall ; sometime am I
All wound with adders, who, with cloven tongues.
Do hiss me into madness : — Lo ! now ! lo !
Enter Trinculo.
Here comes a spirit of his ; and to torment me.
For bringing wood in slowly : I'll fall flat ;
Perchance, he will not mind me.
Tiin. Here's neither bush nor shrub, to bear off
any weather at all, and another storm brewing ; I
hear it sing i' the wind : yond' same black cloud,
yond' huge one, looks like a foul bumbard 8 that
would shed his liquor. If it should thunder, as it
did before, I know not where to hide my head :
yond' same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls.
What have we here ? a man or a fish ? dead or alive ?
A fish : he smells like a fish ; a very ancient and fish-
like smell ; a kind of, not of the newest, Poor- John.
A strange fish ! Were I in England now (as once I
was,) and had but this fish painted, not a holiday-
fool there but would give a piece of silver : there
would this monster make a man ; any strange beast
there makes a man : when they will not give a doit
to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to
see a dead Indian. Legg'd like a man ! and his fins
like arms ! Warm, o' my troth ! I do now let loose
my opinion, hold it no longer ; this is no fish, but an
islander, that hath lately suffered by a thunderbolt.
[ Thunder.] Alas ! the storm is come again : my best
way is to creep under his gaberdine 9 ; there is no
other shelter hereabout : Misery acquaints a man
with strange bedfellows. I will here shroud, till
the dregs of the storm be past.
Enter Stephano, singing ; a bottle in his hand.
Ste. / shall no more to sea, to sea,
Here shall I die a-shore ; —
This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man's
funeral :
Well here's my comfort. [^DrinkS'
The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I,
The gunner, and his mate,
' Make mouths.
" A black jack of leather to hold beer.
5 The frock of a peasant
Lov'd Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margeryy
But none of us car d for Kate :
For she had a tongue loilh a tang,
Would cry to a sailor, Go hang :
Then to sea, boys, and let Iter go hang.
This is a scurvy tune too : But here's my comfort.
[Drinks.
Cal. Do not torment me : O !
Ste. What's the matter ? Have we devils here ?
Do you put tricks upon us with savages, and men
of Inde ? ' Ha ! I have not scap'd drowning, to be
afeard now of your four legs ; for it hath been said.
As proper a man as ever went on four legs, cannot
make him give ground : and it shall be said so again,
while Stephano breathes at nostrils.
Cal. The spirit torments me : O !
Ste. This is some monster of the isle, with four
legs ; who hath got, as I take it, an ague : Where
the devil should he learn our language ? I will give
him some relief, if it be but for that : If I can re-
cover him, and keep him tame, and get to Naples
with him, he's a present for any emperor that ever
trod on neat's leather.
Cal. Do not torment me, pr'ythee ;
I'll bring my wood home faster.
Ste. He's in his fit now ; and does not talk after
the wisest. He shall taste of my bottle : if he have
never drunk wine afore, it will go near to remove
his fit : If I can recover him, and keep him tame, I
will not take too much for him : he shall pay for
him that hath him, and that soundly.
Cal. Thou dost me yet but little hurt ; thou wilt
Anon, I know it by thy trembling :
Now Prosper works upon thee.
Ste. Come on your ways ; open your mouth ;
here is that which will give language to you, cat ;
open your mouth : this will shake your shaking, I
can tell you, and that soundly : you cannot tell
who's your friend : open your chaps again.
Trin. I should know that voice : It should be —
But he is drowned ; and these are devils : O ! de-
fend me ! —
Ste. Four legs, and two voices ; a most delicate
monster ! If all the wine in my bottle will recover
him, I vrill help his ague : Come, I will pour some
in thy other mouth.
Trin. Stephano ! —
Ste. Doth thy other mouth call me ? Mercy !
mercy ! This is a devil, and no monster ! I will
leave him ; I have no long spoon.
Trin. Stephano ! — if thou beest Stephano, touch
me, and speak to me ; for I am Trinculo ; — be not
afeard, — thy good friend Trinculo.
Ste. If thou beest Trinculo, come forth ; I'll puil
thee by the lesser legs : if any be Trinculo's legs,
these are they. Thou art very Trinculo, indeed I
How cam'st thou to be the siege- of this moon-calf?
Trin. I took him to be killed with a thunder-
stroke : — But art thou not drowned, Stephano ?
I hope now, thou art not drowned. Is the storm
overblown ? I hid me under the dead moon-calf's
gaberdine, for fear of ttie storm : And art thou
living, Stephano? O Stephano, two Neapolitans
'scap'd !
Ste. Pr'ythee, do not turn me about j my stomach
is not constant.
Cal. These be fine things, an if they be not
sprites.
« StooL
Act III. Scene I.
TEMPEST.
II
That's a brave god, and bears celestial liquor :
I will kneel to him.
Ste. How did'st thou scape ? How cam'st thou
hither ? swear by this bottle, how thou cam'st hither.
I escaped upon a butt of sack, which the sailors
heaved overboard, by this bottle ! which I made of
the bark of a tree, with mine own hands, since I was
cast ashore.
CcU. I'll swear, upon that bottle, to be thy
True subject ; for the liquor is not earthly.
Ste. Here ; swear then how thou escap'dst.
Trin. Swam a-shore, man, like a duck ; I can
swim like a duck, I'll be sworn.
Ste. Here, kiss the book : Though thou canst
swim like a duck, thou art made like a goose.
Trin. O Stephano, hast any more of this ?
Ste. The whole butt, man ; my cellar is in a rock
by the sea-side, where my wine is hid. How now,
moon-calf? how does thine ague?
Cal. Hast thou not dropped from heaven ?
Ste. Out o' the moon, I do assure thee : I was
the man in the moon, when time was.
Cal. I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee ;
My mistress showed me thee, thy dog and bush.
Ste. Come, swear to that ; kiss the book : I will
furnish it anon with new contents : swear.
Trin. By this good light, this is a very shallow
monster : — I afeard of him ? — a very weak monster :
— The man i' the moon ? — a most poor credulous
monster : — Well drawn, monster, in good sooth.
Cal. I'll show thee every fertile inch o' the island :
I'll kiss thy foot : I'll swear myself thy subject.
Ste. Come on, then ; down and swear.
Trin. I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-
headed monster : A most scurvy monster ! I could
find in my heart to beat liim, —
Ste. Come, kiss.
Trin. — but that the poor monster's in drink.
An abominable monster !
Cat. I'll show thee tlie best springs ; I'll pluck
thee berries ;
I'll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough.
A plague upon tlie tyrant that I serve !
I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee.
Thou wondrous man.
Trin. A most ridiculous monster ! to make a
wonder of a poor drunkard.
Cal. I pr'ythee, let me bring thee where crabs grow ;
And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts ;
Shew thee a jay's nest, and instruct thee how
To snare the nimble marmozet ; I'll bring thee
To clust'ring filberds, and sometimes I'll get thee
Young sea-mells 3 from the rock : Wilt thou go with
me?
Ste. I pr'ythee now lead the way, without any
more talking. — Trinculo, the king and all our com-
pany else being drowned, we will inherit here. —
Here ; bear my bottle. Fellow Trinculo, we'll fill
him by and by again.
Cal. Farewell, master i farewell, farewell.
\Si7igs drunkenly.
Trin. A howling monster ; a drunken monster.
Cal. No more dams Vll make for fish ;
Nor fetch in firing
At requiring.
Nor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish {
'Ban 'Ban, Ca — Caliban
Has a new muster — Get a new man.
Freedom, hey-day ! hey-day, freedom ! freedom,
hey-day, freedom !
Ste. O brave monster ! lead the way.
\^Exeunl.
ACT III.
SCENE I. — Before Prospero's Cell.
Enter Ferdinand, bearing a log.
Fcr. There be some sports are painful ; but their
labour
Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness
Are nobly undergone ; and most poor matters
Point to rich ends. This my mean task would be
As heavy to me, as 'tis odious ; but
The mistress, which I serve, quickens wh'at's dead.
And makes my labours pleasures : O, she is
Ten times more gentle than her father's crabbed ;
And he's composed of harshness. I must remove
Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up,
\J\wn a sore injunction : My sweet mistress
Weeps when she sees me work ; and says, such
baseness
Had ne'er like Executor. I forget :
But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours ;
Most busy-less, when I do it.
Enter Miranda ; and Prospero at a distarice.
Mir a. Alas, now ! pray you
Work not so hard : I would the lightning had
Burnt up those logs, that you arc enjoin'd to pile !
Pray set it down, and rest you : when this burns,
'Twill weep for having wearied you : My father
Is hard at study ; pray now rest yourself;
He's safe for these three hours.
Fer. O most dear mistress,
The sun will set, before I shall discharge
What I must strive to do.
Mira. If you'll sit down,
I'll bear your logs the wliile : Pray, give me that ;
I'll carry it to the pile.
Fer. No, precious creature :
I had rather crack my sinews, break my back,
Than you should such dishonour undergo.
While I sit lazy by.
Mira. It would become mc
As well as it does you : and I should do it
With much more ease ; for my good will is to it.
And yours against.
Pro. Poor worm ! tliou art infected ;
This visitation shows it.
Mira. You look wearily.
Fer. No, noble mistress ; 'tis fresh morning with
me,
When you vtc by at night. I do beseech you,
3 Seagulls.
12
TEMPEST.
Act III.
(Chiefly, tliat I might set it in my prayers,)
What is your name ?
Mira. Miranda : — O my father,
I have broke your best * to say so !
Fer, Admir'd Miranda !
Indeed, the top of admiration ; worth
What's dearest to the world ! Full many a lady
I liave ey'd with best regard ; and many a time
Tlie harmony of their tongues hath into bondage
Brought my too diligent ear : for several virtues
Have I lik'd several women ; never any
With so full soul, but some defect in her
Did (juarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd *,
And put it to the foil : But you, O you,
So perfect, and so peerless, are created
Of every creature's best.
Mira. I do not know
One of my sex ; no woman's face remember.
Save, from my glass, mine own ; nor have I seen
More that I may call men, than you, good friend,
And my dear father : how features are abroad,
I am skill-less of; but, by my modesty,
(The jewel in my dower,) I would not wish
Any companion in the world but you j
Nor can imagination form a shape,
Besides yourself, to like of : but I prattle
Something too wildly, and my father's precepts
Therein forget.
Fer. I am, in my condition,
A prince, Miranda ; I do think, a king ;
(I would, not so !) and would no more endure
This wooden slavery, than I would suflfer
The flesh-fly blow my mouth. — Hear my soul
speak ; —
The very instant that I saw you, did
My heart fly to your service ; there resides,
To make me slave to it ; and, for your sake.
Am I this patient log-man.
Mira. Do you love me ?
Fer, O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this
sound.
And crown what I profess with kind event.
If 1 speak true ! if hollowly, invert
What best is boded me, to mischief ! I,
Beyond all limit of what else i' the world,
Do love, prize, honour you.
Mira. I am a fool.
To weep at what I am glad of.
Pro. Fair encounter
Of two most rare affections ! Heavens rain grace
On that which breeds between them !
Fer. Wherefore weep you ?
Mira. At mine unworthiness, that dare not
offer
What I desire to give ; and much less take.
What I shall die to want : but this is trifling ;
And all the more it seeks to hide itself,
The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning !
And prompt me, plain and holy innocence !
I am your vdfe, if you will marry me ;
If not, I'll die your maid : to be your fellow
You may deny me ; but I'll be your servant.
Whether you will or no.
Fer. My mistress, dearest,
And I thus humble ever.
Mira. My husband then ?
Fer. Ay, with a heart as willing
As bondage e'er of freedom ; here's my hand.
* Command.
6 Own'A
Mira. And mine, with my heart in't ; And now
farewell,
Till half an hour hence.
Fer. A thousand ! thousand !
[Exeunt Fer. and Mir.
Pro. So glad of this as they, I cannot be.
Who are surpris'd with all ; but my rejoicing
At nothing can be more. I'll to my book ;
For yet, ere supper-time, must I perform
Much business appertaining. [Exit* ^
SCENE II. — Another part of the Island. *"
Enter Stephano and Trincujlo ; CaajIbk-s following
with a bottle.
Ste. Tell not me ; — when the butt is out, w©
will drink water j not a drop before : therefore
bear up and board 'em : Servant-monster, drink
to me.
Trin. Servant-monster ? the folly of this island !
They say, there's but five upon this isle : we are
three of them ; if the other two be brained like us,
the state totters.
Ste. Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee ; thy
eyes are almost set in thy hea(l.
Trin. Where should they be set else ?
Ste. My man-monster hath drowned his tongue
in sack : for my part, the sea cannot drown me : I
swam, ere I could recover the shore, five-and-thirty
leagues, off and on, by this light. — Thou shalt be
my lieutenant, monster, or my standard.
Trin. Your lieutenant, if you list ; he's no
standard.
Ste. We'll not run, monsieur monster.
Trin. Nor go neither : but you'll lie, like dogs ;
and yet say nothing neither.
Ste. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou
beest a good moon-calf.
Cal. How does thy honour? Let me lick thy
shoe : I'll not serve him, — he is not valiant.
Trin. Thou liest, most ignorant monster ; I am
in case to justle a constable : Was there ever man
a coward, that hath drunk so much sack as I to-
day ? Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being but half
a fish, and half a monster ?
Cal. Lo, how he mocks me ! wilt thou let him,
my lord ?
Tjin. Lord, quoth he ! — that a monster should
be such a natural !
Cal. Lo, lo, again ! bite him to death, I pr'ythee.
Ste. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head ;
if you prove a mutineer, the next tree — The poor
monster's my subject, and he shall not suffer indig-
nity.
Cal. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleas'd
To hearken once again the suit I made thee ?
Ste. Marry will I : kneel, and repeat it ; I wil
stand, and so shall Trinculo.
Enter Ariel, invisible.
Cal. As I told thee
Before, I am subject to a tyrant ;
A sorcerer, that by his cunning hath
Cheated me of this island.
u4ri. Thou liest.
Cal. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou ;
I would my valiant master would destroy tliee
I do not lie.
Ste. Trinculo, if you trouble him any more in his
tale, by this hand, I will supplant some of youi
teeth.
Scene III.
TEMPEST.
13
Trin. Why, I said notliing.
Sle. Mum then, and no more. — \_To Caliban.]
1 *roceed.
Cal. I say, by sorcery he got this isle ;
From me he got it. If thy greatness will
Revenge it on him — for, I know, thou dar'st ;
But this thing dare not.
Stc. That's most certain.
Cal. Thou shalt be lord of it, and I'll serve thee.
ISte. How now shall this .be compassed ? Canst
thou bring me to the party ?
Cal. Yea, yea, my lord : I'll yield him thee asleep,
Where thou may'st knock a nail into his head.
Ari. Thou liest, thou canst not.
Cal. What a pied ninny's this ! 6 Thou scurvy
patch ! —
I do beseech thy greatness, give him blows,
And take his bottle from him : when that's gone,
He shall drink nought but brine ; for I'll not show
him
Where the quick freshes 7 are.
Ste. Trinculo, run into no further danger : inter-
rupt the monster one word further, and, by this
hand, I'll turn my mercy out of doors, and make a
stock-fish of thee.
Trm. Why, what did I ? I did nothing ; I'll go
further off.
Ste. Didst thou not say, he lied ?
Ari. Thou liest.
Ste. Do I so ? take thou that. [Strikes him.'] As
you like this, give me the lie another time.
Trin. I did not give the lie : — Out o' your wits,
and hearing too ? — This can sack and drinking do.
— A murrain on your monster, and the devil take
your fingers '
Cal. Ha, ha, ha !
Ste. Now, forward with your tale. Pr'ythee
stand further off.
Cal. Beat him enough : after a little time,
I'll beat him too.
Ste. Stand further. — Come, proceed.
Cal. Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with him
r the afternoon to sleep : there thou may'st brain
him.
Having first seiz'd his books ; or with a log
Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake.
Or cut his wezand 8 with thy knife : Remember,
First to possess his books ; for without them
He's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not
One spirit to command : They all do hate him.
As rootedly as I : Bum but his books ;
He has brave utensils, (for so he calls them,)
Which, when he has a house, he'll deck witlial.
And that most deeply to consider, is
The beauty of his daughter ; he himself
Calls her a nonpareil : I ne'er saw woman.
But only Sycorax my dam and she ;
But she as far sur})asseth Sycorax,
As greatest does least.
Ste. Is it so brave a lass ?
Cal. Ay, my lord; she will become thy bed, I
warrant.
And bring thee forth brave brood.
Ste. Monster, I will kill this man : his daughter
nnd I will be king and queen ; (save our graces ! )
and Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys : — Dost
thou like the plot, Trinculo?
Trin. Excellent.
« Alluding to Trinculo 's partv-colourcd dross
'Springs. « Throat
Stc. Give me thy hand ; I am sorry I beat thee :
but, while thou livest, keep a good tongue in thy
head.
Cal. Within this half hour will he be asleep ;
Wilt thou destroy him then ?
Ste. Ay, on mine honour.
Ari. This will I tell my master.
Cal. Thou mak'st me merry : I am full of plea-
sure ;
Let us be jocund : Will you troll the catch
You taught me but while-ere ?
Sle. At tliy request, monster, I will do reason,
any reason : Come on, Trinculo, let us sing. [Sirigs.
Flout 'em, and skout ""em ; and skout 'em, and
Jiout 'em ;
Thought is free.
Cal. That's not the tune.
[Arlel plays the tune on a tabor and jtipe.
Ste. What is this same ?
Trin. This is the tune of our catch, played by
the picture of No-body.
Ste. If thou beest a man, show thyself in thy like-
ness : if thou beest a devil, take't as thou list.
Trin. O, forgive me my sins !
Ste. Mercy upon us !
Cal. Art thou afeard?
Ste. No, monster, not I.
Cal. Be not afeard ; the isle is full of noises.
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears ; and sometimes voices,
That, if I then had wak'd after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again : and then, in dreaming,
The clouds, methought, would open, and show riches
Ready to drop upon me ; that, when I wak'd,
I cry'd to dream again.
Ste. This will prove a brave kingdom to mo,
where I shall have my musick for notliing.
Cal. When Prospero is destroyed.
Ste. That shall be by and by : I remember the
storj-.
Trin. The sound is going away : let's follow it,
and after, do our work.
Ste. Lead, monster ; we'll follow. — I would I
could see this taborer : he lays it on.
rWn. Wilt come? I'll follow, Steplamo. [Exeunt.
SCENE IIL — Another part of the Island.
Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo,
Adrian, Francisco, and others.
Gon. By'r lakin 9, I can go no further, sir ;
My old bones ache : here's a maze trod, indeed,
Through forth-rights, and meanders ! by your pa.-
tience,
I needs must rest me.
Alon. Old lord, I cannot blame thee
Who am myself attach'd with weariness.
To the dulling of my spirits : sit down, and rest.
Even here I will put off my hope, and keep it
No longer for my flatterer : he is drown 'd.
Whom thus we stray to find ; and the sea mocks
Our frustrate search on land : well, let him go.
Ant. I am right glad that he's so out of hope.
[Aside to Sebastian.
Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose
That you resolv'd to effect.
» Our lady.
u
TEMPEST.
Act hi. Scene III.
Tljc next advantage
Seb.
Will we take thoroughly.
Ant. Let it be to-night ;
For, now they are oppress'd with travel, they
Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance,
As when tliey are fresh.
Seb. I say, to-night : no more.
Solemn and strange Mustek ; arid PaosPERO above,
invbible. Enter several strange Shapes, bringing
in a Banquet ; they dance about it with gentle ac-
tions <f salutation : and, inviting tlie King, i^c. to
eat, they depart.
Alan. What haraiony is this ? my good friends,
hark !
Gon. Marvellous sweet musick !
Mon. Give us kind keepers, heavens ! What
were these ?
Seb. A living drollery ^ : Now I will believe.
That there are unicorns ; that in Arabia
There is one tree, the phoenix' throne ; one phoenix
At this hour reigning there.
Ant. I'll believe both ;
And what does else want credit, come to me,
And I'll be sworn 'tis true : Travellers ne'er did lie.
Though fools at home condemn them.
Gon. If in Naples
I should report this now, would they believe me ?
If I should say I saw such islanders,
(For, certes, these are people of the island,)
Who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet, note.
Their manners are more gentle-kind, than of
Our human generation you shall find
Many, nay, almost any.
Pro. Honest lord.
Thou hast said well ; for some of you there present
Are worse than devils. [Aside.
Alon. I cannot too much muse.
Such shapes, such gesture, and such sound, ex-
pressing
( Although they want the use of tongue) a kind
Of excellent dumb discourse.
Pro- Praise in departing.
[Aside.
Fran. They vanish'd strangely.
Seb. No matter, since
They have left their viands behind j for we have
stomachs. —
Will't please you taste of what is here ?
Alon. Not I.
Gon. Faith, sir, you need not fear : When we
were boys.
Who would believe that there were mountaineers,
De^s'-lapp'd like bulls, whose throats had hanging
at them
Wallets of flesh ? or that there were such men.
Whose heads stood in their breasts ? which now we
find,
Each putter-out on five for one, will bring us
Good warrant of.
Alon. I will stand to, and feed.
Although my last : no matter, since I feel
The best is past : — Brother, my lord the duke,
Stand to, and do as we.
Thunder and lightning. Enter Ariel like a harpy ;
claps his ivings ujjon the table, and, with a quaint
device, the banquet vanishes.
' Show.
Ariel. You are three men of sin, whom destiny
(That hath to instrument this lower world.
And what is in't,) the never-surfeited sea
Hath caused to throw up ; and on this island
Where man doth not inhabit ; you 'mongst men
Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad ;
[Seeing Alon. Seb. <^c. draw their swords.
And even with such like valour, men hang and
drown
Their proper selves. You fools ! I and my fellows
Are ministers of fate ; the elements
Of whom your swords are temper'd, may as well
Wound the loud winds, or with bemock'd-at stabs
Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish
One dowle^ that's in my plume ; my fellow-ministers
Are like invulnerable : if you could hurt.
Your swords are now too massy for your strengths.
And will not be uplifted : But remember,
(For that's my business to you,) that you three
From Milan did supplant good Prospero ;
Expos'd unto the sea, which hath requit it.
Him, and his innocent child ; for which foul deed
The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have
Incens'd the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures^
Against your peace : Thee of thy son, Alonso,
They have bereft ! and do pronounce by me.
Lingering perdition (worse than any death
Can be at once) shall step by step attend
You, and your ways ; whose wraths to guard you
from
(Which here, in this most desolate isle ; else falls
Upon your heads,) is nothing, but heart's sorrow,
And a clear 3 life ensuing.
He vanishes in thunder : then, to soft musick, enter
the Shapes again, a7id dance ivith mops and viowes,
and carry out the table.
Pro. [Aside."] Bravely the figure of this harpy
hast thou
Perform'd, my Ariel ; a grace it had, devouring :
Of my instruction hast thou nothing 'bated,
In what thou hadst to say : so, with good b'fe.
And observation strange, my meaner ministers
Their several kinds have done : my high charms
work.
And these, mine enemies, are all knit up
In their distractions : they now are in my power ;
And in these fits I leave them, whilst I visit
Young Ferdinand, (whom they suppose is drown'd,)
And his and my loved darling.
[Exit PROSPERoyro/n above.
Gon. V the name of something holy, sir, why
stand you
in this strange stare ?
Alon. O, it is monstrous ! monstrous !
Methought the billows spoke, and told me of it ;
The winds did sing it to me ; and the thunder.
That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd
The name of Prosper ; it did bass my trespass.
Therefore my son i' the ooze is bedded ; and
I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded.
And with him there lie mudded. [Exit.
Seb. But one fiend at a time,
I'll fight their legions o'er.
Ant. I'll be thy second.
[Exexint Seb. and Ant.
Gon. All three of them are desperate ; their great
guilt,
2 Down.
3 Pure, blameless.
Act IV. Scene I.
TEMPEST.
15
Like poison given to work a great time after,
Now 'gins to bite the spirits : I do beseech
you
That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly,
And hinder them from what this ecstacy *
May now provoke them to.
Adr. Follow, I p/ay you.
{^ExcuiU
ACT IV.
I
SCENE I. — Before Prospero's Cell.
Enter Prospero, Ferdinand, and Miranda.
Pj 0. If I have too austerely punish 'd you,
Your compensation makes amends ; for I
Have given you here a tlu-ead of mine own life,
Or that for wliich I live ; whom once again
I tender to thy hand : all thy vexations
Were but my trials of thy love, and thou
Hast strangely stood the test : here, afore Heaven,
I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand,
Do not smile at me, that I boast her off,
For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise.
And make it halt behind her.
Fer. I do believe it.
Against an oracle.
Pro. Then, as my gift, and tliine own acquisition
Worthily purchas'd, take my child, but not
Till sanctimonious ceremonies may
With full and holy rites be minister'd.
Then Hymen's lamps shall light you.
Fer. As I hope
For quiet days, fair issue, and long life.
With such love as 'tis now ; the strong'st suggestion
Our worser Genius can, shall never taint
My honour.
Pro. Fairly spoke :
Sit then, and talk with her, she is thine own. —
What, Ariel ; my industrious servant Ariel !
Enter Ariel.
An. What would my potent master ? here I am.
Pro. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last service
Did worthily perform ; and I must use you
In such another trick : go, bring the rabble.
O'er whom I give thee power, here, to this place :
Incite them to quick motion ; for I must
Bestow upon the eyes of tliis young couple
Some vanity of mine art ; it is my promise.
And they expect it from me.
Ari. Presently ?
Pro. Ay, with a twink.
Ari. Before you can say, Come, and go,
And breathe twice ; and cry, so, so ;
Each one, tripping on liis toe,
Will be here with mop and mowe :
Do you love me, master ? no.
Pro. Dearly, my delicate Ariel: Do not approach.
Till thou dost hear me call.
An. Well I conceive. [Exit.
Pro. Look, thou be true.
Fer, I warrant you, sir.
Pro. Well. —
Now come, my Ariel ; bring a corollary •»,
Rather than want a spirit ; appear, and pertly. —
No tongue ; all eyes ; be silent. [.Soft musick.
A Masque. Enter Iris.
Iris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas
Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and peas ;
* Surplus.
Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep.
And flat meads tliatch'd with stover, them to kee
Thy banks with peonied and lilied brims.
Which spongy April at thy hest^ betrims,
To make cold nymphs chaste crowns ; and thy
broom groves,
Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves,
Being lass-lorn ; thy pole-clipt vineyard ;
And thy sea-marge, steril, and rocky-hard,
Where thou thyself dost air : The queen o' the sky,
Whose wat'ry arch, and messenger, am I,
Bids thee leave these ; and with her sovereign grace,
Here, on this grass-plot, in this very place.
To come and sport : her peacocks fly amain ;
Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain.
Enter Ceres.
Cer. Hail, many-colour'd messenger, that ne'er
Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter ;
Who, with thy saffron wings, upon my flowers
Diffiisest honey-drops, refreshing showers ;
And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown
My bosky 7 acres, and my unshrubb'd down,
Rich scarf to my proud earth ; Why hath thy queen
Summon'd me liifher, to this short-grass'd green ?
Iris. A contract of true love to celebrate ;
And some donation freely to estate
On the bless'd lovers.
Cer. Tell me, heavenly bow.
If Venus, or her son, as thou dost know.
Do now attend the queen ? since they did plot
The means, that dusky Dis 8 my daughter got
Her and her blind boy's scandal'd company
I have forsworn.
Iris. Of her society
Be not afraid : I met her deity
Cutting the clouds towards Paphos ; and her son
Dove-drawn with her.
Cer. Highest queen of state,
Great Juno comes : I know her by her gait.
Enter Juno.
Juno. How does my bounteous sister? Go with
me.
To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be.
And honour'd in their issue.
SONG.
Juno. Honour, riches, marriage-blessing.
Long continuance, and increasing.
Hourly joys be stili upon you !
Juno sirtgs her blessings on you.
Cer. Earth's increase, andfoison ^ plenty ;
Bams, and garners never empty;
Vines with clustering bunches growing ;
Plants, with goodly burden bowing;
^ Alienation of mind.
r Woody. » Pluta
« Command.
> Abundance.
IG
TEMPEST.
Spring come to you, at the farthest,
the very end of harvest .'
Scarcity and want shall shun you ;
Ceres^ blessing so is on you.
Fer. This is a most majestic vision, and
Harmonious charmingly : May I be bold
To think these spirits ?
Pro. Spirits, which by mine art
I have from their confines call'd to enact
My present fancies.
Fer. Let me live here ever ;
So rare a wonder'd ' father, and a wife.
Make this place paradise.
[Juno and Ceres luhisper, and send Iris on
employment.
Pro. Sweet now, silence :
Juno and Ceres whisper seriously ;
Tiierc's something else to do : hush, and be mute,
Or else our spell is marr'd.
Iris. You nymphs, call'd Naiads, of the wan-
d'ring brooks,
Witli your sedg'd crowns, and ever harmless looks,
Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land
Answer your summons ; Juno does command :
Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate
A contract of true love ; be not too late.
Enter certain Nymphs.
You sunburn'd sicklemen, of August weary,
Come hither from the furrow, and be merry ;
Make holy-day : your rye-straw hats put on.
And these fresh nymphs encounter every one
In country footing.
Enter certain Reapers, properly habited : they join
with the Nymjihs in a graceful dance; towards
the end whereof Prospero starts suddenly, and
speaks ; after which, to a strange, hollow, and con-
fused noise, they heavily vanish.
Pro. \^Aside.'\ I had forgot that foul conspiracy
Of the beast Caliban, and his confederates.
Against my life ; the minute of their plot
Is almost come [To the Spirits.'] Well done ; —
avoid ; — no more.
Fer. This is most strange : your father's in some
passion
That works him strongly.
Mira. Never till this day.
Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd.
Pro. You do look, my son, in a mov'd sort.
As if you were dismay'd ; be cheerful, sir :
Our revels now are ended : these our actors.
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air ;
And, like the baseless fabrick of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve ;
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded.
Leave not a rack behind : We are such stuff
As dreams are made of, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep. — Sir, I am vex'd ;
Bear with my weakness : my old brain is troubled.
Be not disturb'd with my infirmity :
If you be pleas'd, retire into my cell.
And there repose ; a turn or two I'll walk.
To still my beating mind.
Fer. Mira. We wish your peace.
\^Exeui^t.
1 Able to produce such wonders. |
Pro. Come with a thought : -
Ariel, come.
Enter Ariel.
Act IV.
I thank you : —
An. Thy thoughts I cleave to : What's thy plea-
sure?
Pro. Spirit,
We must prepare to meet with Caliban.
Ari. Ay, my commander: when I presented
Ceres,
I thought to have told thee of it j but I fear'd.
Lest I might anger thee.
Pro. Say again, where didst thou leave these
varlets ?
Ari. I told you, sir, they were red-hot with
drinking ;
So full of valour, that they smote the air
For breathing in their faces ; beat the ground
For kissing of their feet ; yet always bending
Towards their project : Then I beat my tabor.
At which, like unback'd colts, they prick'd their ears,
Advanc'd their eyelids, lifted up their noses.
As they smelt musick ; so I charm'd their ears.
That, calf-like, they my lowing foUow'd, through
Tooth'd briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and
thorns.
Which enter'd their frail shins ; at last I left them
I' the filthy mantled pool beyond your cell.
Up to the chins.
Pro. This was well done, my bird.
Thy shape invisible retain thou still :
The trumpery in my house, go, bring it hither.
For stale 2 to catch these thieves.
Ari. I go, I go. {^Exit.
Pro. A devil, a born devil, on whose nature
Nurture 3 can never stick ; on whom my pains,
Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost ;
And as, with age, his body uglier grows.
So his mind cankers : I will plague them all.
Re-enter Ariel, loaden with glistering apparel, ^c.
Even to roaring : — Come, hang them on this line.
Prospero and Ariel remain invisible. Enter
Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo, all wet.
Cal. Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole
may not
Hear a foot fall : we now are near his cell.
Ste. Monster, your fairy, which, you say, is a
harmless fairy, has done little better than played the
Jack 4 with us.
Trin. Monster, my nose is in great indignation.
Ste. So is mine. Do you hear, monster ? If I
should take a displeasure against you ; look you,—
Trin. Thou wert but a lost monster.
Cal. Good my lord, give me thy favour still :
Be patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to
Shall hood-wink this mischance : therefore, speak
softly.
All's hush'd as midnight yet.
Trin. Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool, —
Ste. There's not only disgrace and dishonour in '
that, monster, but an infinite loss.
Trin. That's more to me than my wetting : yet
this is your harmless fair}', monster.
Ste. I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o'er
ears for my labour.
3 Education.
Jack with a lantern.
Act V. Scene I.
TEMPEST.
17
Cal. Pr'ythee, my king, be quiet : Seest thou here,
This is the mouth of the cell : no noise, and enter :
Do that good mischief, which may make this island
Tliine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban,
For aye thy foot-licker.
Ste. Give me thy hand : I do begin to have
bloody thoughts.
Tr'm. O king Stephano ! O peer ! O worthy Ste-
phano ! look, what a wardrobe here is for thee !
Cal. Let it alone, thou fool ; it is but trash.
Trin. O, ho, monster ; we know what belongs to
a frippery ^ : — O king Stephano !
Sle. Put off that gown, Trinculo ; by this hand,
I'll have that gown.
Trin, Tliy grace shall have it.
Cal. The dropsy drown tliis fool ! what do you
mean,
To doat thus on such luggage ? Let's along,
And do the murder first : if he awake.
From toe to crown he'll fill our skins with pinches ;
Make us strange stuff.
Ste. Be you quiet, monster. — Mistress line, is
not this my jerkin ? Now is the jerkin under tlie
line : now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair,
and prove a bald jerkin.
Trin. Do, do : We steal by line and level, a'nt
like your grace.
Ste. I thank thee for that jest ; here's a garment
for't : wit shall not go unrewarded, while I am king
of this country : Steal by line and levels is an ex-
cellent pass of pate ; there's another garment for't.
Trin. Monster, come, put some lime 7 upon your
-fingers, and away with tlie rest.
Cal. I will have none on't : we shall lose our time,
And all be turn'd to barnacles, or to apes
With foreheads villainous low.
Ste. Monster, lay-to your fingers ; help to bear
this away, where my hogshead of wine is, or I'll
turn you out of my kingdom ; go to, carry this.
Trin. And this.
Ste. Ay, and this.
A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Spirits, in
shape of hounds, and hunt them about ; Prospero
and A riel setting tliem on.
Pro. Hey, Mountain, hey !
Jri. Silver ! there it goes. Silver /
Pro. Furi/, Fury! there. Tyrant, there ! hark, hark !
[Cal. Ste. and Trin. are driven out.
Go, charge my goblins that they grind their joints
With dry convulsions ; shorten up their sinews
With aged cramps ; and more pinch-spotted make
them.
Than pard % or cat o' mountain.
Ari. Hark, they roar.
Pro. Let them be hunted soundly : At this hour
Lie at my mercy all mine enemies :
Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou
Shalt have the air at freedom : for a little.
Follow, and do me service.
[Ejxunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I. -- Before the Cell of Prospero.
Enter Prospero m his magic robes, and Ariel.
Pro. Now does my project gather to a head :
My charms crack not ; my spirits obey ; and time
Goes upright with his carriage. How's the day ?
Ai-i. On the sixth hour ; at which time, my lord.
You said our work should cease.
Pro. I did say so.
When first I rais'd the tempest. Say, my spirit.
How fares the king and his ?
Ari. Confin'd together
In the same fashion as you gave in charge ;
Just as you left them, sir ; all prisoners
In the lime-grove which weather-fends ^ your cell;
They cannot budge, till you release. The king,
His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted ;
And the remainder mourning over them,
Brim-full of sorrow and dismay ; but chiefly
Him you term'd, sir. The good old lord, Gonzalo ;
His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops
From eves of reeds : your charm so strongly works
That if you now beheld them, your affections
Would become tender.
Pro. Dost thou think so, spirit?
Ari. Mine would, sir, were I human.
Pro. And mine shall.
Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling
Of their afHictions ? and shall not myself.
One of their kind, that relisli all as sharply
* A shop for sale of old clothes.
6 Defends from bad weather.
Passion as they, be kindlier mov'd than thou art ?
Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the
quick.
Yet, with my nobler reason, 'gainst my fury
Do I take part : the rarer action is
In virtue than in vengeance : they being penitent.
The sole drift of my purpose doth extend
Not a frown further : Go, release them, Ariel ;
My charms I'll break, tlieir senses I'll restore.
And they shall be themselves.
Ari. I'll fetch them, sir,
[Exit.
Pro. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes,
and groves ;
And ye, that on the sands with printless foot
Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him»
When he comes back ; you demy-puppets, tliat
By moon-shine do the green-sour ringlets make,
Whereof the ewe not bites ; and you, whose pastime
Is to make midnight-mushrooms ; that rejoice
To hear the solemn curfew ; by whose aid
( Weak masters tliough you be) I have be-dimm'd
The noon-tide sun, call'd forth the mutinous winds,
And 'twixt the green sea and the azur'd vault
Set roaring war : to the dread rattling thunder
Have I given fire, and rifled Jove's stout oak
With his own bolt : the strong-bas'd promontory
Have I made shake ; and by the spurs pluck 'd up
The pine, and cedar : graves, at my command,
Have wak'd their sleepers ; oped, and led them forth
By my so potent art : But this rough magick
' Bird-lime.
* Leopard.
18
TEMPES'I'.
Act V.
I here abjure : and, when I have requir'd
Some heavenly musick, (which even now I do,)
To work mine end upon their senses, that
This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff*.
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,
And deeper than did ever plummet sound,
I'll drown my book. [Solemn Musick.
Be-eiiter Arikl: after him Alonso, with a frantic
gesture, attended by Gonzalo; Sebastian aiid
Antonio in like manner attended by Adrian and
Francisco: They all enter the circle which Pros-
PERO had made, and there stand charmed; which
Prospero observing, speaks.
A solemn air, and the best comforter
To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains,
Now useless, boil'd within thy skull ! There stand,
For you are spell-stopp'd.
Holy Gonzalo, honourable man,
Mine eyes, even sociable to the shew of thine,
Fall fellowly drops. — The charm dissolves apace ;
And as the morning steals upon the night.
Melting the darkness, so their rising senses
Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle
Their clearer reason. — O my good Gonzalo,
My true preserver, and a loyal sir
To him thou follow'st ; I will pay thy graces
Home both in word and deecl. — Most cruelly
Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter :
Thy brotlier was a furtherer in the act ; —
Thou'rt pinch'd for't now, Sebastian. — Flesh and
blood,
You brother mine, that entertain'd ambition,
Expell'd remorse' and nature ; who, with Sebastian,
(Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong,)
Would here have kill'd your king ; I do forgive thee.
Unnatural though thou art ! — Their understanding
Begins to swell ; and the approaching tide
Will shortly fill the reasonable shores.
That now lie foul and muddy. Not one of them.
That yet looks on me, or would know me : — Ariel,
Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell ;
[Exit Ariel.
I will dis-case me, and my self present.
As I was sometime Milan ; — quickly, spirit :
Thou shalt ere long be free.
Ariel re-enters, singing, and helps to attire
Prospero.
Ari. Where the bee sucks, there suck I;
In a coioslip's bell I lie :
There I couch when oiols do cry.
On the bat's back I do fly.
After summer merrily :
Meri'ily, merrily, shall I live now.
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
Pro. Why that's my dainty Ariel ; I shall miss thee ;
But yet thou shalt have freedom : so, so, so. —
To the king's ship, invisible as thou art :
There shalt thou find the mariners asleep
Under the hatches ; the master and the boatswain.
Being awake, enforce them to this place ;
And presently, I pr'ythee.
Ari. I drink the air before me, and return
Or e'er your pulse twice beat. [JSxit Ariel.
Gon All torment, trouble, wonder, and amazement
Inhabits here : Some heavenly power guide us
Out of this fearful country !
1 Pity or tenderness of heart.
Pro. Beliold, sir king,
Tlie wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero :
For more assurance that a living prince
Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body :
And to thee, and thy company, I bid
A hearty welcome.
Alon. Whe'r ^ thou beest he, or no,
Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me.
As late I have been, I not know : thy pulse
Beats, as of flesh and blood ; and since I saw thee,
The affliction of my mind amends, with which,
I fear, a madness held me : this must crave
( An if this be at all) a most strange story.
Thy dukedom I resign ; and do entreat
Thou pardon me my wrongs : — But how should
Prospero
Be living and be here ?
Pro. First, noble friend.
Let me embrace thine age ; whose honour cannot
Be measur'd, or confin'd.
Gon. Whether this be.
Or be not, I'll not swear.
Pro. You do yet taste
Some subtilties o' the isle, that will not let you
Believe thingscertain : — Welcome,my friends all:— •
But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded,
[Aside to Seb. and Ant.
I here could pluck his highness' frown upon you.
And justify you traitors : at this time
I'll tell no tales.
Seb. The devil speaks in him. [Aside.
Pro. No : —
For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother
Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive
Thy rankest fault ; all of them ; and require
My dukedom of thee, which, perforce, I know.
Thou must restore.
Alon. If thou beest Prospero,
Give us particulars of thy preservation :
How thou hast met us here, who three hours since
Were wreck'd upon this shore ; where I have lost.
How sharp the point of this remembrance is !
My dear son Ferdinand.
Pro. I am woe 3 for't, sir.
Alon. Irreparable is the loss ; and Patience
Says, it is past her cure.
Pro. I rather think.
You have not sought her help ; of whose soft grace.
For the like loss, I have her sovereign aid.
And rest myself content.
Alon. You the like loss ?
Pi'o. As great to me, as late ; and, portable
To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker
Than you may call to comfort you : for I
Have lost my daughter.
Alon. A daughter?
O heavens ! that they were living both in Naples,
The king and queen there ! that they were, I wish
Myself were mudded in that oozy bed
Where my son lies. When did you lose your
daughter ?
Pro. In this last tempest. I perceive, these lords
At this encounter do so much admire.
That they devour their reason ; and scarce think
Their eyes do offices of truth, their words
Are natural breath ; but howsoe'er you have
Been justled from your senses, know for certain.
That I am Prospero, and that verj' duke
2 Whether.
Sony.
Scene I.
TEMPEST.
19
Which was thrust forth ol' Milan ; wIjo most strangely
Upon tljis shore, where you were wreck 'd, was landed,
To be the lord on't. No more yet of this ;
For 'tis a chronicle of day by day,
Not a relation for a breakfast, nor
Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir;
This cell's my court : here have I few attendants.
And subjects none abroad : pray you look in.
My dukedom since you have given me again,
I will requite you with as good a thing j
At least, bring forth a wonder, to content ye
As much as me my dukedom.
The entrance of the cell opens, and discovers Ferdi-
nand and Miranda playing at chess.
Mira. Sweet lord, you play me false.
Fer. No, my dearest love,
1 would not for the world.
Mira. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should
wrangle.
And I would call it fair play.
^lo7i. If this prove
A vision of the island, one dear son
Shall I twice lose.
Seb. A most high miracle !
Fer. Tho' the seas threaten, they are merciful ;
I have curs'd them witliout cause.
[Ferd. kneels to Alon.
Alon. Now all the blessings
Of a glad father compass thee about !
Arise, and say how thou cam'st here.
Mira. O ! wonder !
How many goodly creatures are there here !
How beauteous mankind is ! O brave new world,
That has such people in't !
Pro. 'Tis new to thee.
jilon. What is this maid, with whom thou wast
at play ?
Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours :
Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us,
And brought us thus together ?
Fer. Sir, she's mortal ;
But, by immortal Providence, she's mine ;
I chose her, when I could not ask my father
For his advice ; nor thought I had one : she
Is daughter to this famous duke of Milan,
Of whom so often I have heard renown.
But never saw before ; of whom I have
Received a second life, and second father
Tliis lady makes him to me.
^lon. I am hers :
But O, how oddly will it sound, that I
Must ask my child forgiveness !
Pro. Tliere, sir, stop :
Let us not burden our remembrances
With a heaviness that's gone.
Gon. I have inly wept.
Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you
gods.
And on this couple drop a blessed crown ;
For it is you, that have chalk'd forth the way
Which brought us liither !
^lon. I say, Amen, Gonzalo !
Gon. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue
Should become kings of Naples ? O, rejoice
Beyond a common joy ; and set it down
Wirij gold on lasting pillars : In one voyage
Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis ;
And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife,
Where he himself was lost ; Prospero his dukedom.
In a poor isle ; and all of us, ourselves.
When no man was his own.
Mon. Give me your hands :
[To Fer. and Mir.
Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart.
That doth not wish you joy '
Gon.
Be't so ! Amen !
He-enter Ariel, mth the Master and Boatswain
amazedly following.
0 look, sir, look, sir ; here are more of us !
1 prophesied, if a gallows were on land.
This fellow could not drown : — Now, blasphemy.
That swear'st grace o'erboard, not an oath on shore ?
Hast thou no mouth by land ? What is the new s ?
Boats. The best news is, that we have safely found
Our king, and company : the next our ship, —
Which, but three glasses since, we gave out split,
Is tight and yare"*, and bravely rigg'd, as when
We first put out to sea.
An. Sir, all this service"]
Have I done since I went. I Aside.
Pro. My tricksy* spirit ! J
Alon. These are not natural events ; they strengthen
From strange to stranger : — Say, how came you
hither?
Boats. If I did think, sir, I were well awake,
I'd strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep,
And (how, we know not,) all clapp'd under hatches.
Were, but even now, with strange and several noises
Of roaring, shrieking, howling, gingling chains.
And more diversity of sounds, all horrible.
We were awak'd ; straitway, at liberty :
Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld
Our royal, good, and gallant ship ; our master
Cap'ring to eye her : On a trice, so please you.
Even in a dream, were we divided from them.
And were brought moping hither.
Ari. Was't well done ? "]
Pro. Bravely, my diligence. Thou shalt I Asiile.
be free. J
Alon. This is as strange a maze as e'er men trod :
And there is in this business more than nature
Was ever conduct ^ of: some oracle
Must rectify our knowledge.
Pro. Sir, my liege.
Do not infest your mind with beating on
Tlie strangeness of this business ; at pick'd leisure.
Which shall be shortly, single I'll resolve you
(Which to you shall seem probable) of every
Tliese happen 'd accidents : till when, be cheerful.
And think of each thing well. — Come hither,
spirit; [Aside.
Set Caliban and liis companions free :
Untie the spell. [Exit Ariel.] How fares my
gracious sir?
There are yet missing of your company
Some few odd lads, that you remember not.
Re-enter Ariel, driving in Caliban, Stepmano,
and Trinculo, in their stolen apparel.
Ste. Every man shift for all the rest, and let no
man take care for himself; for all is but fortune : —
Coragio, bully-monster, Coragio !
TVin. If these be true spies which I wear in my
head, here's a goodly sight.
Cal. O Setebos, Uiese be brave spirits, indeed !
How fine my master is ! I am afraid
He will chastise me.
Ready.
Clever, adroit.
C 2
6 Conductor.
TEMPEST.
Act V.
Scb. Ila, ha ;
What things are these, my lord Antonio?
Will money buy them ?
Ant. Very like, one of them
Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable.
Pro. Mark but the badges of these men, my lords,
Then say, if they be true ^ : — This mis-shapen knave.
His mother was a witch ; and one so strong
That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs,
And deal in her command, without her power :
These three have robb'd me ; and this demi-devil
( For he's a bastard one) had plotted with them
To take my life : two of these fellows you
Must know, and own ; this tiling of darkness I
Acknowledge mine.
Cal. I shall be pinch'd to death.
Alon. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler ?
St'b. He is drunk now : Where had he wine ?
Alon. And Trinculo is reeling ripe : Where should
they
Find tills grand liquor that hath gilded them ? —
How cam'st thou in this pickle ?
Trin. I have been in such a pickle, since I saw
you last, that, I fear me, will never out of my bones :
I shall not fear fly-blowing.
Seb. Why, how now, Stephano?
Ste. O, touch me not ; I am not Stephano, but
a cramp.
Pro. You'd be king of the isle, sirrah ?
Ste. I should have been a sore one then.
Alon. This is as strange a thing as e'er I look'd
on. [Pointing to Caliban.
Pro. He is as disproportion'd in his manners,
As in his shape ; — Go, sirrah, to my cell ;
Take with you your companions ; as you look
To have my pardon, trim it handsomely.
Cal. Ay, that I will ; and I'll be wise hereafter.
And seek for grace : What a thrice-double ass
Was I, to take this drunkard for a god.
And worship this dull fool ?
Pro. Go to ; away !
Alo7i. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you
found it.
Seb. Or stole it, rather.
[Exeunt Cal. Ste. and Trin.
Pro. Sir, I invite your highness, and your train.
To my poor cell : where you shall take your rest
For this one night ; which (part of it) I'll waste
With such discourse, as, I not doubt, shall make it
Go quick away : the story of my life.
And the particular accidents gone by.
Since I came to this isle : And in the mom,
I'll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples,
Where I have hope to see the nuptial
Of these our dear-beloved solemniz'd ;
And thence retire me to my Milan, where
Every third thought shall be my grave.
Alon. I long
To hear the story of your life, which must
Take the ear strangely.
Pro. I'll deliver all ;
And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales,
And sail so expeditious, that shall catch
Your royal fleet far off. — My Ariel ;— chick.
That is thy charge ; then to the elements
Be free, and fare thou well ! — [Aside.] Please you
di'aw near. [ExeufU.
EPILOGUE. — Spoken hy Prospero.
Nou.1 my charms are all overthrown,
And what strength I havens mine own ;
Which is mostjaint : now, 'tis true,
I must be here coiifined by you.
Or sent to Naples : Let me not.
Since I have my dukedom got.
And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell
In this bare island, by your spell ;
But release me from my bands.
With the help ^your good hands. ^
1 Honest ^ Applause ; noise was supposed to dissolve a spell.
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must Jill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please : Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant j
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be relieved by prayer ;
Which pierces so, that it assaults
Mercy itself, and frees all faults.
As you from crimes would pardon'd be,
Let your indulgence set me free.
-2^
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
Dpke of Milan, Father to Silvia.
Valentine, 1 ^ ,, /.-ir
T> Y Gentlemen of Verona.
Proteus, J -^
A NTONio, Father to Proteus.
Thurio, a foolish Rival to Valentine.
Eglamour, Agent for Silvia in her Escape^
Speed, a clownish Servant to Valentine.
Launce, Servant to Proteus.
Panthino, Servant to Antonio.
Host tvhere Julia lodges in Milan.
Outlaws.
Julia, a Lady of Verona, beloved by Proteus.
Silvia, the Duke's Daughter, beloved by Valentine,
Lucetta, Waiting-woman to Julia.
Servants, Musicians.
SCENE, sometimes in Verona; sometimes in Milan ; and on the Frontiers o/" Mantua.
1^\
LET OO THAT UDIjE ONGIVIL TOCCH.
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA,
ACT I.
SC'ENE I. — yin o/}Pn Place in Vcroiiu.
Enter Valentink mid Protkus.
Vnl. Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus ;
Home-keeping youth have ever liomely wits :
Wer't not aHcction chains tliy tender days
To the sweet glances of thy lionour'd love,
I ratlier would entreat tiiy company,
To see the wonders of the world al)road,
Than living dully sluggardiz'd at home,
Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.
Hut, since thou lov'st, love still, and thrive therein,
Even as I would, when 1 to love begin.
Pro. Wilt tiiou begone ? Sweet Valentine, adieu !
Think on thy Proteus, wiien tliou, haply, seest
Some rare note- worthy object in thy travel :
Wish me partaker in thy happiness,
When thou dost meet good hap ; and, in thy danger.
If evt-r danger do environ tliee,
('ommend thy grievance to my holy prayers,
For I will be thy bead's-man, Valentine.
Vol. And on a love-book jjray for my success.
Pro. Upon some book I love, PU pray for thee.
Val. That's on some shallow story of deep love.
How young Leander cross'd the Hellespont.
Pro. That's a deep story of a deeper love ;
For he was more than over shoes in love.
Vol. 'Tis true ; for you are over boots in love,
And yet you never swam the Hellespont.
Pro. Over the boots ? nay, give me not the boots. '
Val No, PU not, for it boots thee not.
Pro. What?
Val. To be
' A hiiinoroin puiiUhmcnt at harvest-home fea&ts, iS.c.
la love, where scorn is bought witli groans ; coy
looks.
With heart-sore sighs ; one fading moment's mirth.
With twenty watchful, weary, tedious nights :
If haply won, perhaps, a hapless gain ;
If lost, why then a grievous labour won ;
However, but a folly bought with wit.
Or else a wit by folly vanquished.
Iho. So, by your circumstance, you call me fool.
Val. So, by your circumstance, I fear, you'll prove.
Pro. 'Tis love you cavil at ; I am not love.
Val. Love is your master, for he masters you :
And he that is so yoked by a fool,
Methinks should not be chronicled for wise.
Pro. Yet writers say. As in the sweetest bud
The eating canker dwells, so eating love
Inhabits in the finest wits of all.
Vat. And writers say, As the most forward bud
Is eaten by the canker ere it blow.
Even so by love the young and tender wit
Is turn'd to folly ; blasting in the bud.
Losing its verdure even in the prime.
And all the fair effects of future hopes.
But wherefore waste I time to counsel thee.
That art a votary to fond desire?
Once more adieu : my father at the road
Expects my coming, there to see me shipp'd.
/Vo. .'\nd thither will I bring thee, Valentine.
Vnl. Sweet Proteus, no ; now let us take our leave.
.'\t Milan let me hear from thee by letters.
Of thy success in love, and what news else
Betideth here in absence of thy friend ;
And I likewise will visit thee with mine.
Pro. All happiness Iwchance to thee in Milan !
C ;}
22
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
Act 1.
Val. As much to you at home ! and so farewell !
[Exit Valentine.
Pro> He after honour haunts, I after love :
He leaves his friends to dignify them more ;
I leave myself, my friends, and all for love.
Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphos'd me ;
Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,
"War with good counsel, set the world at nought ;
Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought.
Enter Speed.
Speed. Sir Proteus, save you : saw you my master ?
2*ro. But now he parted hence, to embark for
Milan.
Speed. Twenty to one then he is shipp'd already ;
And I have play'd the sheep in losing him.
Pro. Indeed a sheep doth very often stray.
An if the shepherd be awhile away.
Speed. You conclude that my master is a shepherd
then, and I a sheep ?
Pro. I do.
Speed. Why then my horns are his horns, whether
I wake or sleep.
Pro. A silly answer, and fitting well a sheep.
Speed. This proves me still a sheep.
Pro. True ; and thy master a shepherd.
Speed Nay, that I can deny by a circumstance.
Pro. It shall go hard, but I'll prove it by another.
Speed. The shepherd seeks the sheep, and not the
sheep the shepherd ; but I seek my master, and my
master seeks not me ; therefore, I am no sheep.
Pro. The sheep for fodder follow the shepherd,
the shepherd for food follows not the sheep ; thou
for wages followest thy master, thy master for wages
follows not thee -. therefore, thou art a sheep.
Speed. Such another proof will make me cry baa.
Pro. But dost thou hear ? gav'st thou my letter
to Julia?
Speed. Ay, sir : I, a lost mutton, gave your letter
to her ; and she gave me, a lost mutton, nothing for
my labour.
Pro. Nay, in that you are astray, 'twere best
pound you.
Speed. Nay, sir, less than a pound shall serve me
for carrying your letter.
Pro. You mistake ; I mean the pound, a pinfold.
Speed From a pound to a pin ? fold it over and
over,
'Tis threefold too little for carrying a letter to your
J over.
Pro. But what said she? did she nod?
[Speed nods
Speed. I.
Pro. Nod, I ? why, that's noddy. ^
Speed. You mistook, sir ; I say, she did nod : and
you ask me, if she did nod; and I say, I.
Pro. And that set together, is — noddy.
Speed. Now you have taken the pains to set it to-
gether, take it for your pains.
Pro. No, no, you shall have it for bearing the letter.
Speed. Well, I perceive, I must be fain to bear
with you.
Pro. Why, sir, how do you bear with me ?
Speed. Marry, sir, the letter very orderly ; having
nothing but the word, noddy, for my pains.
Pro. Beshrew me, but you have a quick wit.
Speed. And yet it cannot overtake your slow purse.
Pro. Come, come, open the matter in brief: What
said she ?
2 A game at cards.
Speed. Open your purse, that the money, and the
matter, may be both at once delivered.
Pro. Well, sir, here is for your pains : What said
she?
Speed. Truly, sir, I think you'll hardly win her.
Pro. Why ? Could'st thou perceive so much from
her?
Speed. Sir, I could perceive nothing at all from
her ; no, not so much as a ducat for delivering your
letter : And being so hard to me that brought your
mind, I fear she'll prove as hard to you in telling her
mind.
Pro. What, said she nothing ?
Speed. No, not so much as — take this for thy
pains. To testify your bounty, I thank you, you
have testern'd'' me ; in requital whereof, henceforth
carry your letters yourself : and so, sir, I'll commend
you to my master.
Pro. Go, go, be gone, to save your ship from
wreck ;
Which cannot perish, having thee aboard,
Being destined to a drier death on shore : —
I must go send some better messenger ;
I fear, my Julia would not deign my lines.
Receiving them from such a worthless post. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. — The same. Garden of 3 uWsJ s house.
Enter Julia and Lucetta.
Jul. But say, Lucetta, now we are alone,
Would'st thou then counsel me to fall in love?
Luc. Ay, madam ; so you stumble not unheed-
fully.
Jid. Of all the fair resort of gentlemen,
That every day with parle encounter me,
In thy opinion, which is worthiest love?
Luc. Please you, repeat their names, I'll shew
my mind
According to my shallow simple skill.
Jul. What think'st thou of the fair Sir Eglamour i
Luc. As of a knight well-spoken, neat and fine ;1
But were I you, he never should be mine.
Jul. What think'st thou of the rich Mercatio ?
L.UC. Well of his wealth ; but of himself, so, so.
Jul What think'st thou of the gentle Proteus ?
Luc. Lord, lord ! to see what folly reigns in us !
Jul. How now! what means this passion at his
name ?
Luc. Pardon, dear madam ; 'tis a passing shame,
That I, unworthy body as I am.
Should censure* thus on lovely gentlemen.
Jul. Why not on Proteus, as of all the rest ?
Luc. Then thus, of many good I think him
best.
Jul. Your reason ?
Luc. I have no other but a woman's reason ; I
think him so, because I think him so.
Jul. And would'st thou have me cast my love on
him ?
Luc. Ay, if you thought your love not cast away.
Jul. Why, he of all the rest, hath never mov'd me.
Luc. Yet he of all the rest, I think , best loves ye.
Jul. His little speaking shews his love but small.
Luc. Fire, that is closest kept, burns most of all.
Jul. They do not love, that do not show their love.
Luc. O, tliey love least, that let men know their
love.
Jul. I would I knew his mind.
Given me a sixpence.
Pass senteiicQ
Scene II.
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
23
Ltic. Peruse this paper, madam.
Jul. To Julia, — Say, from whom ?
Luc. That the contents will shew.
Jul. Say, say ; who gave it thee ?
Luc. Sir Valentine's page ; and sent, I tliink,
from Proteus :
He would have given it you, but I, being in the way.
Did in your name receive it ; pardon the fault, I pray.
Jul. Now, by my modesty, a goodly broker ! *
Dare you presume to harbour wanton lines?
To wliisper and conspire against my youth ?
Now, trust me, 'tis an office of great worth,
And you an officer fit for the place.
There, take tlie paper, see it be return'd ;
Or else return no more into my sight.
Luc. To plead for love deserves more fee than hate.
Jul. Will you begone ?
Lice. That you may ruminate. \^Ei'it.
Jul. And yet, I would I had o'erlook'd tlie letter.
It were a shame to call her back again,
And pray her to a fault for which I chid her.
"What fool is she, that knows I am a maid,
And would not force the letter to my view?
Since maids, in modesty, say No, to that
Which they would have the profferer construe, Ay.
Fie, fie ! how wayward is this foolish love,
That, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse.
And presently, all humbled, kiss the rod !
How churlishly I cliid Lucetta hence,
When villingly I would have had her here !
How mgrily I taught my brow to fro\vn,
When inward joy enforc'd my heart to smile !
jMy penance is, to call Lucetta back,
And ask remission for my folly past : —
What ho! Lucetta!
Re-enter Lucetta.
Luc. What would your ladyship ?
Jul. Is it near dinner time ?
Ltic. I would it were ;
riiat you might kill your stomach ^ on your meat,
And not upon your maid.
Jul. What is't you look up
So ;5inger.ly '(
Luc. Nothing.
Jul. Why didst thou stoop then ?
IjUc To take a paper up that I let fall.
Jul. And is that paper nothing ?
Luc Nothing concerning me.
Jul. Then let it lie for those that it concerns.
Luc. Madam, it will not lie where it concerns,
Unless it have a false interpreter.
Jul. Some love of yours hath writ to you in rhyme.
Luc. That I might sing it, madam, to a tune :
Give me a note : your ladyship can set.
Jul. As little by such toys as may be possible :
Best sing it to the tune of Light o love.
Luc. It is too heavy for so light a tune.
Jul. Heavy? belike it hatli some burden, then.
Luc Ay ; and melodious were it, would you sing
it.
Jul. And why not you ?
Luc I cannot reach so high.
Jul. Let's see your song : — How now, minion ?
Lite. Keep tune there still, so you will sing it out :
And yet, methinks, I do not like this tune.
Jul. You do not ?
Luc. No, madam ; it is too sharp.
Matchmaker.
Tassion or obetitwcy.
Jul. You, minion, are too saucy.
Lite. Nay, now you are too flat,
And mar the concord with too harsh a descan'
There wanteth but a mean ^ to fill your song.
Jul. The mean is drown'd with your unruly base.
Luc. Indeed I did the base 9 for Proteus.
Jul. This babble shall not henceforth trouble me.
Here is a coil' with protestation ! —
[Tears the letter.
Go, get you gone ; and let the papers lie :
You would be fingering them, to anger me.
Luc. She makes it strange; but she would be
best pleas'd
To be so anger'd with another letter. [Krit.
Jul. Nay, would I were so anger'd with the same !
0 hateful hands, to tear such loving words !
Injurious wasps ! to feed on such sweet honey,
And kill the bees, tliat yield it, with your stings !
I'll kiss each several paper for amends.
And here is writ — kirid Julia ; — unkind Julia !
As in revenge of thy ingratitude,
1 throw thy name against the bruising stones.
Trampling contemptuously on thy disdain.
Look, here is writ — love-wounded Proteus : —
Poor wounded name ! my bosom as a bed.
Shall lodge thee, till thy wound be throughly heal'd :
And thus I search it with a sovereign kiss.
But twice, or thrice, was Proteus written down ?
Be calm, good wind, blow not a word away.
Till I Iiave found each letter in tlie letter,
Except mine own name ; that some wliirlwind bear
Unto a ragged, fearful, lianging rock,.
And throw it thence into the raging sea !
Lo, here in one line is his name twice writ, —
Poor forlorn Proteus, passionate Proteus,
To the sweet Julia ; — that I'll tear away ;
And yet I will not, sith so prettily
He couples it to his complaining names :
Thus will I fold them one upon another ;
Now kiss, embrace, contend, do what you will.
Re-enter LncKTTA.
Luc. Madam, dinner's ready, and your fatliei
stays.
Jul. Well, let us go,
Luc. What, shall these papers lie like tell-tales
here ?
Jul. If you respect them, best to take them up.
Luc. Nay, I was taken up for laying them do\N n :
Yet here they shall not lie, for catching cold.
Jul. I see you have a montli's mind to tlicm.
Luc. Ay, madam, you may say what sights \ou
see ;
I see things too, although you judge I wink.
Jul. Come, come, will't please you go? [^Excunt.
SCENE III. — The same. A Room in Antonio's
House.
Enter Antonio and Panthino.
Ant. Tell me, Panthino, what sad 2 talk was that.
Wherewith my brother held you in the cloister?
Pant. 'Twas of his nephew Proteus, your son.
Ajit. Why, what of him ?
Pant. He wonder'd that your lordship
Would suffer him to spend his youth at home ;
While other men, of slender reputation, 3
7 A term in musick.
' A chaUengo.
2 Serious.
C 4
" The tenor in musick.
' Bustle, stir.
^ Little consequence.
24
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
Act II.
Put forth their sons to seek preferment out :
Some, to the wars, to try their fortune there ;
Some, to discover islands far away ;
Some, to the studious universities.
For any, or for all these exercises.
He said, that Proteus, your son, was meet ;
And did request me, to importune you,
To let him spend his time no more at home,
Which would be great impeachment ■* to his age.
In having known no travel in his youth.
Ant. Nor need'st thou much imp6rtune me to that
Whereon this month I have been hammering.
I have consider'd well his loss of time ;
And how he cannot be a perfect man,
Not being try'd and tutor'd in the world :
Experience is by industry atchiev'd,
And perfected by the swift course of time :
Then, tell me, whither were I best to send him ?
Pant. I think, your lordship is not ignorant.
How his companion, youthful Valentine,
Attends the emperor in his royal court.
Ant. I know it well.
Pant. 'Twere good, I think, your lordship sent
him thither :
There shall he practise tilts and tournaments.
Hear sweet discourse, converse with noblemen ;
And be in eye of every exercise
Worthy his youth and nobleness of birth.
Ant. I like thy counsel ; well hast thou advis'd :
And that thou may'st perceive how well I like it.
The execution of it shall make known j
Even with the speediest execution
I will dispatch him to the emperor's court.
Pant. To-morrow, may it please you, Don Al-
phonso.
With other gentlemen of good esteem.
Are journeying to salute the emperor.
And to commend their service to his will.
Ant. Good company; with them shall Proteus go;
And, in good time, — now will we break with him. ^
Enter Proteus.
Pro. Sweet love ! sweet lines ! sweet life !
Here is her hand the agent of her heart ;
Here is her oath for love, her honour's pawn :
O, that our fathers would applaud our loves,
To seal our happiness with their consents !
O heavenly Julia !
Am. How now? what letter are you reading
there?
Pro. May't please your lordship, 'tis a word or
two
Of commendation sent from Valentine,
Deliver'd by a friend that came from him.
A7it. Lend me the letter ; let me see what news.
Pro. There is no news, my lord ; but that he writes
How happily he lives, how well belov'd.
And daily graced by the emperor ;
Wishing me with him, partner of liis fortune.
Ant. And how stand you affected to his wish ?
Pro. As one relying on your lordship's will.
And not depending on his friendly vnsh.
Ant. My will is something sorted with his wish :
Muse 6 not that I thus suddenly proceed ;
For what I will, I will, and there an end.
I am resolv'd, that thou shalt spend some time
With Valentinus in the emperor's court ;
What maintenance he from his friends receives.
Like exhibition 7 thou shalt have from me.
To-morrow be in readiness to go :
Excuse it not, for I am peremptory.
Pro. My lord, I cannot be so soon provided;
Please you, deliberate a day or two.
Ant. Look, what thou want'st shall be sent after
thee ;
No more of stay ; to-morrow thou must go. —
Come on, Panthino ; you shall be employ'd
To hasten on his expedition.
[Exeunt Ant. a7id Pant.
Pro. Thus have I shunn'd the fire, for fear of
burning ;
And drench'd me in the sea, where I am drown'd :
I fear'd to shew my father Julia's letter,
Lest he should take exceptions to my love ;
A nd with the vantage of mine own excuse
Hath he excepted most against my love.
O, how this spring of love resembleth
The uncertain glory of an April day ;
Which now shews all the beauty of the sun.
And by and by a cloud takes all away !
He-enter Panthino.
Pant. Sir Proteus, your father calls for you ;
He is in haste, therefore, I pray you, go.
Pro. Why, this it is : my heart accords thereto ;
And yet a thousand times it answers, no. [Exeunt.
ACT 11.
SCENE L — Milan. An Apartment in the Duke's
Palace.
Enter Valentine and Speed.
Speed. Sir, your glove.
Val. Not mine : my gloves are on.
Speed. Why then this may be yours, for this is
but one.
Val. Ha ! let me see : ay, give it me, it's mine : —
Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine !
Ah Silvia ! Silvia !
Speed. Madam Silvia! madam Silvia!
Val. How now, sirrah ?
Speed. She is not within hearing, sir.
< Reproach.
Break the matter to him.
Val. Why, sir, who bade you call her ?
Speed. Your worship, sir ; or else I mistook.
Val. Well, you'll still be too forward.
Speed. And yet I was last chidden for being too
slow.
Val. Go to, sir ; tell me, do you know madam
Silvia?
Speed. She that your worship loves ?
Vol. Why, how know you that I am in love ?
Speed. Marry, by these special marks : First, you
have learned, like sir Proteus ; to wreath your arms
like a male-content ; to relish a love-song, like a
robin-red-breast ; to walk alone, like one that had
the pestilence ; to sigh, like a school-boy that had
6 Wonder.
Allowance.
Scene I.
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
25
lost his A, B, C ; to weep, like a girl that had
buried her grandam ; to fast, like one that takes
diet P ; to watch, like one that fears robbing; to speak
puling, like a beggar at Hallowmas. 9 You were
wont, when you laughed, to crow like a cock ; when
you walked, to walk like one of the lions ; when
you fasted, it was presently after dinner ; when you
looked sadly, it was for want of money : and now
you are metamorphosed with a mistress, that, when
I look on you, I can hardly think you my master.
Val. Are all these things perceived in me ?
Speed. They are all perceived without you.
Val. Without me ? They cannot.
Speed. Without you ? nay, that's certain, for
without you were so simple, none else would : but
you are so without these follies, that these follies are
within you.
Fal. But, tell me, dost thou know my lady Silvia ?
Speed. She, that you gaze on so, as she sits at
supper ?
Val. Hast thou observed that ? even she I mean.
Speed. Why, sir, I know her not.
Val. Dost thou know her by my gazing on her,
and yet know'st her not ?
Speed. Is she not hard favoured, sir ?
VaJ, Not so fair, boy, as well favoured.
Speed. Sir, I know that well enough.
Val. What dost thou know ?
Speed. That she is not so fair, as (of you) well
favoured.
Val. I mean, that her beauty is exquisite, but her
favour infinite.
Speed. That's because the one is painted, and the
other out of all count.
Val. How painted ? and how out of count ?
Speed. Marry, sir, so painted, to make her fair,
that no man counts of her beauty.
Vol. How esteemest thou me ? I account of her
beauty.
Speed. You never saw her since she was deformed.
Vol. How long hath she been deformed ?
Speed. Ever since you loved her.
Vol. I have loved her ever since I saw her ; and
still I see her beautiful.
Speed. If you love her, you cannot see her.
Val. Why?
Speed. Because love is blind. O, that you had
mine eyes ; or your own had the lights they were
wont to have, when you chid at sir Proteus for going
ungartered.
Val. What should I see then ?
Speed. Your own present folly, and her passing
deformity : for he, being in love, could not see to
garter liis hose ; and you, being in love, cannot see
to put on your hose.
Val. Belike, boy, then you are in love ; for last
morning you could not see to wipe my shoes.
Speed. True, sir ; I was in love with my bed : I
thank you, you swinged ' me for my love, which
makes me the bolder to chide you for yours.
Val. Last night she enjoined me to write some
lines to one she loves.
Speed. And have you ?
Val. I have.
Sj)€ed. Are tliey not lamely writ ?
Vai. No, boy, but as well as I can do them : —
Peace, here she comes.
" Under a rogimcn.
> Whipped.
9 AUhallowniaa.
Eyiter Silvia.
Speed. O excellent motion ! ■' O exceeding puppet !
now will he interpret to her.
Val. Madam and mistress, a thousand good-mor-
rows.
Speed. O, give you good even ! here's a million
of manners. [Asule.
Sil. Sir Valentine and servant, to you two thousand.
Speed. He should give her interest ; and she gives
it him.
Val. As you enjoin'd me, I have writ your letter.
Unto the secret nameless friend of yours ;
Which I was much unwilling to proceed in.
But for my duty to your ladyship.
Sil. I thank you, gentle servant ; 'tis very clerkly 3
done.
Val. Now trust me, madam, it came hardly off;
For being ignorant to whom it goes,
I writ at random, very doubtfully.
SU. Perchance you tliink too much of so much
pains?
Val. No, madam ; so it stead you, I will write.
Please you command, a thousand times as much :
And yet, —
Sil. A pretty period ! Well, I guess the sequel ;
And yet I will not name it : — and yet I care not ;
And yet take this again ; — and yet I thank you ;
Meaning henceforth to trouble you no more.
Speed. And yet you will ; and yet another yet.
[A^ide.
Val. What means your ladyship ? do you not
like it?
Sil. Yes, yes ; the lines are very quaintly writ
But since unwillingly, take them again ;
Nay, take them.
Val. Madam, they are for you.
SU. Ay, ay ; you writ them, sir, at my request :
But I will none of them ; they are for you :
I would have had them writ more movingly.
Val. Please you, I'll write your ladyship another.
5^. And, when it's writ, for my sake read it over ;
And, if it please you, so ; if not, why, so.
Val. If it please me, madam ! what then ?
Sil. Why, if it please you, take it for your labour ;
And so good-morrow, servant. [Exii Silvia.
Speed. O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible.
As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a
steeple !
My master sues to her; and she hath taught her suitor.
He being her pupil, to become her tutor.
O excellent device ! was there ever heard a better ?
That my master, being scribe, to himself should
write the letter ?
Val. How now, sir? what are you reasoning with
yourself?
Speed. Nay, I was rhyming; 'tis you tliat have
the reason.
Val. To do what ?
Speed. To be a spokesman from madam Silvia.
Val. To whom ?
Speed. To yourself: why, she wooes you by a
figure ?
Vol. What figure ?
Speed. By a letter, I should say.
Vol. Why, she hath not writ to me.
Sj>eed. What need she, when she hatli matle you
write to yourself? Why, do you not perceive the jest ?
A ptippci-*how.
3 like a scholar.
26
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
Act II.
Val. No, believe me.
Speed. No believing you, indeed, sir: But did
you perceive her earnest ?
Val. She gave me none, except an angry word.
Speed. Why, she hath given you a letter.
Val. That's the letter I writ to her friend.
Speed. And that letter hath she delivered, and
there an end.
Val. I would, it were no worse.
Speed. I'll warrant you, 'tis as well.
For often you have writ to her ; and she, in modesty.
Or else for want of idle time, could not again reply ;
Or fearing else some messenger, that might lier mind
discover.
Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her
lover. —
All this I speak in print ; for in print I found it. —
Why muse you, sir ? 'tis dinner-time.
Val. I have dined.
Speed. Ay, but hearken, sir : though the came-
leon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am
nourished by my victuals, and would fain have meat :
O, be not like your mistress ; be moved, be moved.
{^Exeunt.
SCENE II. — Verona. J Room in Julia's House.
Enter Proteus and Julia.
Pro. Have patience, gentle Julia.
Jul. I must, where is no remedy.
Pro. When possibly I can, I will return.
Jul. If you turn not, you will return the sooner :
Keep this remembrance for thy Julia's sake.
\_Giving a ring.
Pro. Why then we'll make exchange ; here take
you this.
Jul. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.
Pro. Here is my hand for my true constancy ;
And when that hour o'erslips me in the day.
Wherein I sigh not, Julia, for thy sake.
The next ensuing hour some foul mischance
Torment me for my love's forgetful ness !
My father stays my coming ; answer not ;
The tide is now : nay, not the tide of tears ;
That tide will stay me longer than I should :
l^ExU Julia.
Julia, farewell. — What ! gone without a word ?
Ay, so true love should do ; it cannot speak ;
For truth hath better deeds, than words, to grace it,
Enter Panthino.
Pant. Sir Proteus, you are staid for.
Pro. Go ; I come, I come ; —
Alas ! this parting strikes poor lovers dumb.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. — The same. A Street.
Enter Launce, leading a dog.
Laun. Nay, it will be this hour ere I have done
weeping ; all the kind^ of the Launces have this
very fault : I have received my proportion, like the
prodigious son, and am going with sir Proteus to
the Imperial's court. I think, Crab my dog be the
sourest-natured dog that lives : my mother weeping,
my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid howl-
ing, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house
in a great perplexity, yet did not this crucl-hcarted
■* Kindred.
cur shed one tear ; he is a stone, a very pebble-
stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog : a
Jew would have wept to have seen our parting ;
why, my grandam having no eyes, look you, wept
herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show you
the manner of it : This shoe is my father ; — no
this left shoe is my father ; — no, no, this left shoe
is my mother ; — nay, that cannot be so neither ; —
yes, it is so, it is so ; it hath the worser sole ; This
shoe is my mother, and this my father; A ven-
geance on't ! there 'tis : now, sir, this staff is my
sister; for, look you, she is as white as a lily,
and as small as a wand : this hat is Nan, our
maid ; I am the dog : — no, the dog is himself,
and I am the dog ; — O, the dog is me, and I am
myself; ay, so, so. Now come I to my father;
Father, your blessing ; now should not the shoe speak
a word for weeping ; now should I kiss my father ;
well, he weeps on : — now come I to my mother, (O,
that she could speak now !) like a wood ^ woman ; —
well, I kiss her ; — why there 'tis ; here's my
mother's breath up and down ; now come I to my
sister ; mark the moan she makes ; now the dog all
this while sheds not a tear, nor speaks a word ; but
see how I lay the dust with my tears.
Enter Panthino.
Pant. Launce, away, away, aboard ; thy master
is shipped, and thou art to post after with oars.
What's the matter ? why weepest thou, man ? Away,
ass ; you will lose the tide, if you tarry any longer.
Laun. It is no matter if the ty'd were lost : for
it is the unkindest ty'd that ever man ty'd.
Pant. What's the unkindest tide ?
Laun. Why, he that's ty'd here ; Crab, my dog.
Pant. Tut, man, I mean thou'lt lose the flood ;
and, in losing the flood, lose thy voyage ; and, in
losing thy voyage, lose thy master ; and, in losing
thy master, lose thy service ; and, in losing thy
service, —
Laun. Lose the tide, and the voyage, and the
master, and the service ? The tide ! — Why, man, if
the river were dry, I am able to fill it with my
tears; if the wind were down, I could drive the
boat with my sighs.
Pant. Come, come away, man ; I was sent to
call thee.
Laun. Sir, call me what thou darest.
Pant. Wilt thou go ?
Laun. Well, I will go. \^Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Milan. An Apart?nent in the Duke's
Palace.
Enter Valentine, Silvia, Thurio, aiid Speed.
Sil. Servant —
Vol. Mistress?
Speed. Master, sir Thurio frowns on you.
Val. Ay, boy, it's for love.
Speed. Not of you.
Val. Of my mistress then.
Speed. 'Twere good, you knock'd him.
Sil. Servant, you are sad.^
Val. Indeed, madam, I seem so.
Thu. Seem you that you are not ?
Val. Haply, I do.
Thu. So do counterfeits.
Val. So do you.
^ Crazy, distracted.
^ Serious.
Scene IV.
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
27
7%?^. What seem I tliat I am not?
Val. Wise.
T/iu. What instance of the contrary?
Vol. Your folly.
Thu. And how quote 7 you my folly ?
Fal. I quote it in your jerkin.
Thu. My jerkin is a doublet.
Fal. Well, then, I'll double your folly.
Thu. How?
Sil. What, angry, sir Thurio? do you change
colour?
Vol. Give him leave, madam; he is a kind of
cameleon.
Thu. That hath more mind to feed on your
blood, than live in your air.
Vol. You have said, sir.
Thu. Ay, sir, and done too, for this time.
VcU. I know it well, sir ; you always end ere
you begin.
Sil. A fine volley of words, gentlemen, and
quickly shot off.
Val. 'Tis indeed, madam ; we thank the giver.
Sii. Who is that, servant ?
Val. Yourself, sweet lady ; for you gave the fire .
sir Thurio borrows his wit from your ladyship's
looks, and spends what he borrows, kindly in your
company.
Thu. Sir, if you spend word for word with me,
I shall make your wit bankrupt.
Val. I know it well, sir ; you have an exchequer
of words, and I think no other treasure to give your
followers : for it appears by their bare liveries, that
tliey live by your bare words.
Sil. No more, gentlemen, no more ; here comes
my father.
Enter Duke.
Buke. Now, daughter Silvia, you are hard beset.
Sir Valentine, your father's in good health : •
WJiat say you to a letter from your friends
Of much good news ?
Val. My lord, I will be thankful
To any hajipy messenger from thence.
Duke. Know you Don Antonio, your countrjonan ?
Val. Ay, my good lord, I know the gentleman
To be of worth, and worthy estimation.
And not without desert so well reputed.
Duke. Hath he not a son ?
Val. Ay, my good lord ; a son that well deserves
The honour and regard of such a father.
Duke. You know him well ?
Val. I knew him as myself ; for from our infancy
We have conversed and spent our hours together ;
And though myself have been an idle truant,
Omitting the sweet benefit of time,
To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection ;
Yet hath sir Proteus, for tliat's his name,
Made use and fair advantage of his days ;
His years but young, but his experience old ;
His head unmellow'd, but his judgment ripe ;
And, in a word, (for far behind his worth
Come all the praises that I now bestow,)
He is complete in feature, and in mind,
With all good grace to grace a gentleman.
Duke. Beshrew me, sir, but, if he make this good,
He is as worthy for an empress' love.
As meet to be an emperor's counsellor.
Well, sir ; tliis gentleman is come to me,
Witli commendation from great potentates ;
7 Note, observe.
And here he means to spend his time a-while :
I think, 'tis no unwelcome news to you.
Val. Should I have wish'd a thing, it had been he.
Duke. Welcome him then according to his worth :
Silvia, I speak to you ; and you, sir Thurio :
For Valentine, I need not 'cite ^ him to it :
I'll send him hither to you presently. [Ent Duke.
Val. This is the gentleman, I told your ladyship,
Had come along witli me, but that his mistress
Did hold his eyes lock'd in her crystal looks.
Sil. Belike tliat now she hath enfranchis'd them
Upon some other pawn for fealty.
Val. Nay, sure, I think she holds them prisoners
still.
Sil. Nay, then he should be blind ; and being
blind,
How could he see his way to seek out you ?
Val. Why, lady, love hath twenty pair of eyes.
Thu. They say that love hath not an eye at all.
Vol. To see such lovers, Thurio, as yourself;
Upon a homely object love can wink.
Enter Proteus.
Sil. Have done, have done ; here comes the gen-
tleman.
Val. Welcome, dear Proteus ! — Mistress, I be-
seech you,
Confirm his welcome with some special favour.
Sil. His worth is warrant for his welcome hitlicr,
If this be he you oft have wish'd to hear from.
Val. Mistress, it is : sweet lady, entertain him
To be my fellow-servant to your ladyship.
Sil. Too low a mistress for so high a servant.
Pro. Not so, sweet lady ; but too mean a servant
To have a look of such a worthy mistress.
Val. Leave off discourse of disability : —
Sweet lady, entertain him for your servant.
Pro. My duty will I boast of, nothing else.
Sil. And duty never yet did want his meed ;
Servant, you are welcome to a worthless mistress.
Pro. I'll die on him that says so, but yourself.
Sil. Tliat you are welcome ?
Pro. No ; that you are wortliless.
Enter Servant.
Ser. Madam, my lord your father would sjicak
with you.
Sil. I'll wait upon his pleasure. [Exit Servant.
Come, sir Thurio,
Go with me : — Once more, new servant, welcome :
I'll leave you to confer of home-affairs ;
When you have done, we look to hear from you.
Pro. We'll both attend upon your ladyship.
[Exeunt Silvia, Thurio, atid Speed.
Vnl. Now, tell me, how do all from whence you
came ?
Pro. Your friends are well, and have them much
commended.
Vai. And how do yours ?
Pro. I lefl them all in health.
Val. How does your lady ? and how thrives your
love?
Pro. My tales of love were wont to weary you ;
I know you joy not in a love-discourse.
Val. Ay, Proteus, but that life is alter'd now;
I have done penance for contemning love ;
Whose high imi)erious thoughts have punish'd me
With bitter fasts, with penitential groans,
" Incite.
28
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
Act II.
With nightly tears, anil daily heart-sore sighs ;
For, in revenge of my contempt of love,
Love hath chas'd sleep from my enthralled eyes,
And made them watchers of mine own heart's sorrow.
O, gentle Proteus, love's a mighty lord ;
And hath so humbled me, as I confess,
There is no woe to his correction,
Nor, to his service, no such joy on earth !
Now, no discourse, except it be of love ;
Now can I break my fast, dine, sup, and sleep,
Upon the very naked name of love.
Pro. Enough ; I read your fortune in your eye :
Was this the idol that you worship so ?
Val. Even she ; and is she not a heavenly saint ?
Pro. No ; but she is an earthly paragon.
Val. Call her divine.
Pro. I will not flatter her.
Val. O, flatter me ; for love delights in praises.
Pro. When I was sick, you gave me bitter pills ;
And I must minister the like to you.
Val. Then speak the truth by her ; if not divine,
Yet let her be a principality,
Sovereign to all the creatures on the earth.
Pro. Except my mistress,
Val. Sweet, except not any ;
Except thou wilt except against my love.
Pro. Have I not reason to prefer mine own ?
Val. And I will help thee to prefer her too :
She shall be dignified with this high honour, —
To bear my lady's train ; lest the base earth
Should from her vesture chance to steal a kiss.
And, of so great a favour growing proud,
Disdain to root the summer-swelling flower,
And make rough winter everlastingly.
Pro. Why, Valentine, what braggardism is this ?
Val. Pardon me, Proteus ; all I c^n, is nothing ;
To her, whose worth makes other worthies nothing ;
She is alone.
Pro. Then let her alone.
Val. Not for the world : why, man, she is mine
own ;
And I as rich in having such a jewel.
As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl.
The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.
Forgive me, that I do not dream on thee.
Because thou seest me dote upon my love.
My foolish rival, that her father likes.
Only for his possessions are so huge.
Is gone with her along ; and I must after,
For love, thou know'st, is full of jealousy.
Pro. But she loves you ?
Val. Ay, and we are betroth'd ;
Nay, more, our marriage hour,
With all the cunning manner of our flight,
Determin'd of : how I must climb her window ;
The ladder made of cords ; and all the means
Plotted, and 'greed on, for my happiness.
Good Proteus, go with me to my chamber.
In these affairs to aid me with thy counsel.
Pro. Go on before ; I shall enquire you forth :
I must unto the road, to disembark
Some necessaries that I needs must use ;
And then I'll presently attend you.
Val. Will you make haste ?
Pro. I will. — [Exit Val.
Even as one heat another heat expels,
Or as one nail by strength drives out another.
So the remembrance of my former love
Is by a newer object quite forgotten.
Is it mine eye, or Valentinus' praise.
Her true perfection, or my false transgression.
That makes me, reasonless, to reason thus ?
She's fair ; and so is Julia, that I love : —
That I did love, for now my love is thaw'd ;
Which, like a waxen image 'gainst a fire,
Bears no impression of the thing it was.
Methinks, my zeal to Valentine is cold ;
And that I love him not, as I was wont :
O ! but I love his lady too, too much ;
And that's the reason I love him so little.
How shall I dote on her with more advice 9,
That thus without advice begin to love her ?
'Tis but her picture I have yet beheld,
And that hath dazzled my reason's light ;
But when I look on her perfections,
There is no reason but I shall be blind.
If I can check my erring love, I will ;
If not, to compass her I'll use my skill. \^Ej.it.
SCENE V. — The same. A Street.
Enter Speed and Launce.
Speed. Launce ! by nline honesty, welcome to
Milan.
Laun. Forswear not thyself, sweet youth ; for I
am not welcome. I reckon this always — that a
man is never undone, till he be hanged ; nor never
welcome to a place, till some certain shot be paid,
and the hostess say welcome.
Speed. Come on, you mad-cap, I'll to the ale-
house vnth you presently ; where, for one shot of
five-pence, thou shalt have five thousand welcomes.
But, sirrah, how did thy master part with madam
Julia?
Laun. Marry, after they closed in earnest, they
parted very fairly in jest.
Speed. But shall she marry him ?
Laun. No,
Speed. How then ? shall he marry her ?
Laun. No, neither.
Speed. What, are they broken?
Laun. No, they are both as whole as a fish.
Speed. What an ass art thou ! I understand tliee not.
Laun. What a block art thou, that thou canst
not ! My staflP understands me.
Speed. What thou say'st ?
Lau7i. Ay, and what I do too : look thee, I'll
but lean, and my staff understands me.
Speed. It stands under thee, indeed.
Laun. Why, stand under and understand is all one.
Speed. But tell me true, wiO't be a match ?
Laun. Ask my dog : if he say, ay, it will ; if
he say, no, it will ; if he shake his tail, and say
nothing, it will.
Speed. The conclusion is then, that it will.
Laun. Thou shalt never get such a secret from
me, but by a parable.
Speed. 'Tis well that I get it so. But, Launce,
how say'st thou, that my master has become a nota-
ble lover ?
Laun. I never knew him otherwise.
Speed. Than how ?
Laun. A notable lubber, as thou reportest him
to be.
Speed. Why, thou ass, thou mistakest me.
Laun. Why, fool, I meant not thee; I meant
thy master.
Sjyeed. I tell thee, my master is become a hot lover.
9 On further knowledge.
I
Scene VII.
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
29
Lnnn. Why, I tell thee, I care not though he
burn himself in love. If thou wilt go with me to
the alehouse, so; wilt thou go?
Speed. At thy service. [Exeunt.
SCENE VI. — The same. An AjMrtment in the
" Palace.
Enter Proteus.
Pro. To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn ;
To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn ;
To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn ;
And even that power, which gave me first my oath.
Provokes me to this threefold perjury.
Love bade me swear, and love bids me forswear :
0 sweet-suggesting • love, if thou hast sinn'd.
Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it.
At first I did adore a twinkling star,
But now I worship a celestial sun.
Unheedful vows may heedfully be broken ;
And he wants wit, that wants resolved will
To learn his wit to exchange the bad for better. —
Fie, fie, unreverend tongue ! to call her bad.
Whose sovereignty so oft thou hast preferr'd
With twenty thousand soul -confirming oaths.
1 cannot leave to love, and yet I do ;
But there I leave to love, where I should love.
Julia I lose, and Valentine I lose :
If I keep them, I needs must lose myself;
If I lose them, thus find I by their loss,
For Valentine, myself; for Julia, Silvia.
I to myself am dearer than a friend ;
For love is still more precious in itself:
And Silvia, witness heaven, that made her fair !
Shews Julia but a swarthy Ethiope.
I will forget that Julia is alive,
Rememb'ring that my love to her is dead ;
And Valentine I'll hold an enemy.
Aiming at Sylvia as a sweeter friend.
I cannot now prove constant to myself.
Without some treachery used to Valentine : —
This night he meanetli with a corded ladder
To climb celestial Silvia's chamber-window ;
Myself in counsel, his competitor 2 :
Now presently I'll give her father notice
Of their disguising, and pretended 3 flight ;
Who, all enrag'd, will banish Valentine ;
For Thurio, he intends, shall wed his daughter :
But Valentine being gone, I'll quickly cross,
By some sly trick, blunt Thurio's dull proceeding.
Love, lend me wings to make my purpose swift.
As tliou hast lent me wit to plot this drift ! [Exit.
SCENE VII. — Verona. A Room in Julia's House.
Enter Julia and Lucetta.
Jul. Counsel, Lucetta; gentle girl, assist me !
And, even in kind love, I do conjure thee, —
Who art the table wherein all my thoughts
Are visibly character 'd and engraved, —
To lesson me ; and tell me some good mean,
How, with my honour, I may undertake
A journey to my loving Proteus.
L71C. Alas ! the way is wearisome and long.
./«/. A true devoted pilgrim is not weary
To measure kingdoms with his feeble steps :
Much less shall she, that hath love's wings to fly :
And when the flight is made to one so dear,
Of such divine perfection, as sir Proteus.
Luc* Better forbear, till Proteus make return.
Tempting
' Confederate.
3 Intended.
Jid. O, know'st thou not, his looks are my soul's
food?
Pity the deartli that I have pined in.
By longing for that food so long a time.
Didst thou but know the inly touch of love.
Thou would'st as soon go kindle fire with snow.
As seek to quench the fire of love with words.
Luc. I do not seek to quench your love's hot fire ;
But qualify the fire's extreme rage.
Lest it should burn above the bounds of reason.
Jul. The more thou dam'st it up, the more it bums ;
The current, that with gentle murmur glides.
Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage ;
But, when his fair course is not hindered.
He makes sweet music with the enamel'd stones.
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage ;
And so by many winding nooks he strays.
With willing sport to the wild ocean.
Tlien let me go, and hinder not my course :
I'll be as patient as a gentle stream.
And make a pastime of each weary step.
Till the last step have brought me to my love ;
And there I'll rest, as, after much turmoil +,
A blessed soul doth in Elysium.
Ltic. But in what habit will you go along ?
Jul. Not like a woman ; for I would prevent
The loose encounters of lascivious men :
Gentle Lucetta, fit me with such weeds
As may beseem some well-reputed page.
Luc. Why then your ladyship must cut your hair.
Jul. No, girl ; I'll knit it up in silken strings,
With twenty odd-conceited true-love knots :
To be fantastic may become a youth
Of greater time than I shall show to be.
But tell me, wench, how will the world repute me,
For undertaking so unstaid a journey ?
I fear me, it will make me scandaliz'd.
Luc. If you think so, then stay at home, and go not.
Jtd. Nay, that I will not.
Luc. Then never dream on infamy, but go.
If Proteus like your journey, when you come.
No matter who's displeas'd, when you are gone :
I fear me, he will scarce be pleas'd withal.
Jul. That is the least, Lucetta, of my fear :
A tliousand oaths, an ocean of his tears,
And instances as infinite of love.
Warrant me welcome to my Proteus.
Ltic All these are servants to deceitful men.
Jul. Base men that use them to so base eflfect !
But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth :
His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles ;
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate ;
His tears pure messengers sent from his heart ;
His heart as far from fraud, as heaven from earth.
Luc. Pray heaven, he prove so, when you come
to him !
Jul. Now, as thou lov'st me, do him not that wrong,
To bear a hard opinion of his truth :
Only deserve my love, by loving liim ;
And presently go with me to my chamber,
To take a note of what I stand in need of.
To furnish me upon my longing * journey.
All that is mine I leave at tliy dispose.
My goods, my lands, my reputation ;
Only in lieu thereof, despatch me hence :
Come, answer not, but to it presently ;
I am impatient of my tarriance. [Ereimt.
Trouble.
» Longed for.
30
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
Act III.
ACT III.
SCENE I Milan. An Ante-room in the Duke'5
Palace.
Enter Duke, Thurio, and Proteus.
Duhe. Sir Thurio, give us leave, I pray awhile ;
We have some secrets to confer about —
\^ExU Thurio.
Now, tell me, Proteus, what's your will with me ?
Pro. My gracious lord, that which I would dis-
cover.
The law of friendship bids me to conceal :
But, when I call to mind your gracious favours
Done to me, undeserving as I am.
My duty pricks me on to utter that
Which else no worldly good should draw from me.
Know, worthy prince, sir Valentine, my friend,
This night intends to steal away your daughter ;
Myself am one made privy to the plot.
I know, you have determin'd to bestow her
On Thurio, whom your gentle daughter hates ;
And should she thus be stolen away from you.
It would be much vexation to your age.
Thus, for my duty's sake, I rather chose
To cross my friend in his intended drift.
Than, by concealing it, heap on your head
A pack of soiTows, which would press you down.
Being unprevented, to your timeless grave.
Duke. Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care ;
Wliich to requite, command me while I live.
This love of theirs myself have often seen.
Haply, when they have judged me fast asleep ;
And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid
Sir Valentine her company, and my court :
But, fearing lest my jealous aim 6 might err.
And so, unworthily, disgrace the man,
(A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd,)
I gave him gentle looks ; thereby to find
That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me.
And, that thou may'st perceive my fear of this,
Knowing that tender youth is soon suggested ',
I nightly lodge her in an upper tower.
The key whereof myself have ever kept ;
And thence she cannot be convey'd away.
Pro. Know, noble lord, they have devis'd a mean
How he her chamber window will ascend.
And with a corded ladder fetch her down ;
For which the youthful lover now is gone.
And this way comes he with it presently ;
Where, if it please you, you may intercept him.
But, good my lord, do it so cunningly,
That my discovery be not aim'd 8 at ;
For love of you, not hate unto my friend.
Hath made me publisher of this pretence. 9
Duke. Upon mine honour, he shall never know
That I had any light from thee of this.
Pro. Adieu, my lord ; sir Valentine is coming.
[Exit.
Enter Valentine.
Duke. Sir Valentine, whither away so fast ?
Val. Please it your grace, there is a messenger
That stays to bear my letters to my friends,
And I am going to deliver them.
6 Guess.
* Guessed.
^ Tempted.
9 Design.
Duke. Be they of much import?
Val. The tenor of them doth but signify
My health, and happy being at your court.
Duke. Nay, then no matter ; stay with me a while ;
I am to break with thee of some affairs.
That touch me near, wherein thou must be secret.
'Tis not unknown to thee, that I have sought
To match my friend, sir Thurio, to my daughter.
Vul. I know it well, my lord ; and, sure, the match
Were rich and honourable ; besides, the gentleman
Is full of virtue, bounty, worth, and qualities
Beseeming such a wife as your fair daughter :
Cannot your grace win her to fancy him ?
Duke. No, trust me ; she is peevish, sullen, fro-
ward.
Proud, disobedient, stubborn, lacking duty ;
Neither regarding that she is my child.
Nor fearing me as if I were her father :
And, may I say to thee, this pride of hers.
Upon advice, hath drawn my love from her ;
And, where I thought the remnant of mine age
Should have been cherish'd by her child-like duty,
I now am full resolved to take a wife.
And turn her out to who will take her in :
Then let her beauty be her wedding dower ;
For me and my possessions she esteems not.
Val. What would your grace have me to do in this ?
Duke. There is a lady, sir, in Milan, here.
Whom I affect ; but she is nice and coy.
And nought esteems my aged eloquence :
Now, therefore, would I have thee to my tutor,
( For long agone I have forgot to court :
Besides, the fashion of the time is chang'd ;)
How, and which way, I may bestow myself.
To be regarded in her sun-bright eye.
Val. Win her with gifts, if she respect not words;
Dumb jewels often, in their silent kind.
More than quick words, do move a woman's mind.
Duke. But she did scorn a present that I sent her.
Val. A woman sometimes scorns what best con-
tents her :
Send her another ; never give her o'er ;
For scorn at first makes after-love the more.
If she do frown, 'tis not in hate of you.
But rather to beget more love in you :
If she do chide, 'tis not to have you gone ;
For why, the fools are mad, if left alone.
Take no repulse, whatever she doth say ;
For, get you gone, she doth not mean, away :
Flatter, and praise, commend, extol their graces
Though ne'er so black, say, they have angels' faces.
That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man.
If with his tongue he cannot win a woman.
Duke. But she, I mean, is promis'd by her friends
Unto a youthful gentleman of worth ;
And kept severely from resort of men.
That no man hath access by day to her.
Val. Why then I would resort to her by night.
Duke. Ay, but the doors be lock'd, and keys kept
safe.
That no man hath recourse to her by night.
Val. What lets, but one may enter at her window?
Duke. Her chamber is aloft, far from the ground j
And built so shelving, that one cannot climb it
Without apparent hazard of his life.
Scene I.
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
31
Vol. Why then, a ladder, quauntly made of cords,
To cast up with a pair of anchoring hooks,
Would serve to scale another Hero's tower,
So bold Leander would adventure it.
Duke> Now, as thou art a gentleman of blood.
Advise me where I may have such a ladder.
Val. When would you use it? pray, sir, tell me that.
Diike. This very night ; for love is like a child,
That longs for every tiling that he can come by.
Val. By seven o'clock 1*11 get you such a ladder.
Duke. But, hark thee ; I will go to her alone j
How shall I best convey the ladder thither ?
Val. It will be light, my lord, that you may bear it
Under a cloak, that is of any length.
Duke. A cloak as long as thine will serve the
turn?
Val. Ay, my good lord.
Duke. Then let me see thy cloak ;
I'll get me one of such another length.
Val. Why, any cloak will serve the turn, my lord.
Duke. How shall I fashion me to wear a cloak? —
I pray tliee, let me feel thy cloak upon me. —
What letter is this same ? What's here ? — To Silvia.
And here an engine fit for my proceeding !
I'll be so bold to break the seal for once. [Reads.
My thoughts do harbour with my Silvia nightly;
And slaves they are to me, that send themjlyiyig:
0, could their master come and go as lightly.
Himself would lodge, where senseless they are lying.
My herald thoughts in thy pure bosom, rest them ;
WhUe I, their king, that thither them importune.
Do curse the grace that with such grace hath blcss'd
them,
Because myself do want my servant^ sjbrtune .-
/ curse myself, for they are sent by me,
That they should harbour where their lord should be.
What's here ?
Silvia, this night I will enfranchise thee :
'Tis so ; and here's the ladder for the purpose. —
Why, Phaeton (for thou art Merops' son),
Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car.
And with thy daring folly bum the world ?
Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee ?
Go, base intruder ! over-weening slave !
Bestow thy fawning smiles on equal mates ;
And think, my patience, more than thy desert.
Is privilege for thy departure hence :
Tliank me for this, more than for all the favours,
Which, all too much, I have bestow'd on thee.
But if tliou linger in my territories,
Longer than swiftest expedition
Will give thee time to leave our royal court.
By heaven, my wrath shall far exceed the love
I ever bore my daughter, or thyself.
Begone, I will not hear thy vain excuse.
But, as thou lov'st thy life, make speed from hence.
[Exit DOKE.
Val. And why not death, rather than live in tor-
ment?
To die, is to be banishM from myself;
And Silvia is myself; banish'd from her,
Is self from self; a deadly banishment !
What light is light, if Silvia be not seen ?
What joy is joy, if Silvia be not by ?
Unless it be to think that she is by.
And feed upon the shadow of peifection.
Except I be by Silvia in the night.
There is no musick in the nightingale •
Unless 1 look on Silvia in the day,
There is no day for me to look upon :
She is my essence ; and I leave to be,
If I be not by her fair influence
Foster'd, illumin'd, cherish'd, kept alive.
I fly not death, to fly his deadly doom :
Tarry I here, I but attend on death ;
But, fly I hence, I fly away from life.
Enter Proteus and Launce.
Pro. Run, boy, run, run, and seek him out.
Laun. So-ho ! so-ho !
Vro. What seest thou ?
Laun. Him we go to find : there's not a hair
on's head, but 'tis a Valentine.
Pro. Valentine ?
Val. No.
Pro. Who then ? his spirit ?
Val. Neither.
Pro. What then ?
Vol. Nothing.
Laun. Can nothing speak ? master, shall I strike?
Pro. Whom would'st thou strike ?
Laun. Nothing.
Pro. Villain, forbear.
Laun. Why, sir, I'll strike nothing : I pray you,—
Pro. Sirrah, I say, forbear ; Friend Valentine, a
word.
Vol. My ears are stopp'd, and cannot hear good
news.
So much of bad already hath possess'd them.
Pro. Then in dumb silence will I bury mine
For they are harsh, untunable, and bad.
Val. Is Silvia dead ?
Pro. No, Valentine.
Val. No Valentine, indeed, for sacred Silvia ! —
Hath she forsworn me ?
Pro. No, Valentine.
Val. No Valentine, if Silvia have forsworn me ! —
What is your news ?
Laun. Sir, there's a proclamation that you are
vanish'd.
Pro. That thou art banished, O, that's the news;
From hence, from Silvia, and from me thy friend.
Val. O, I have fed upon this woe already.
And now excess of it will make me siu^eit.
Doth Silvia know that I am banished ?
Pro. Ay, ay ; and she hath oflTer'd to the doom,
(Which, unrevers'd, stands in effectual force,)
A sea of melting pearl, which some call tears :
Those at her father's churlish feet she tender'd ;
With them, upon her knees, her humble self;
Wringing her hands, whose whiteness so became them.
As if but now they waxed pale for woe :
But neither bended knees, pure hands held up,
Sad sighs, deep groans, nor silver-shedding tears.
Could penetrate her uncompassionate sire ;
But Valentine, if he be ta'en, must die.
Besides, her intercession chaTd him so.
When she for thy repeal was suppliant,
That to close prison he commanded her.
With many bitter threats of 'biding there.
Vul. No more ; unless the next word that thou
speak'st.
Have some malignant power upon my life :
If so, I pray thee, breathe it in mine ear,
As ending anthem of my endless dolour.
Pro. Cease to lament for that thou canst not help.
And study help for tliat which tliou lament'st.
Time is the nurse and breeder of all good.
Here if thou stay, thou canst not see thy love ;
32
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Act III. Scene II.
Besides, thy staying will abridge thy life.
Hope is a lover's stall'; walk hence with that,
And manage it against despairing thoughts.
Thy letters may be here, though thou art hence ;
"Which, being writ to me, shall be deliver'd
Even in the milk-white bosom of thy love.
The time now serves not to expostulate :
Come, I'll convey thee through the city gate ;
And, ere I part with thee, confer at large
Of all that may concern thy love affairs :
As thou lov'st Silvia, though not for thyself,
Regard thy danger, and along with me.
Val. I pray thee, Launce, an if thou seest my boy.
Bid him make haste, and meet me at the north gate.
Pro. Go, sirrali, find him out. Come, Valentine.
Val. O my dear Silvia ! hapless Valentine !
[Exeunt Valentine ajid Proteus.
Laun. I am but a fool, look you ; and yet I have
the wit to think my master is a kind of a knave :
but that's all one, if he but one knave. He lives
not now, that knows me to be in love : yet I am in
love ; but a team of horse shall not pluck that from
me ; nor who 'tis I love, and yet 'tis a woman : but
what woman, I will not tell myself.
Enter Speed.
Speed. How now, signior Launce ? what news
with your mastership ?
Laun. With my master's ship ? why, it is at sea.
Speed. Well, your old vice still; mistake the
word : What news then in your paper ?
Laun. The blackest news, that ever thou heard'st.
Speed. Why, man, how black ?
Laun, Why, as black as ink.
Sp^ed. Let me read them.
Laun. Fie on thee, jolt-head; thou canst not read.
Speed. Thou liest, I can.
Laun. I will try thee.
Speed. Come, fool, come : try me in thy paper.
Laun. There ; and saint Nicholas 9 be thy speed !
Speed. Imprimis, She can milk.
Laun. Ay, that she can.
Speed. Item, She brews good ale.
Laun. And thereof comes the proverb. — Bless-
ing of your heart, you brew good ale.
Speed. Item, She can sew.
LMtm. That's as much as to say, Can she so ?
Speed. Here follow her vices.
Lau7i. Close at the heels of her virtues.
Speed. Item, She doth talk in her sleep.
Laun. It's no matter for that, so she sleep not in
her talk.
Speed. Item, She is slow in words.
Laun. O villain, that set this down among her
vices ! To be slow in words, is a woman's only
virtue : I pray thee, out with't ; and place it for her
chief virtue.
Speed. Item, She is proud.
Laun. Out with that too ; it was Eve's legacy,
and cannot be ta'en from her.
Speed. Item, She hath no teeth.
LMun. I care not for that neither, because I love
crusts.
Speed. Item, She is curst. '
Laun. Well ; the best is, she hath no teeth to bite.
Speed. Item, She will often praise her liquor.
Laun. If her liquor be good, she shall : if she will
not, I will ; for good things should be praised.
9 St. Nicholas presided over young scholars.
1 Troward.
Speed. Item, She is too liberal.'^
Laun. Of her tongue she cannot ; for that's writ
down she is slow of : of her purse she shall not ; for
that I'll keep shut. What's next ?
Speed. She has more faults than hairs, —
Laun. That's monstrous : O, that that were out !
Speed. And more wealth than faults.
Laun. Why, that word makes the faults gra-
cious : Well, I'll have her : and if it be a match,
as nothing is impossible, —
Speed. What then?
Laun. Why, then I will tell thee, — that thy
master stays for thee at the north gate.
Speed. For me ?
Laun. For thee ? ay ; who art thou ? he hath staid
for a better man than thee.
Speed. And must I go to him ?
Laun. Thou must run to him, for thou hast staid
.so long, that going will scarce serve the turn.
Speed. Why didst not tell me sooner ? plague of
your love-letters ! [Exit.
Laun. Now will he be swinged for reading my
letter : An unmannerly slave, that will thrust him-
self into secrets ! — I'll after, to rejoice in the boy's
correction. [Exit.
SCENE II The same. A Room in the Duke's
Palace.
Enter Duke and Thurio ; Proteus behind.
Duke. Sir Thurio, fear not, but that she will love
you,
Now Valentine is banish'd from her sight.
Thu. Since his exile she hath despised me most.
Forsworn my company, and rail'd at me,
That I am desperate of obtaining her.
Duke. This weak impress of love is as a figure
Trenched 3 in ice ; which with an hour's heat
Dissolves to water, and doth lose his form.
A little time will melt her frozen thoughts,
And worthless Valentine shall be forgot. —
How now, sir Proteus ? Is your countryman,
According to our proclamation, gone ? ^
Pro. Gone, my good lord. fl i
Duke. My daughter takes his going grievously.
Pro. A little time, my lord, will kill that grief.
Duke. So I believe ; but Thurio thinks not so.—
Proteus, the good conceit I hold of thee
f For thou hast shewn some sign of good desert)
Makes me the better to confer with thee.
Pro. Longer than L prove loyal to your grace,
Let me not live to look upon your grace.
Duke. Thou know'st how willingly I would effect
The match between Sir Thurio and my daughter.
Pro. I do, my lord.
Duke. And also, I tliink, thou art not ignorant
How she opposes her against my will.
Pro. She did, my lord, when Valentine was here.
Duke. Ay, and perversely she pers^vers so.
What might we do to make the girl forget
The love of Valentine, and love sir Thurio ?
Pro. The best way is to slander Valentine
With falsehood, cowardice, and poor descent ;
Three things that w^omen highly hold in hate.
Duke. Ay, but she'll think, that it is spoke in hate.
Pro. Ay, if his enemy deliver it :
Therefore it must, with circumstance, be spoken
By one, whom she esteemeth as his friend.
Duke. Then you must undertake to slander him.
2 Licentious in language.
3 Cut.
ACT IV. Scene I. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
33
Pro. And that, my lord, I shall be loth to do :
'Tis an ill office for a gentleman ;
Especially, against Iiis very friend.
Duke. Where your good word cannot advantage him,
Your slander never can endamage him ;
Therefore the office is indifferent,
Being entreated to it by your friend.
Pro. You have prevail'd, my lord : if I can do it.
By aught that I can speak in his dispraise,
She shall not long continue love to him.
But say, this weed her love from Valentine,
It follows not that she will love sir Thurio.
Tliu. Therefore, as you unwind her love from him.
Lest it should ravel, and be good to none,
You must provide to bottom it on me :
Which must be done, by praising me as much
As you in worth dispraise sir Valentine.
Duke. And, Proteus, we dare trust you in this kind ;
Because we know, on Valentine's report.
You are already love's firm votary.
And cannot soon revolt and change your mind.
Upon this warrant shall you have access,
Where you with Silvia may confer at large ;
For she is lumpish, heavy, melancholy.
And, for your friend's sake, will be glad of you ;
Where you may temper her, by your persuasion,
To hate young Valentine, and love my friend.
Pro. As much as I can do, I will effect : —
But you, sir Thurio, are not sharp enough ;
You must lay lime \ to tangle her desires.
By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes
Should be full fraught with serviceable vows.
Duke. Ay, much the force of heaven-bred poesy.
Pro. Say, that upon the altar of her beauty
You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart :
Write till your ink be dry ; and with your tears
Moist it again ; and frame some feeling line,
That may discover such integrity : —
For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews ;
Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,
Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans
Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.
After your dire lamenting elegies.
Visit by night your lady's chamber-window
With some sweet concert : to their instruments
Tune a deploring dump ^ ; the night's dead silence
Will well become such sweet complaining grievance.
This, or else nothing, will inherit her.
Duke. Tills discipline shows thou hast been in love.
Tim. And thy advice this night I'll put in practice.
Therefore, sweet Proteus, my direction-giver.
Let us into the city presently
To sort 7 some gentlemen well skill'd in musick :
I have a sonnet, that will serve the turn,
To give tlie onset to thy good advice.
Duke. About it, gentlemen.
Pro. We'll wait upon your grace till after supper :
And afterward determine our proceedings.
DuJce. Even now about it : I will pardon you.
[Exeunt.
ACT IV.
SCENE I A Forest near Mantua.
Enter certain Out-laws.
1 Out. Fellows, stand fast ; I see a passenger.
2 Out. If there be ten, shrink not, but down
with 'em.
Enter Valentine and Speed.
3 Out. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have
about you ;
If not, we'll make you sit, and rifle you.
Speed. Sir, we are undone ! these are the villains
That all the travellers do fear so much.
Vol. My friends —
1 Out. That's not so, sir ; we are your enemies.
2 Out. Peace ; we'll hear him.
3 Out. Ay, by my beard, will we ;
For he's a proper * man.
Vol. Then know, that I have little wealth to lose j
A man I am, cross'd with adversity :
My riches are these poor habiliments.
Of which if you should here disfumish me,
You take the sum and substance that I have.
2 Out. Whither travel you ?
Vol. To Verona.
1 Out. Whence came you ?
Vol. From Milan.
3 Out. Have you long sojoum'd there ?
Vol. Some sixteen months ; and longer might
have staid.
If crooked fortune had not thwarted me.
1 Out. What, were you banish'd thence ?
Vol. I was.
Birdlime.
■» Wen looking.
2 Out. For what off'ence ?
Vol. For that which now torments me to rehearse :
I kill'd a man, whose death I much repent ;
But yet I slew him manfully in fight.
Without false vantage, or base treachery.
1 Out. Why ne'er repent it, if it were done so
But were you banish'd for so small a fault ?
Vol. I was, and held me glad of such a doom.
1 Out. Have you the tongues ? 8
Vol. My youthful travel therein made me happy ;
Or else I often had been miserable.
3 Out. By the bare scalp of Robin Hood's fat friar,
This fellow were a king for our wild faction.
1 Out. We'll have him : sirs, a word.
Sj)eed. Master, be one of them ;
It is an honourable kind of thievery.
Fal. Peace, villain !
2 Out. Tell us this : Have you any thing to take
to?
Val. Nothing, but my fortune.
3 Out. Know then, that some of us are gentlemen.
Such as the fury of ungovemed youth
Thrust from the company of awful » men.
1 Out. But to the purpose, — you are beautified
With goodly shape ; and by your own report
A linguist ; and a man of such perfection,
As we do in our quality much want ; —
2 Out. Indeed, because you are a banish'd man.
Therefore, above the rest, we parley to you :
Are you content to be our general ?
To make a virtue of necessity.
And live, as we do, in this wilderness ?
• Mournful elegy.
• Languages.
1 Choose out
> LawAiL
I
3i
TWO GENTLExMEN OF VERONA.
Act IV.
3 Out. What say'st thou ? wilt thou be of our
consort ?
Say, ay, and bo the captain of us all :
We'll do tliee homage, and be rul'd by thee,
Love thee as our commander, and our king.
1 Oat. But if thou scorn our courtesy, thou diest.
2 Out. Thou shalt not live to brag what we have
offer'd.
Val. I take your offer, and will live with you ;
Provided that you do no outrages
On silly women, or poor passengers.
3 Out No, we detest such vile base practices.
Como, go with us, we'll bring thee to our crews.
And shew thee all the treasure we have got ;
Which, with ourselves, all rest at thy dispose.
{^Exeunt.
SCENE II. — Milan. Court of the Palace.
Enter Proteus.
Pro. Already have I been false to Valentine,
And now I must be as unjust to Thurio.
Under the colour of commending him,
I have access my own love to prefer :
But Silvia is too fair, too true, too holy.
To be corrupted with my worthless gifts.
When 1 protest true loyalty to her,
She twits me with my falsehood to my friend :
When to her beauty I commend my vows,
She bids me think, how I have been forsworn
In breaking faith with Julia whom I lov'd :
And, notwithstanding all her sudden quips 9,
The least whereof would quell a lover's hope,
Yet, spaniel-like, the more she spurns my love.
The more it grows and fawneth on her still.
But here comes Thurio : now must we to her window,
And give some evening musick to her ear.
Enter Thurio, and Musicians.
Tku. How now, sir Proteus ? are you crept before
us?
Pro. Ay, gentle Thurio ; for you know, that love
Will creep in service where it cannot go.
Thu. Ay, but I hope, sir, that you love not here.
Pro. Sir, but I do ; or else I would be hence.
Thu. Whom? Silvia?
Pro. Ay, Silvia, — for your sake.
Thu. I thank you for your own. Now, gentlemen.
Let's tune, and to it lustily a while.
Enter Host, at a distance; and J vi.ia in boy's clothes.
Host. Now, my young guest ! methinks you're
allychoUy ; I pray you, why is it ?
Jul. Marry, mine host, because I cannot be merry.
Host. Come, we'll have you merry : I'll bring you
where you shall hear musick, and see the gentleman
that you ask'd for.
Jul. But shall I hear him speak ?
Host. Ay, that you shall.
Jul. That will be musick. [Musick plays.
Host. Hark! hark!
Jul. Is he among these ?
Host. Ay : but peace, let's hear 'em.
SONG.
Who is Silvia ? What is she ?
That all our swains commend her 9
Holy, fair, and wise is she ;
The heavens such grace did lend her,
That she might admired he.
9 Passionate reproaches.
Is she kind, as she is fair 9
For beauty lives with kindness :
Love doth to her eyes repair,
To help him, of his blindness ;
And, being help d, inhabits there.
Tlien to Silvia let ns sing,
That SUvia is excelling ;
Site excels each mortal thing.
Upon the dull earth dwelling ;
To her let us garlands bring.
Host. How now ? are you sadder than you were
before ?
How do you, man ? the musick likes you not.
Jul. You mistake ; the musician likes me not.
Host. Why, my pretty youth ?
Jul. He plays false, father.
Host. How ? out of tune on the strings ?
Jul. Not so ; but yet so false that he grieves my
very heart-strings.
Host. You have a quick car.
Jul. Ay, I would I were deaf ! it makes me have
a slow heart.
Host. I perceive you delight not in musick.
Jul. Not a whit, when it jars so.
Host. Hark, what fine change is in the musick I
Jul. Ay ; that change is the spite.
Host. You would have them always play but one
thing ?
Jul. I would always have one play but one thing.
But, host, doth this sir Proteus, that we talk on,
often resort unto this gentlewoman ?
Host. I tell you what Launce, his man, told me,
he loved her out of all nick, i
Jul. Where is Launce ?
Host. Gone to seek his dog ; which, to-morrow,
by his master's command, he must carry for a pre-
sent to his lady.
Jul. Peace ! stand aside ! the company parts.
Pro. Sir Thurio, fear not you ! I will so plead.
That you shall say, my cunning drift excels.
Thu. Where meet we?
Pro. At saint Gregory's well.
Thu. Farewell. [Exeunt Thurio anrf Musicians.
Silvia appears above, at her window.
Pro. Madam, good even to your ladyship,
SU. I thank you for your musick, gentlemen
Who is that, that spake ?
Pro. One, lady, if you knew his pure heart's truth,
You'd quickly learn to know him by his voice.
Sil. Sir Proteus, as I take it.
Pro. Sir Proteus, gentle lady,. and your servant.
Sil. What is your will ?
Pro. That I may compass yours.
SU. You have your wish ; my will is even this, —
That presently you hie you home to bed.
Thou subtle, perjur'd, false, disloyal man !
Think'st thou, I am so shallow, so conceitless.
To be seduced by thy flattery.
That hast deceiv'd so many with thy vows ?
Return, return, and make thy love amends.
For me, — by this pale queen of night I swear,
I am so far from granting thy request.
That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit ;
And by and by intend to chide myself.
Even for this time I spend in talking to thee.
Pro. I grant, sweet love, that I did love a lady
But she is dead.
J Beyond all reckoning.
4
ith, 11
Scene IV.
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
35
Jul. 'Twcre falso, if I should speak it ;
For I am sure, she is not buried. [Aside.
SH. &iy that she be ; yet Valentine, thy friend,
Survives ; to vv^hom, thyself art witness,
I am bethroth'd : And art thou not asham'd
To wrong him with thy importunacy ?
Pro. I likewise hear, tliat Valentine is dead.
Sil.' And so, suppose, am I ; for in his grave
Assure thyself my love is buried.
Pro. Sweet lady, let me rake it from the earth.
Sil. Go to thy lady's grave, and call her's thence;
Or, at the least, in her's sepulchre thine.
Jul. He heard not that. [Axiie.
Pro. Madam, if your heart be so obdurate,
Vouchsafe me yet your picture for my love,
The picture that is hanging in your chamber ;
To that I'll speak, to that I'll sigh and weep :
For, since the substance of your perfect self
Is else devoted, I am but a shadow ;
And to your shadow, I will make true love.
Jul. If 'twere a substance, you would, sure, de-
ceive it,
And make it but a shadow, as I am. [Aside.
Sil. I am very loth to be your idol, sir ;
But, since your falsehood shall become you well
To worship shadows, and adore false shapes,
Send to me in the morning, and I'll send it :
And so good rest.
Pro. As wretches have o'er night,
Tliat wait for execution in the mom.
[Ereunt Proteus, and Silvia frotn above.
Jul. Host, will you go ?
Host. By my haJlidom ', I was fast asleep.
Jul. Pray you, where lies sir Proteus ?
Host. Marry, at my house : Trust me, I think
'tis almost day.
JuL Not so ; but it hath been the longest night
Tliat e'er I watch'd, and the most heaviest. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.
The same.
Enter Eglamour.
Egl. This is the hour that madam Silvia
Entreated me to call, and know her mind ;
There some great matter she'd employ me in. —
Madam, madam !
Silvia appears above, at her tvindow.
Sil. Who calls?
Egl. Your servant, and your friend ;
One that attends your ladyship's command.
Sil. Sir Eglamour, a thousand times good-morrow.
Egl. As many, wortliy lady to yourself.
According to your ladyship's impose %
I am thus early come, to know what service
It is your pleasure to command me in.
Sil. O Eglamour, thou art a gentleman,
(Think not I flatter, for, I swear, I do not,)
Valiant, wise, remorsefuH, well accomplish'd.
Thou art not ignorant, what dear good will
I bear unto the banish'd Valentine ;
Nor how my father would enforce me marry
Vain Thurio, whom my very soul abhorr'd.
Tliyself hast lov'd ; and 1 have heard thee say,
No grief did ever come so near thy heart.
As when thy lady and thy true love died,
I'pon whose grave tliou vow'dst pure chastity.
Sir Eglamour, I would to Valentine,
' Holy dame, blessed lady.
* Compassionate.
3 Injunction, command.
To Mantua, where, I hear, he makes al)ode ;
And, for the ways are dangerous to pass,
I do desire thy worthy company.
Upon whose faith and honour 1 repose.
Urge not my father's anger, Eglamour,
But think upon my grief, a lady's grief;
And on the justice of my flying hence.
To keep me from a most unholy match.
Which heaven and fortune still reward with plagues.
I do desire tliee, even from a heart
As full of sorrows as the sea of sands,
To bear me company, and go with me :
If not, to hide what I have said to thee.
That I may venture to depart alone.
Egl. Madam, I pity much your grievances .
Which since I know tliey virtuously are plac'd,
I give consent to go along with you ;
Recking ^ as little what betideth mc.
As much I wish all good befortune you.
When will you go ?
SU. This evening coming.
Egl. Where shall I meet you ?
Sil. At friar Patrick's cell,
Where I intend holy confession.
Egl. I will not fail your ladyship :
Good-morrow, gentle lady.
Sil. Good-morrow, kind sir Eglamour. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — IVie same.
Enter Launch, unth his dog.
When a man's servant shall play tlie cur with him,
look you, it goes hard : one that I brought up of a
puppy; one that I saved from drowning, when tliree
or four of his blind brothers and sisters went to it !
1 have taught him — even as one would say pre-
cisely, Tims I would teach a dog. I was sent to
deliver him, as a present to mistress Silvia, from
my master ; and I came no sooner into the dining-
chamber, but he steps me to her trencher, and
steals her capon's leg. O, 'tis a foul thing, whei^a
cur cannot keep^ himself in all companies! I would
have, as one should say, one that takes upon him
to be a dog indeed, to be, as it were, a dog at all
things. If I had not had more wit than he, to take
a fault upon me that he did, I tliink verily he had
been hanged for't ; sure as I live, he had suflered
for't. I have sat in the stocks for puddings he hath
stolen, otherwise he had l)een executed : I have
stood on the pillory for geese he hath killed, other-
wise he had suffered for't : thou tliink'st not of this
now !
Enter Proteus and Julia.
Pro. Sebastian is thy name? I like tijcc well,
And will employ thee in some service presently.
Jul. In what you please ; — I will do what I can.
Pro. I hope thou wilt. — How now, you idle
peasant? [To Launck.
Where have you been these two days loitering ?
Laun. Marry, sir, I carried mistress Silvia llie
dog you bade me.
Pro. And what says she to my little jewel ?
Laun. Marry, she says, your dog w-as a cur; and
tells you, currish thanks is good enough for such a
present.
Pro* But she received my dogl
Laun. No, indeed, she did not: here have I
brought him back again.
Caring.
D 2
• Restrain.
86
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. Act IV. Scene IV.
Pro. What, didst thou ofler her this from me ?
Laun. Ay, sir; the other squirrel was stolen from
me by the hangman's boys in the market-place :
and then I offered her mine own ; who is a dog as
big as ten of yours, and therefore the gift the greater.
Pro. Go, get thee hence, and find my dog again,
Or ne'er return again into my sight.
Away, I say : Stay'st thou to vex me here ?
A slave, that, still an end', turns me to shame.
{Exit Launce.
Sebastian, I have entertained thee,
Partly, that I have need of sucli a youth,
That can with some discretion do my business.
For 'tis no trusting to yon foolish lowt ;
But, chiefly, for thy face, and thy behaviour ;
Which (if my augury deceive me not)
Witness good bringing up, fortune, and truth :
Tlierefore know thou, for this I entertain thee.
Go presently, and take this ring with thee,
Deliver it to madam Silvia :
She loved me well, deliver'd it to me.
Jul, It seems you loved her not, to leave her
token ;
Slie's dead, belike.
Pro. Not so ; I think, she lives.
Jul. Alas !
Pro. Why dost thou cry, alas ?
Jul. I cannot choose but pity her.
Pro. Wherefore should'st thou pity her ?
Jul. Because, methinks, that she lov'd you as well
As you do love your lady Silvia :
She dreams on him, that has forgot her love ;
You dote on her, that cares not for your love.
'Tis pity, love should be so contrary;
And thinking on it makes me cry, alas !
Pro. Well, give her that ring, and therewithal
This letter ; — That's her chamber. — Tell my lady
I claim the promise for her heavenly picture.
Your message done, hie home unto my chamber,
Where thou shalt find me sad and solitary.
* \_Exit Proteus.
Jul. How many women would do such a message?
Alas, poor Proteus ! thou hast entertain'd
A fox, to be the shepherd of thy lambs :
Alas, poor fool ! why do I pity him
That with his very heart despiseth me ?
Because he loves her, he despiseth me ;
Because I love him, I must pity him.
This ring I gave him, when he parted from me,
To bind him to remember my good will :
And now am I (unhappy messenger)
To plead for that which I would not obtain ;
To carry that which I would have refus'd ;
To praise his faith, which I would have disprais'd.
I am my master's true confirmed love ;
But cannot be true servant to my master.
Unless I prove false traitor to myself.
Yet I will woo for him ; but yet so coldy,
As, heaven it knows, I would not have him speed.
Enter Silvia attended.
Gentlewoman, good day ! I pray you, be my mean
To bring me where to speak with madam Silvia.
SU. What would you with her, if that I be she ?
Jul. If you be she, I do entreat your patience
To hear me speak the message I am sent on.
SU. From whom?
Jul. From my master, sir Proteus, madam.
SU. O ! — he sends you for a picture ?
7 In the end
Jul. Ay, madam.
SU. Ursula, bring my picture there.
[Picture brought.
Go, give your master this : tell him from me.
One Julia, that his changing thoughts forget,
Would better fit his chamber than this shadow.
Jul. Madam, please you peruse this letter. —
Pardon me, madam ; I have unadvis'd
Deliver'd you a paper that I should not ;
This is the letter to your ladyship.
SU. I pray thee, let me look on that again.
Jul. It may not be ; good madam, pardon me.
SU. There, hold.
I will not look upon your master's lines :
I know they are stuflT'd with protestations.
And full of new-found oaths ; which he will break
As easily as I do tear his paper.
Jul. Madam, he sends your ladyship this ring.
SU. The more shame for him tliat he sends it me :
For I have heard him say a thousand times.
His Julia gave it him at his departure :
Though his false finger hath profan'd the ring.
Mine shall not do his Julia; so much wrong.
Jul. She thanks you.
SU. What say'st thou ?
Jul. I thank you, madam, that you tender her ;
Poor gentlewoman ! my master wrongs her much.
SU. Dost thou know her ?
Jul. Almost as well as I do know myself.
To think upon her woes, I do protest.
That I have wept an hundred several times.
SU. Belike, she thinks that Proteus hath forsook her.
Jul. I think she doth, and that's her cause of
sorrow.
SU. Is she not passing fair ?
Jul. She hath been fairer, madam, than she is :
When she did think my master lov'd her well.
She, in my judgment, was as fair as you ;
But since she did neglect her looking-glass.
And threw her sun-expelling mask away.
The air hath starv'd the roses in her cheeks.
And pinch'd the lily-tincture of her face,
That now she is become as black as I.
SU. How tall was she ?
Jul. About my stature : for at Pentecost %
When all our pageants of delight were play'd,
Our youth got me to play the woman's part,
And I was trimm'd in madam Julia's gown ;
Which serv'd me as fit, by all men's judgment.
As if the garment had been made for me :
Therefore I know she is about my height.
And, at that time, I made her weep a-good 9,
For I did play a lamentable part :
Madam, 'twas Ariadne, passioning
For Theseus' perjury, and unjust flight ;
Which I so lively acted with my tears,
That my poor mistress, moved therewithal,
Wept bitterly ; and, would I might be dead.
If I in thought felt not her very sorrow !
SU. She is beholden to thee, gentle youth ! —
Alas, poor lady ! desolate and left ! —
L weep myself to think upon thy words.
Here, youth, there is my purse ; I give thee this
For thy sweet mistress' sake, because thou lov'st her.
Farewell. [ExU Silvia.
Jul. And she shall thank you for't, if e'er you
know her. —
A virtuous gentlewoman, mild, and beautiful.
8 Whitsuntide.
9 In good earnest
Act V. Scene I.
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
37
I hope my master's suit will be but cold,
Since she respects my mistress' love so much.
Alas, how love can trifle with itself !
Here is her picture : Let me see ; I tliink,
If I had such a tire ', this face of mine
Were full as lovely as is this of hers :
And yet the painter flatter'd her a little,
Unless I flatter with myself too much.
Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow :
If that be all the difference in his love,
I'll get me such a colour'd periwig.
Her eyes are grey as glass ; and so are mine :
Ay, but her forehead's low, and mine's as high.
What siiould it be, that he respects in her.
But I can make respective in myself.
If this fond love were not a blinded god ?
Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up,
For 'tis thy rival. O thou senseless form,
Thou shalt be worshipp'd, kiss'd, lov'd, and ador'd ;
And, were there sense in his idolatry.
My substance should be statue in thy stead.
I'll use thee kindly for thy mistress' sake.
That us'd me so ; or else, by Jove I vow,
I should have scratch'd out your unseeing eyes,
To make my master out of love w ith thee.
[Ejiit.
ACT V.
SCENE I. — Thesante. An Abbey.
Enter Eglamour.
Egl. The sim begins to gild the western sky ;
And now, it is about the very hour
That Silvia, at Patrick's cell, should meet me.
She will not fail ; for lovers break not hours,
Unless it be to come before their time ;
So much they spur their expedition.
Enter Silvia.
See, where she comes : Lady, a happy evening !
SU. Amen, amen ! go on, good Eglamour !
Out at the postern by the abbey wall ;
I fear, I am attended by some spies.
Egl. Fear not: the forest is not three leagues off;
If we recover that, we are sure enough. \Exeunt.
SCENE II. — The same. An Apartment in the
Duke's Palace.
Enter Thurio, Proteus, and Julia.
Thu^ Sir Proteus, what says Silvia to my suit ?
Pro. O, sir, I find her milder than she was ;
And yet she takes exceptions at your person.
Thu. What, that my leg is too long?
Pro. No ; that it is too little.
Thii. I'll wear a boot to make it somewhat rounder.
Pro. But love will not be spurr'd to what it loaths.
Thu. What says she to my face ?
Pro. She says, it is a fair one.
Thu. Nay, then, the wanton lies; my face is black.
Pro. But pearls are fair ; and the old saying is.
Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies' eyes.
Jul. 'Tis true ; such pearls as put out ladies' eyes ;
For I had rather wink than look on them. [Aside.
Thu. How likes she my discourse ?
Pro. Ill, when you talk of war.
T/iu. But well, when I discourse of love, and
peace ?
Jul. But better, indeed, when you hold your
peace. [Aside.
Thu. What says she to my valour?
Pro. O, sir, she makes no doubt of that.
Jul. She needs not, when she knows it cowardice.
[Aside.
Thu. What says she to my birth ?
Pro. That you are well deriv'd.
Jul. True; from a gentleman to a fool. [Aside.
' Hcad.drcw.
Thu. Considers she my possessions ?
Pro. O, ay ; and pities them.
r/jM. Wherefore?
Jid. That such an ass should owe - them. [Aside.
Pro. That they are out by lease.
Jul. Here comes the duke.
Ejiter Duke.
Duke. How now, sir Proteus? how now, Thurio?
Which of you saw sir Eglamour of late ?
Thu. Not I.
Pro. Nor I.
Duke. Saw you my daughter ?
Pro. Neither.
Duke. Why, then, she's fled unto that peasant
Valentine ;
And Eglamour is in her company.
'Tis true ; for friar Laurence met them both.
As he in penance wander'd through the forest :
Him he knew well, and guess'd that it was she ;
But, being mask'd, he was not sure of it :
Besides, she did intend confession
At Patrick's cell this even ; and there she was not :
These likelihoods confirm her flight from hence.
Therefore, I pray you, stand not to discourse,
But mount you presently ; and meet with me
Upon the rising of the mountain foot
That leads towards Mantua, whither they are fled :
Despatch, sweet gentlemen, and follow me. [Exit.
Thu. Why, this it is to be a peevish girl,
Tliat flies her fortune when it follows her :
I'll after ; more to be revenged on Eglamour,
Than for the love of reckless 3 Silvia. [Exit,
Pro. And I will follow, more for Silvia's love.
Than hate of Eglamour, that goes with her. [Exit.
Jul. And I will follow, more to cross that love,
Than hate for Silvia, that is gone for love. [Exit.
SCENE III. — Frontiers of Mantua. The Forest.
Enter Silvla and Outlaws.
Out. Come, come ;
Be patient, we must bring you to our captain.
Sil. A thousand more mischances than this one
Have leam'd me how to brook this patiently.
2 Out. Come, bring her away.
1 Out. Where is the gentleman that was with her ?
3 Out. Being nimble-footed, he hath out-run us,
But Moyscs, and Valerius, follow him.
^ Own. ' Carelcu.
D3
98
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
Act V
Go thou with her to the west end of the wood,
There is our captain ; we'll follow him that's fled ;
The thicket is beset, he cannot 'scape.
1 Out. Come, 1 must bring you to our captain's
cave;
Fear not ; he bears an honourable mind,
And will not use a woman lawlessly.
Sil. O Valentine, this I endure for thee ! \^Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — Another part of the Forest.
Enter Valentine.
Val. How use doth breed a habit in a man !
This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods,
I better brook than flourishing peopled towns :
Here can I sit alone, unseen of any,
A nd, to the nightingale's complaining notes,
Tune my distresses, and record 4 my woes.
0 thou that dost inhabit in my breast.
Leave not the mansion so long tenantless ;
Lest, growing ruinous, the building fall,
And leave no memory of what it was !
Repair me with thy presence, Silvia ;
Thou gentle nymph, cherish thy forlorn swain ! —
"What halloing, and what stir is this to-day ?
These are my mates, that make their wills their law,
Have some unhappy passenger in chase :
They love me well ; yet I have much to do.
To keep them from uncivil outrages.
Withdraw thee, Valentine : who's this comes here ?
[Steps aside.
Enter Proteus, Silvia, and Julia.
Pro. Madam, this service I have done for you,
(Though you respect not aught your servant doth,)
To hazard life, and rescue you from him
That would have forc'd your honour and your love.
Vouchsafe me for my meed but one fair look ;
A smaller boon than this I cannot beg.
And less than this, I am sure, you cannot give.
Val. How like a dream is this I see and hear !
Love, lend me patience to forbear a while. \_Aside.
Sil. O miserable, unhappy that I am !
Pro. Unhappy were you, madam, ere I came ;
But, by my coming, I have made you happy.
Sil. By thy approach thou mak'st me most un-
happy.
Jul. And me, when he approacheth to your pre-
sence. [Aside.
Sil. Had I been seiz'd by a hungry lion,
1 would have been a breakfast to the beast,
Rather than have false Proteus rescue me.
O, heaven be judge how I love Valentine,
Whose life's as tender to me as my soul ;
And full as much (for more there cannot be)
I do detest false perjur'd Proteus ;
Therefore begone, solicit me no more.
Pro. What dangerous action, stood it next to
death.
Would I not undergo for one calm look ?
O, 'tis the curse in love, and still approv'd ^,
When women cannot love where they're belov'd.
Sil. When Proteus cannot love where he's belov'd.
Read over Julia's heart, thy first best love.
For whose dear sake thou didst then rend thy faith
Into a thousand oaths ; and all those oaths
Descended into perjury, to love me.
Thou hast no faith left now, unless thou hadst two.
And tijat's far worse than none : better have none
Sing.
* Felt, experienced.
Than plural faith, which is too much by one :
Thou counterfeit to thy true friend !
Pro. In love,
Who respects friend ?
Sil. All men but Proteus.
Pro. Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words
Can no way change you to a milder form,
I'll woo you like a soldier, at arms' end ;
And love you 'gainst the nature of love, force you.
Sil. O heaven !
Pro. I'll force thee yield to my desire.
Val. Rufiian, let go that rude uncivil touch j
Thou friend of an ill fashion !
Pro. Valentine !
Val. Thou common friend, that's without faith or
^ love ;
( For such is a friend now,) treacherous man !
Thou hast beguil'd my hopes ; nought but mine eye
Could have persuaded me : Now I dare not say
I have one friend alive ; thou would'st disprove me.
Who should be trusted now, when one's right hand
Is perjur'd to the bosom? Proteus,
I am sorry, I must never trust thee more.
But count the world a stranger for thy sake.
The private wound is deepest : O time, most curet!
'Mongst all foes, that a friend should be the worst !
Pro. My shame and guilt confound me. —
Forgive me, Valentine : if hearty sorrow
Be a sufficient ransom for offence,
I tender it here ; I do as truly suffer.
As e'er I did commit.
Val. Then I am paid ;
And once again I do receive thee honest : —
Who by repentance is not satisfied.
Is nor of heaven, nor earth ; for these are pleas'd ;
By penitence the Eternal's wrath's appeas'd : —
And, that my love may appear plain and free.
All that was mine in Silvia, I give thee.
Jul. O me unhappy ! [Faints.
Pro. Look to the boy.
Val. Why, boy ! why, wag ! how now ? what is*
the matter ?
Look up ; speak.
Jul. O good sir, my master charg'd me
To deliver a ring to madam Silvia ;
Which, out of my neglect, was never done.
Pro. Where is that ring, boy ?
Jul. Here 'tis : this is it. [Gives a ritig.
Pro. How ! let me see :
Why this is the ring I gave to Julia.
Jul. O, cry your mercy, sir, I have mistook ;
This is the ring you sent to Silvia.
[Shoii's another ring.
Pro. But, how cam'st thou by tliis ring ? at my
depart,
I gave this unto Julia.
Jul. And Julia herself did give it me ;
And Julia herself hath brought it hither.
Pro. How ! Julia !
Jul. Behold her that gave aim ^ to all thy oaths,
And entertain'd them deeply in her heart :
How oft hast thou with peijury cleft the root ? 7
O Proteus, let this habit make thee blush !
Be thou asham'd, that I have took upon me
Such an immodest raiment ; if shame live
In a disguise of love :
It is the lesser blot, modesty finds.
Women to change their shapes, than mentheirminds.
c Direction.
7 An aUueioQ to cleaving the pin in archery.
Scene IV.
TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.
39
Pro. Than men thair minds ? 'tis true : O heaven !
were man
But constant, he were perfect : that one error
Fills him with faults ; makes him run through all
sins :
Inconstancy falls off, ere it begins ;
What is in Silvia's face, but I may spy
More fresh in Julia's with a constant eye ?
Vol. Come, come, a hand from either :
Let me be blest to make this happy close ;
'Twere pity two such friends should be long foes.
Pro. Bear witness, heaven, I have my wish for ever.
Jul. And I have mine.
Enter Out-laws, with Duke and Thurio.
Out. A prize, a prize, a prize !
Vol. Forbear, I say ; it is my lord the duke.
Yi)ur grace is welcome to a man disgrac'd,
Banished Valentine.
Duke. Sir Valentine !
Thu. Yonder is Silvia; and Silvia's mine.
Val. Thurio, give back, or else embrace thy death ;
Come not within the measure of my wrath -.8
Do not name Silvia t^iine ; if once again,
IMiJan shall not behold thee. Here she stands,
Take but possession of her with a touch ; —
I dare thee but to breathe upon my love. —
Thu. Sir Valentine, I care not for her, I ;
I hold him but a fool, that will endanger
His body for a girl that loves him not :
I claim her not, and therefore she is thine.
Duke. The more degenerate and base art thou.
To make such means 9 for her as thou hast done.
And leave her on such slight conditions. —
Now, by tlie honour of my ancestry,
I do applaud thy spirit, Vdentine,
Length of my sword.
9 Interest
And think thee worthy of an empress' love.
Know then, I here forget all former griefs.
Cancel all grudge, repeal thee home again. —
Plead a new state in thy uimvall'd merit.
To which I thus subscribe, — sir Valentine,
Thou art a gentleman, and well deriv'd ;
Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserv'd her.
Vol. I thank your grace ; the gift hath made me
happy.
I now beseech you for your daughter's sake,
To grant one boon that I shall ask of you.
Duke. I grant it, for thine own, whate'er it be.
Vol. These banish'd men, tliat I have kept withal.
Are men endued with worthy qualities ;
Forgive them what they have committed here.
And let them be recall'd from their exile :
They are reformed, civil, full of good,
And fit for great employment, worthy lord.
Duke. Thou hast prevail'd: I pardon them, and
thee;
Dispose of them, as thou know'st tlieir deserts.
Come, let us go ; we will include ' all jars
With triumphs, mirth, and rare solemnity.
Val. And, as we walk along, I dare be bold
With our discourse to make your grace to smile :
What think you of this page, my lord ?
Duke. I think the boy hath grace in him : he
blushes.
Vol. I warrant you, my lord ; more grace than boy.
Duke. What mean you by that saying ?
Val. Please you, I'll tell you as we pass along.
That you will wonder what hath fortuned. —
Come, Proteus ; 'tis your penance, but to hear
The story of your loves discovered :
That done, our day of marriage shall be yours ;
One feast, one house, one mutual happiness.
\^Eieunt.
' Conclude.
D 4
ul
0^
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
Sir John Falstakk.
Fenton.
Shallow, o country Justice.
Slender, cousin to Shallow.
Mr' P g"' 1 ^"'^ Gentlemen dweUing at Windsor.
William Page, a Boy, son to Mr. Page.
Sir Hugh Evans, a Welsh Parson.
Dr. Caius, a French Physician.
Host of the Garter Inn.
Bardolph, "I
Pistol, \ Followers of Falstafl'.
Nym, J
SCENEy Windsor ;
Robin, Page to FalstaflT.
Simple, Servant to Slender,
RuoBT, Servant to Dr. Caius.
Mrs. Ford.
Mrs. Page.
Mrs. Anne Page, her Daughter, in love with Fenton.
Mrs. Quickly, Servant to Dr. Caius.
Servants to Page, Ford, ^c.
and the parts a(^acent.
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR
SCENE 1. — Windsor.
AC
Before Page's House.
E?iter Justice Shallow, Slender, aw/ Sir^ Hugh
Evans.
Shallow. Sir Hugh, persuade me not; I will make
a Star-chamber matter of it ; if he were twenty sir
Jolm Falstaffs, he shall not abuse Robert Shallow,
esquire.
Sleti. In the county of Gloster, justice of peace,
and coram.
Slial. Ay, cousin Slender, and Cust-alorum.^
Slen Ay, and rntolorum too ; and a gentleman
born, master parson ; who writes himself armigero ;
in any bill, warrant, quittance, or obligation, armi-
gero.
Shal. Ay, that we do : and have done any time
these three hundred years.
Slen. All his successor; ^
done't ; and all his ancestors, that come after him,
may : they may give the dozen white luces in their
coat.
Shal. It is an old coat.
Eva. The dozen white louses do become an old
coat well ; it agrees well, passant : it is a familiar
beast to man, and signifies — love.
Shal. The luce is the fresh fish ; the salt fish is
an old coat.
' A title formerly appropriated to chaplains.
2 C.ustos Rotulorum
r I.
I Slen. I may quarter, coz ?
I Shal. You may, by marrying.
1 Eva. It is marring indeed, if he quarter it.
Shal. Not a whit.
Eva. Yes, py'r ^ lady ; if he has a quarter of your
; coat, there is but three skirts for yourself, in my
j simple conjectures : but this is all one : If Sir J^hn
I Falstaflf have committed disparagements unto you,
j I am of the church, and will be glad to do my be-
nevolence, to make atonements and compromises
between you.
Shal. Tile Council shall hear it ; it is a riot.
Eoa. It is not meet the Council hear a riot ; there
is no fear of Got in a riot; the Council, look you,
shall desire to hear the fear of Got, and not to hear
a riot ; take your vizaments * in that.
Shal. Ha ! o' my life, if I were young again, the
sword should end it.
[ Eva. It is petter that friends is the sword, and
end it : and there is also another device in my prain,
which, peradventure, prings goot discretions with
it : There is Anne Page, which is daughter to
master George Page, which is pretty virginity.
Slen. Mistress Anne Page ? She has brown hair,
and speaks small like a woman.
Eva. It is that fery person for all the 'orld, as
just as you will desire : and seven hundred pounds
of monies, and gold, and silver, is her grandsire,
Scene I.
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
41
upon his death's bed, give, when she is able to
overtake seventeen years old : it were a goot motion,
if we leave our pribbles and prabbles, and desire a
marriage between master Abraham and mistress
Anne Page.
Shal. Did her grandsire leave her seven hundred
pound?
Eva. Ay, and her father is make her a petter penny.
Shal. I know the young gentlewoman ; she has
good gifts.
Eva. Seven hundred pounds, and possibilities,
is good gifts. .
Shal. Well, let us see honest master Page : Is
Falstaff there?
Eva. Shall I tell you a lie? I do despise a liar,
as I do despise one that is false ; or as I despise
one that is not true. The knight, sir John, is
tliere ; and, I beseech you, be ruled by your well-
willers. I will peat the door [knocks] for master
Page. What, hoa ! pless your house here !
Enter Page.
Pt^e. Who's there ?
Eva. Here's your friend, and justice Shallow :
and here young master Slender; that peradven-
tures shall tell you another tale, if matters grow
to your likings.
Page. I am glad to see your worships well : 1
thank you for my venison, master Shallow.
Shal. Master Page, I am glad to see you ; Much
good do it your good heart ! I wished your venison
better ; it was ill-kill'd : — How doth good mistress
Page ? — and I love you always with my heart, la ;
witli my heart.
Page. Sir, I thank you.
Shal. Sir, I thank you ; by yea and no, I do.
Page. I am glad to see you, good master Slender.
Slen. How does your fallow greyhound, sir? I
lioard say he was outrun on Cotsale.*
Page. It could not be judg'd, sir.
Slen. You'll not confess, you'll not confess.
Shah That he will not ; — 'tis your fault, 'tis your
fault : — 'Tis a good dog.
Page. A cur, sir.
Shal. Sir, he's a good dog, and a fair dog ; Can
there be more said ? he is good, and fair. — Is sir
John Falstaff here ?
Page. Sir, he is witliin ; and I would I could do
a good office between you.
Eva. It is spoke as a Christian ought to speak.
Shal. He hath wrong'd me, master Page.
Page. Sir, he doth in some sort confess il.
Shal. If it be confess'd, it is not redress'd ; is not
that so, master Page ? . He hath wrong'd me ; in-
deed, he hath ; — at a word, he hath ; — believe me ;
— Robert Shallow, esquire, saith, he is wrong'd.
Page. Here comes sir John.
Enter Sir John Falstaff, Bardolph, Nym, and
Pistol.
Fal. Now, master Shallow ; you'll complain of
me to the king ?
Shal. Knight you have beaten my men, killed my
<leer,and brokeopen my lodge: this shall beanswer'd.
Fal. I will answer it straight ; — I have done all
1 1 lis : — That is now answer'd.
Shal. The Council shall know this.
Fal. 'Twere better for you, if it were known in
counsel . you'll be laugh'd at.
*' Cutswold, in Gloucestershire.
Eva. Pauca verba, sir John, good worts.
Fal. Good worts *5 ! good cabbage Slender, I
broke your head; What matter have you against
me?
Slen. Marry, sir, I have matter in my head
against you ; and against Bardolph, Nym, and
Pistol. They carried me to the tavern, and made
me drunk, and afterwards picked my pocket.
Bar. You Banbury cheese ! ^
Slen. Ay, it is no matter.
Pist. How, now, Mephostophilus ? 8
Slen. Ay, it is.no matter.
N^t/m. Slice, I say ! pauca, pauca ; slice ! that^s
my humour.
Slen. Where's Simple, my man ? — can you tell,
cousin ?
Eva. Peace : I pray you ! Now let us understand :
There is three umpires in this matter as I under-
stand : that is — master Fiigc,Jidelicet, master Page ;
and there is myself, fidelket, myself ; and the three
party is, lastly and finally, mine host of the Garter.
Page. We three, to hear it, and end it between them.
Eva. Fery goot : I will make a prief of it in my
note-book ; and we will afterwards 'ork upon the
cause, with as great discreetly as we can.
Fal. Pistol,
Pist. He hears with ears.
Eva. What phrase is this. He hears with ear ?
Why, it is affectations.
Fal. Pistol, did you pick master Blender's purse?
Slen. Ay, by these gloves, did he, (or I would I
might never come in mine own great chamber again
else,) of seven groats in mill-sixpences, and two Ed-
ward shovel-boards**, that cost me two shillings and
two pence a-piece of Yead Miller, by these gloves.
Fal. Is this true. Pistol ?
Eva. No ; it is false, if it is a pick-purse.
Pist. Ha, thou mountain-foreigner ! — Sir John,
and master mine,
I combat challenge of this latten bilbo : '
Word of denial in thy labras^ here ;
Word of denial ; froth and scum, thou liest.
Slen. By these gloves, then 'twas he.
Nt/m. Be advised, sir, and pass good humours :
I will say, many trap, with you if you run the nut-
hook's 3 humour on me ; that is the very note of it.
Slen. By this hat, then he in the red face had it :
for though I cannot remember what I did when you
made me drunk, yet I am not altogether an ass.
Fal. What say you. Scarlet and John ?
Bard. Why, sir, for my part, I say, the gentleman
had drunk himself out of his five sentences.
Eva. It is liis five senses : fie, what the igno-
rance is !
Bard. And being fap *, sir, was, as tliey say,
cashier'd ; and so conclusions pass'd the careires.*
Slen. Ay, you spake in Latin then too : but 'tis
no matter : I'll ne'er be drunk whilst I live again,
but in honest, civil, godly company, for this trick :
if I be drunk, I'll be drunk with those that have
the fear of God, and not witli drunken knaves.
Eva. That is a virtuous mind.
Fal. You hear all these matters denied, gentle-
men ; you hear it.
^ Worts was the ancient name of all the cabbage kitd.
■ Nothing but paring !
" The name of an ugly spirit
!* King Edward's sliilhngs used in the game of shuffleboard.
> Blade as thin as a lath. 3 Lipa,
3 If you say I am a thief •♦ Drunk,
> The bounds of good behaviour.
42
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
Act I.
Eater Mistress Anne Page wUh wine; Mistress
Ford and Mistress Pack fullomng.
Page. Nay, daughter, carry tlie wine in; we'll
drink within. [Exit Anne Page.
Slen. O heaven ! this is mistress Anne Page.
Page. How now, mistress P""ord ?
Fal. Mistress Ford, by my troth, you are veiy
well met : by your leave, good mistress. [JCissing her.
Page. Wife, bid these gentlemen welcome : —
Come, we have a hot venison pasty to dinner;
come, gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down all
unkindness.
\^Exeiint all but Shal. Slender, and Evans.
Slen. I had rather than forty shillings, I had my
book of Songs and Sonnets here : —
Enter Simple.
How now. Simple ! where have you been ? I must
wait on myself, must I ? You have not The Book
if Riddles about you, have you ?
Sim. Book of Riddles ! why did you not lend it
to Alice Shortcake upon Allhallowmas last, a fort-
night afore Michaelmas ? ^
Shal. Come, coz ; come, coz ; we stay for you,
A word with you, coz ; marrj', this, coz ; There
is, as 'twere a tender, a kind of tender, made afar
off by sir Hugh here ; — Do you understand me ?
Slen. Ay, sir, you shall find me reasonable ; if
it be so, I shall do that that is reason.
Shal. Nay, but understand me.
Slen. So I do, sir.
Eva. Give ear to his motions, master Slender : I
will description the matter to you, if you be capa-
city of it.
Slen. Nay I will do as my cousin Shallow says :
I pray you, pardon me ; he's a justice of peace in
his country, simple though I stand here.
Eva. But this is not the question ; the question
is concerning your marriage.
' Shal. Ay, there's the point, sir.
Eva. Marry, is it ; the very point of it ; to mis-
tress Anne Page.
Slen. Why, if it be so, I will marry her, upon
any reasonable demands.
Eva. But can you affection the 'oman ? Let us
command to know that of your naouth, or of your
lips ; for divers philosophers hold, that the lips is
parcel of the mouth ; — Therefore, precisely, can
you carry your good will to the maid ?
Shal. Cousin Abraham Slender, can you love her?
Slen. I hope, sir, — I will do, as it shall become
one that would do reason.
Eva. Nay, you must speak possitable, if you can
carry her your desires towards her.
Shid. That you must. Will you, upon good
dowry, marry her ?
Slen. I will do a greater thing than that, upon
your request, cousin, in any reason.
Shal. Nay, conceive me, conceive me, sweet coz ;
what I do, is to pleasure you, coz : Can you love
the maid ?
Slen. I will marry her, sir, at your request ; but
if there be no great love in the beginning, yet
heaven may decrease it upon better acquaintance,
when we are married, and have more occasion to
know one another : I hope, upon familiarity will
grow more contempt ; but if you say, vxarry her,
'• An intended blunder.
I will marry her, tliat I am freely dissolved, and
dissolutely.
Eva. It is a fery discretion answer ; save, the
faul' is in the 'ort dissolutely : the 'ort is, according
to our meaning, resolutely ; — his meaning is good.
Shal. Ay, 1 think my cousin meant well.
Slen. Ay, or else I would I might be hanged, la.
Re-enter Anne Page.
Shal. Here comes fair mistress Anne : — Would
I were young, for your sake, mistress Anne !
Anne. The dinner is on the table ; my father
desires your worships' company.
Shal. I will wait on him, fair mistress Anne.
Eva. I will not be absence at the grace.
[Exeunt Shallow and Sir H. Evans.
Anne. Wil't please your worship to come in, sir ?
Sle7i. No, I thank you, forsooth, heartily ; I am
very well.
Anne. The dinner attends you, sir.
Slen. I am not a-hungry, 1 thank you, forsooth :
Go, sirrah, for all you are my man, go, wait upon
my cousin Shallow : [Exit Simple.] A justice of
peace sometime may be beholden to his friend for
a man : — I keep but three men and a boy yet, till
my mother be dead : But what though ? yet I live
like a poor gentleman born.
Anne. I may not go in without your worship t
they will not sit, till you come.
Slen. I'faith, I'll eat nothing ; I thank you as
much as though I did.
■ Ajine. I pray you, sir, walk in.
Slen. I had rather walk here, I thank you: I
bruised my shin the other day with playing at sword
and dagger with a master of fence, three veneys 7
for a dish of stewed prunes ; and, by my troth, I
cannot abide the smell of hot meat since. Why do
your dogs bark so ? be there bears i'the town ?
Anne. I think there are, sir ; I heard them
talked of.
Slen. I love the sport well ; but I shall as soon
quarrel at it, as any man in England : — You are
afraid, if you see the bear loose, are you not ?
Anne. Ay, indeed, sir.
Slen. That's meat and drink to me now : I have
seen Sackerson ^ loose, twenty times : and have
taken him by the chain : but, I warrant you, the
women have so cried and shriek'd at it, that it
pass'd 9 : — but women, indeed, cannot abide 'em ;
they are very ill-favoured rough things.
Re-enter Page.
Page. Come, gentle master Slender, come
stay for you.
Slen. I'll eat nothing ; I thank you, sir.
Page. By cock and pye, you shall not choose,
sir ; come, come.
Slen. Nay, pray you, lead the way.
Page. Come on, sir.
Slen. Mistress Anne, yourself shall go first.
Anne. Not I, sir, pray you, keep on.
Slen. Truly, I will not go first ; truly, la ; I will
not do you that wrong.
Anne. I pray you, sir.
Slen. I'll rather be unmannerly than trouble-
some ; you do yourself wrong, indeed, la. [Exeunt.
? Three set-to's, bouts, or hits. „ . .
« The name of a bear exhibited at Pans- Garden, South wark.
9 Surpassed all expression.
Scene IV.
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
43
SCENE II. — The same.
Enter Sir Hugh Evans and Simple.
Eva. Go your ways, and ask of Doctor Cains'
house, which is the way : and there dwells one
mistress Quickly, which is in the manner of his
nurse, or his dry nurse, or his cook, or his laundry,
his washer, and his wringer.
Sim. Well, sir.
Eva. Nay, it is petter yet : give her this
letter ; for it is a 'oman that altogether's acquaintance
with mistress Anne Page ; and the letter is, to do-
sire and to require her to solicit your master's desires
to mistress Anne Page : I pray you be gone ; I will
make an end of my dinner; there's pippins and cheese
to come. [Exeunt.
SCENE III. — A Room in the Garter Inn.
Enter Falstaff, Host, Bardolph, Nym, Pistol,
and Robin.
Fal. Mine host of the Garter, —
Hoit. What says my bully-rook ? Speak scholarly,
and wisely.
Fal. Truly, mine host, I must turn away some of
my followers.
Host. Discard, bully Hercules ; cashier : let them
wag : trot, trot.
Fal. I sit at ten pounds a week.
Host. Thou art an eijiperor, Caesar, Keisar, and
Pheczar. I will entertain Bardolph ; he sliall draw,
he shall tap : said I well, bully Hector ?
Fat. Do so, good mine host.
Host. I have spoke ; let him follow : Let me see
tliec froth, and lime : I am at a word ; follow.
(Exit Host
Fal. Bardolph, follow him ; a tapster is a good
trade ; an old cloak makes a new jerkin ; a withered
scrvingman, a fresh tapster ; Go, adieu.
Dard. It is a life that I have desired ; I will thrive.
[Exit Bard.
Pist. O base Gongarian i wight ! wilt thou the
spigot wield ?
Kt/m. His mind is not heroitk, and there's the
humour of it.
Fal. I am glad I am so acquit of this tinder-box :
his thefts were too open : his filching was like an
unskilful singer, he kept not time.
Ni/m. The good humour is, to steal at a minute's
rest
Pist. Convey, the wise it call : Steal! foh, a fico ^
for tlie phrase !
Fal. Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels.
Pist. Why then let kibes ensue.
Fal. There is no remedy ; I must shift.
Pist. Young ravens must have food.
Fal. Which of yru know Ford of this town ?
Pist. I ken the wight ; he is of subtance good.
Fal. My honest lads, I will toll you what I am
al)out
Pist. Two yards and more.
Fal. No quips now, Pistol ; indeed I am in the
waist two yards about: but I am now about no
waste ; I am about thrift Briefly, I do mean to
make love to Ford's wife ; I spy entertainment in
her; she discourses, she carves, she gives the leer
of invitation; I can construe tlic action of her
For Hungarian.
Fig.
familiar style ; and the hardest voice of her beha-
viour, to be English'd rightly, is, I am Sir John
Falstnff's.
Pist. He hath studied her well, and ti-anslated
her well ; out of honesty into English.
Ni/m. The anchor is deep ; will that humour pass ?
Fal. Now, the report goes, she has all the rule of
her husband's purse.
Pist. To her, boy^ say I.
Nym. The humour rises ; it is good.
Fal. I have writ me here a letter to her : and here
another to Page's wife ; who even now gave me good
eyes too ; she bears the purse too ; she is a region
in Guiana, all gold and bounty. I will be cheater 3
to them both, and they shall be excliequers to me ;
they shall be my East and West Indies, and I will
trade to them both. Go, bear thou this letter to
mistress Page ; and thou this to mistress Ford : we
will thrive, lads, we will thrive.
Pist. Shall I sir Pandarus of Troy become.
And by my side wear steel ? then, Lucifer take all !
Nym. I will run no base humour ; here, take the
humour letter ; I will keep the 'haviour of reputation.
Fal. Hold, sirrah, [To Rob.] bear you these
lettei-s tightly 4 ;
Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores. —
Rogues, hence avaunt ! vanish like hailstones, go ;
Trudge, plod away, o' the hoof; seek shelter, pack !
Falstaff will learn the humour of this age,
French thrift, you rogues ; myself, and skirted page.
[Exeunt Falstaff and Robin.
Pist. Let vultures gripe tliee, for gourd and
fullam 5 hold.
And high and low beguile the rich and poor :
Tester I'll have in pouch 6, when thou shalt lack.
Base Phrygian Turk !
Nym. I have operations in my head, which be
humours of revenge.
Pist. Wilt thou revenge ?
Nym. By welkin, and her star !
Pist. With wit, or steel ?
Nym. With both the humours, I :
I will discuss the humour of tliis love to Pago.
Pist. And I to Ford shall eke unfold.
How Falstaff, varlet vile,
His dove will prove, his gold will hold,
And his soft couch defile.
Nym. My humour shall not cool : I will incense 7
Page to deal with poison ; I will possess him with
yellowness 8, for the revolt of mien is dangerous :
that is my true humour.
Pist. Thou art the Mars of malcontents : I second
thee; troop on. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV. —^ Room in Dr. Caius'a House,
Enter Mrs. Quickly, Simple, and Rugby.
Quick. What ; John Rugby ! — I pmy thee, go to
the casement, and see if you can see my master,
master doctor Caius, coming : if he do, i' faith, and
find any body in the house, here will be an old
abusing of the king's. English.
Rug. I'll go watch. [Exit Rugby.
Quick. Go ; and we'll have a posset for't soon
at night, at the latter end of a sea-coal fire. An
honest, willing, kind fellow, as ever servant shall
EuAciitour, an o(Hcer in the Exchequer.
* Cleverly.
f Sixpence I'll have in pocket
« Jcolousjr.
False dice.
'' Instigate.
4,4.
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
Act I. Scene IV
come in liouse withal ; and, I warrant you, no tell-
tale, nor no breed-bate 9 : his worst fault is, that he
is given to prayer : he is something peevish ' that
way : but nobody but has his fault ; — but let that
pass. Peter Simple, you say your name is ?
Sim. Ay, for fault of a better.
Quick. And master Slender's your master ?
Sim. Ay, forsooth.
Quick. Does he not wear a great round beard, like
a glover's paring knife ?
Sim. No, forsooth : he hath but a little wee face,
with a little yellow beard ; a Cain-coloured beard.
Quick. A softly-sprighted man, is he not?
Sim. Ay, forsooth : but he is as tall 2 a man of his
hands, as any is between this and his head ; he hath
fought with a warrener.
Quick. How say you ? — O, I should remember
him ; does he not hold up his head, as it were ? and
strut in his gait ?
Si?)i. Yes, indeed, does he.
Quick. Well, heaven send Anne Page no worse
fortune. Tell master parson Evans, I will do what
I can for your master ; Anne is a good girl, and I
wish —
Re-enter Rugby.
Jtug. Out, alas ! here comes my master.
Quick. We shall all be shent 3 ; Run in here, good
young man ; go into this closet. [iS7m^s Simple m
t/ie closet.] He will not stay long. — What, John
Rugby ! John, what, John, I say ! — Go, John, go
enquire for my master ; I doubt he be not well,
that he comes not home : — and down, down,
adown-a, &c. [Sings.
Enter Doctor Caius.
Cuius. Vat is you sing ? I do not like dese toys ;
Pray you, go and vetch me in my closet un hoitier
verd ; a box, a green-a box ; Do intend vat T speak ?
a green-a box.
Quick. Ay forsooth, I'll fetch it you. I am glad
he went not in himself; if he had found the young
man, he would have been horn-mad. [Aside.
Caius. Fe, fe, fe, fe ! ma foi, il fait fort chaud.
Je r\ien vais a la cour, — la grande affaire.
Quick. Is it this, sir ?
Caius. Ouiy ; mette le au mon pocket ; Dipiche,
quickly : — Vere is dat knave Rugby ?
Quick. What, John Rugby ! John !
Rug. Here, sir,
Caius. You are John Rugby, and you are Jack
Rugby : Come, take-a your rapier, and come after
my heel to de court.
Rug. 'Tis ready, sir, here in the porch.
Caius. By my trot, I tarry too long : — Od's me !
Qu^ay-f oublie ? dere is some simples in my closet,
dat I vill not for the varld I shall leave behind.
Quick. Ah me ! he'll find the young man there,
and be mad.
Caius. 0 diable, diable I vat is in my closet ? —
Villainy ? larron ! [Pulling Simple 0M^] Rugby,
my rapier.
Quick. Good master, be content.
Caius. Verefore shall I be content-a ?
Quick. The young man is an honest man.
Caius. Vat shall de honest man do in my closet ?
dere is no honest man dat shall come in my closet.
Quick. I beseech you, be not so flegmatick ; hear
9 Strife. 1 Foolish.
3 Scolded, reprimanded.
Brave.
the truth of it. He came of an errand to me from
parson Hugh.
Caius. Veil.
Sim. Ay, forsooth, to desire her to — — —
Quick. Peace, I pray you.
Caius. Peace-a your tongue : — Speak-a your tale.
Sim. To desire this honest gentlewoman, your
maid, to speak a good word to mistress Anne Page
for my master, in the way of marriage.
Quick. Tliis is all, indeed, la ; but I'll ne'er put
my finger in the fire, and need not.
Caius. Sir Hugh send-a you ? — Rugby, baillex
me some paper : — Tarry you a little-a while.
[ Writes.
Quick. I am glad he is so quiet : if he had been
thoroughly moved, you should have heard him so
loud, and so melancholy : — But notwithstanding,
man, I'll do your master what good I can : and the
very yea and the no is, the French doctor, my
master, — I may call him my master, look you, for
I keep his house ; and I wash, wring, brew, bake,
scour, dress meat and drink, make the beds, and
do all myself ; —
Sim. 'Tis a great charge, to come under one
body's hand.
Quick. Are you avis'd o' that ? you shall find it
a great charge : and to be up early and down late :
— but notwithstanding, (to tell you in your ear ;
I would have no words of it;) my master himself
is in love with mistress Anne Page ; but notwith-
standing that, — I know Anne's mind, — that's
neither here nor there. *
Caius. You jack'nape; give-a dis letter to sir
Hugh ; by gar, it is a shallenge ; I vill cut his troat
in de park ; and I will teach a scurvy jack-a-nape
priest to meddle or make : — you may be gone ; it
is not good you tarry here. [ Exit Simple.
Quick. Alas, he speaks but for his friend.
Caius. It is no matter-a for dat ; — do not you
tell-a me dat I shall have Anne Page for myself? —
by gar, I will kill de jack priest ; and I have ap-
pointed mine host of de Jarterre to measure our
weapon : — by gar, I vill myself have Anne Page.
Quick. Sir, the maid loves you, and all shall be
well : we must give folks leave to prate.
Caius. Rugby, come to the court vit me ; — By
gar, if I have not Anne Page, I shall turn your head
out of my door : — Follow my heels, Rugby.
[Exeunt Caius and Rugby.
Quick. You shall have An fools-head of your own.
No, I know Anne's mind for that ; never a woman
in Windsor knows more of Anne's mind than I do ;
nor can do more than I do with her.
Fent. [Within.} Who's within there, ho?
Quick. Who's there, I trow? Come near the
house, I pray you.
Enter Fenton.
Fent. How now, good woman ; how dost thou ?
Quick. The better, that it pleases your good wor-
ship to ask.
Fent. What news? how does pretty mistress Anne?
Quick. In truth, sir, and she is pretty, and honest,
and gentle : and one that is your friend, I can tell
you that by the way ; I praise heaven for it.
Fent. Shall I do any good, thinkest thou ? Shall
I not lose my suit ?
Quick. Troth, sir, all is in his hands above ; but
notwithstanding, master Fenton, I'll be sworn on a
I
Act II. Scene I.
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
45
Have not your worsliip a
book slie loves you :
wart above your eye ?
Fent. Yes, marry, have I ; what of that ?
Quick. Well, thereby hangs a tale ; — good faith,
it is such another Nan j — but, I detest •♦, an honest
maid as ever broke bread : — We had an hour's
talk of that wart ; — I shall never laugh but in that
niaitl's company ! — But, indeed, she is given too
nmcli to allicholly ^ and musing : But for you —
Well, go to.
Fent. Well, I shall see her to-day : Hold, there's
money for thee ; let me have thy voice in my belialf :
— if tliou seest her before me, commend me —
Quick. Will I ? i'faith, that we will : and I will
tell your worship more of the wart, the next time we
have confidence ; and of other wooers.
Fent. Well, farewell ; I am in great haste now.
[Edt.
Quick. Farewell to your worship. — Truly, an
honest gentleman ; but Anne loves him not : for I
know Anne's mind as well as another does : — Out
upon't ! what have I forgot ? [Fxil.
ACT II.
SCENE I. — Before Page's House.
Enter Mistress Page, with a letter.
Mrs. Page. What ! have I 'scaped love-letters in
the holy-day time of my beauty, and am I now a
subject for them ? Let me see : \^Reads.
Ask me no reason why I love you ; for though love
use reason for his precisian ^, he admits him not for his
counsellor : You are not young, no more am I : go
to then, there's sympathy : you are merry, so am I ;
Ha ! ha! then there's more sympathy : you love sack,
and so do I ; JFould you desire better sympathy 9 Let
it suffice thee, mistress Page, (at tlie least, if the love
of a soldier can suffice,) that I love thee. I wiU not
say, pity me, 'tis not a soldierlike phrase ; but I say,
love me. By me.
Thine own true knight.
By day or night.
With aU his might.
For thee tofght,
John Falstaff.
0 wicked, wicked world ! — one that is well nigh
worn to pieces with age, to show himself a young
gallant! What unweighed behaviour hath this
Flemish drunkard picked out of my conversation,
that he dares in this manner assay me ? Why, he
liath not been thrice in my company ! — What should
1 say to him ? — I was then frugal of my mirth. —
Why, I'll exhibit a bill in the parliament for the
putting down of men. How shall I be revenged on
liim ? for revenged I will be.
Enter Mistress Ford.
Mrs. Ford. Mrs. Page ! trust me, I was going to
your house.
Mrs. Page. And trust me, I was coming to you.
You look very ill.
Mrs. Ford. Nay, I'll ne'er believe that ; I have
to show to the contrary.
Mrs. Page. 'Faith, but you do, in my mind.
Mrs. Ford. Well, I do then ; yet, I say, I could
show you to the contrary : O, mistress Page, give
me some counsel !
Mrs. Page. What's the matter, woman ?
Mrs. Ford. O woman, if it were not for one trifling
respect, I could come to such honour !
Mrs. Page. Hang the trifle, woman : — take the
honour : What is it ? — disjiense with trifles ; —
what is it?
* She means, I protest * Melancholy.
• Most probably Shakspoare wrote physician.
Mrs. Ford. If I would but go to hell for an eternal
moment, I could be knighted.
Mrs. Page. What? — Sir Alice Ford !
Mrs. Ford. We burn daylight : . — here, read,
read ; — perceive how I might be knighted, — I
shall think the worse of fat men, as long as I have
an eye to make difference of men's liking : And
yet he would not swear ; praised women's modesty ;
and gave such orderly and well-behaved reproof to
all uncomeliness, that I would have sworn his dis-
position would have gone to the truth of his words :
but they do no more adhere and keep place together,
than the hundredth psalm to the tune of Green
sleeves. What tempest, I trow, threw this whale,
with so many tuns of oil in him, ashore. at Windsor ?
How shall I be revenged on him? I think, the
best way were to entertain him with hope, till the
wicked fire have melted him. — Did you ever hear
the like ?
Mrs. Page. Letter for letter ; but that the name
of Page and Ford differs ! — To thy great comfort
in this mystery of ill opinions, here's the twin-brother
of thy letter : but let thine inherit first ; for, I pro-
test, mine never shall. I warrant he hath a thousand
of these letters writ with blank space for diflerent
names (sure more), and these are of the second
edition : He will print them out of doubt.
Mrs. Ford. Why this is the very same ; the very-
hand, the very words : What doth he think of
us?
Mrs. Page. Nay, I know not : it makes me al-
most ready to wrangle with mine own honesty. I'll
entertain myself like one that I am not acquainted
withal ; for, sure, unless he know some strain in
me, that I know not myself, he would never have
boarded me in this fury. Let's be revenged on
him ; let's appoint him a meeting ; give him a show
of comfort in his suit : and lead him on with a fine-
baited delay, till he hath pawn'd his horses to mine
host of the Garter.
Mrs. Ford. Nay, I will consent to act any villainy
against him, that may not sully the chariness 7 of
our honesty. O, that my husband saw this letter !
it would give eternal food to his jealousy.
Mrs. Page. Why, look, where he comes ; and my
good man too : he's as far from jealousy, as I am
from giving him cause ; and that, I hope, is an un-
measurable distance.
Afrs. Ford. You are the happier woman.
Mrs. Page. Let's consult together against tliis
greasy knight . Come Iiither. [ They retire.
I Caution.
46
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
Act II,
Enter Ford, Pistol, Page, and Nym.
Ford. Well, I hope it be not so.
Pint. Hope is a curtail » dog in some affairs :
Sir John affects thy wife.
Ford. Why, sir, my wife is not young.
Fist. He wooes both high and low, both rich and
poor.
Both young and old, one with another, Ford ;
He loves tliy gally-mawfry 9 ; Ford, perpend. '
Ford. Love my wife ?
Fist. With liver burning hot : Prevent, or go thou
Like sir Actjeon he, with Ring- wood at thy heels :
O, odious is the name !
Ford. What name, sir ?
Fist. The horn, I say : Farewell.
Take heed ; have open eye ; for thieves do foot by
night :
Take heed, ere summer comes, or cuckoo-birds do
sing. —
Away, sir corporal Nym.
Believe it, Page ; he speaks sense. [Exit Pistol.
Ford. I will be patient ; I Avill find out this.
Nym. And this is true. [To Page.] I like not
the humour of lying. He hath wronged me in some
humours ; I should have borne the humoured letter
to her : but I have a sword, and it shall bite upon
my necessity. He loves your wife ; there's the
short and the long. My name is corporal Nym ;
I speak, and I avouch. 'Tis true : — my name is
Nym, and Falstaff loves your wife. —Adieu ! I love
not the humour of bread and cheese j and there's the
humour of it. Adieu. [Exit Nym.
Page. The humour of it, quoth 'a ! here's a fellow
frights humour out of his wits.
Ford. I will seek out Falstaff.
Page. I never heard such a drawling, affecting
rogue.
Ford. If I do find it, well.
Page. I will not believe such a Catalan ^, tho' the
priest o' the town commended him for a true man.
Ford. 'Twas a good sensible fellow : Well.
. Page. How now, Meg ?
Mrs. Page. Whither go you, George ? — Hark you.
Mrs. Ford. How now, sweet Frank ? why art thou
melancholy ?
Ford. I melancholy ! I am not melancholy. —
Get you home, go.
Mrs. Ford. Thou hast some crotchets in thy head
now. — Will you go, mistress Page ?
Mrs. Page. Have with you. — You'll come to
dinner, George ? — Look, who comes yonder : she
shall be our messenger to this paltry knight.
[Aside to Mrs. Ford.
Enter Mistress Quickly.
Mrs. Ford. Trust me, I thought on her : she'll
fit it.
Mrs. Page. You^ are come to see my daughter
Anne?
Quick. Ay, forsooth ; and, I pray, how does good
mistress Anne?
Mrs. Page. Go in with us, and see ; we have an
nour's talk with you.
[Exeunt Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and
Mrs. Quickly.
Page. How now, master Ford ?
" A dog that misses his game.
' Consider.
9 A medley.
2 A lying sharper
Ford. You heard what this knave told me ; did
you not ?
Page. Yes ; and you heard what the other told me?
Ford. Do you think there is truth in them ?
Page. Hang 'em, slaves! I do not think the knight
would offer it: but these that accuse him in his
intent towards our wives, are a yoke of his discarded
men ; very rogues, now they be out of service.
Ford. Were they his men ?
Page. Marry, were they.
Ford. I like it never the better for that. — Does
he lie at the Garter ?
Page. Ay, marry, does he. If he should intend
this voyage towards my wife, I would turn her loose
to him ; and what he gets more of her than sharp
words, let it lie on my head.
Ford. I do not misdoubt my wife ; but I would
be loth to turn them together : A man may be too
confident : I would have nothing lie on my head :
I cannot be thus satisfied.
Page. Look, where my ranting host of the Garter
comes : there is either liquor in his pate, or money
in his purse, when he looks so merrily, — How how,
mine host?
Enter Host and Shallow.
Host. How now, bully-rook ? thou'rt a gentle-
man : cavalero-justice, I say.
Shal. I follow, mine host, I follow. — Good even
and twenty, good master Page ! Master Page, will
you go with us ? we have sport in hand.
Host. Tell him, cavalero-justice ; tell him, bully-
rook.
Shal. Sir, there is a fray to be fought, between sir
Hugh the Welsh priest, and Caius the French doctor.
Ford. Good mine host of the Garter, a word with
you.
Host. What say'st thou, bully-rook ?
{They go aside.
Shal. Will you \to Page] go with us to behold
it ? my merry host hath had the measuring of their
weapons; and, I think, he hath appointed them
contrary places : for, believe me, I hear, the parson
is no jester. Hark, I will tell you what our sport
shall be.
Host. Hast thou no suit against my knight, my
guest-cavalier ?
Ford. None, I protest : but I'll give you a pottle
of burnt sack to give me recourse to him, and tell
him, my name is Brook ; only for a jest.
Host. My hand, bully : thou shalt have egress
and regress ; said I well ? and thy name shall be
Brook : It is a merry night. — Will you go on,
hearts ?
Shal. Have with you, mine host.
Page. I have heard tlie Frenchman hath good
skill in his rapier.
Shal. Tut, sir, I could have told you more ! In
these times you stand on distance, your passes,
stoccadoes, and I know not what: 'tis the heart,
master Page ; 'tis here, 'tis here. I have seen the
time, with ray long sword, I would have made you
four tall fellows skip like rats.
Host. Here, boys, here, here ! shall we wag?
Page. Have with you : — I had rather hear tliern
scold than fight.
[Exeunt Host, Shallow, and Page.
Ford. Though Page be a secure fool, and stands
so firmly on his wife's frailty, yet I cannot put off
my opinion so easily : she was in his company at
I
Scene II.
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
47
Page's house ; and, what tliey made there, I know
not. Well, I will look furtlier into't : and I have
a disguise to sound Falstaff: If I find her honest, I
lose not my labour ; if she be otherwise, 'tis labour
well bestowed. [Eiit.
SCENE II. —^ Room in the Garter Imi.
Enter Falstaff and Pistol.
Fal. I will not lend thee a penny.
Putt. Why tlien the world's mine oyster,
Which I with sword will open. —
I will retort tlie sum in equipage. 3
Fal. Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you
should lay ray countenance to pawn ; I have grated
upon my good friends for three reprieves for you
and your coach-fellow * Nym ; or else you had
looked through the grate like a geminy of baboons.
I am disgraced for swearing to gentlemen my friends,
you were good soldiers, and tall fellows : and when
mistress Bridget lost the handle of her fan, I took't
upon mine honour, thou hadst it not.
Pist. Didst thou not share? hadst thou not
fifteen pence?
Fal. Reason, you rogue, reason : Think'st thou,
rU endanger my soul gratis ? At a word, hang no
more about me, I am no gibbet for you : — go. —
A short knife and a throng ^ : — to your manor
of Pickt-hatch 6, go. — You'll not bear a letter for
me, you rogue ! — you stand upon your honour! —
Wliy, thou unconfinable baseness, it is as much
as 1 can do, to keep tlie terras of ray honour pre-
cise. I, I, I myself sometimes, leaving the fear of
heaven on the left hand, and hiding mine honour in
my necessity, am fain to shuflle, to hedge, and to
lurch ; and yet you, rogue, will ensconce 7 your
rags, your cat-a-mountain looks, your red-lattice 8
phrases, and your bold-beating oaths, under the
shelter of your honour ! You will not do it, you ?
Pist. I do relent: what would'st thou more of man?
Enter Robin.
Rob. Sir, here's a woman would speak witli you.
Fal. Let her approach.
Enter Mrs. Quickly.
Quick. Give your worship good-morrow.
Fal. Good-morrow, good wife.
Quick. Not so, an't please your worship.
Fal. Goml maid, then.
Quick. I'll be sworn ; as my mother was, the
first hour I was born.
Fal. I do believe the swearer : What with me ?
Quick. Shall I vouchsafeyourworshipawordortwo?
Fal. Two thousand, fair woman; and I'll vouch-
safe thee the hearing.
Quick. There is one mistress Ford, sir; — I pray,
come a little nearer tliis ways ; — I myself dwell
with master doctor Caius.
Ful. Well, on : Mistress Ford you say,
Quick. Your worship says very true : I pray your
worship, come a little nearer this ways.
Fal. I warrant thee, nobody hears; — raine own
people, raine own people.
Quick. Are tliey so? Heaven bless them, and
make them his servants !
Fal. Well : Mistress Ford : — what of her ?
* Pay you again in stolen goods.
* Draws along with you. * To cut purses In a crowd.
« Pickt-hatch was in Clerkenwell. 7 Protect
' Al0-house.
Quick. Why, sir, she's a good creature ; but
your worship's a wanton : Well, heaven forgive
you, and all of us, I pray !
Fal. Mistress Ford ; — come, mistress Ford, —
Quick. Marry, this is the short and the long of
it ; you have brought her into such a canaries », as
'tis wonderful. Tlie best courtier of them all,
when the court lay at Windsor, could never have
brought her to such a canary. Yet there has been
knights, and lords, and gentlemen, with their
coaches ; I warrant you, coach after coach, letter
after letter, gift after gift; sraelling so sweetly
(all musk), and so rushling, I warrant you, in silk
and gold ; and in such alligant terms ; and in such
wine and sugar of the best and the fairest, that would
have won any woman's heart ; and, I warrant you,
they could never get an eye-wink of her. — I had
myself twenty angels given me this morning : but
I defy all angels, (in any such sort, as they say,)
but in the way of honesty : — and, I warrant you,
they could never get her so much as sip on a cup
with the proudest of them all ; and yet there has
been earls, nay, which is more, pensioners ; but, I
warrant you, all is one with her.
Fal. But what says she to me? be brief, my
good she- Mercury.
Qziick. Marry, she hath received your letter ; for
the which she thanks you a thousand times ; and
she gives you to notify, that her husband will be
absence from his house between ten and eleven.
Fal. Ten and eleven ?
Quick. Ay, forsooth ; and then you may come
and see the picture, she says that you wot ' of ; —
master Ford, her husband, will be from home.
Alas ! the sweet woman leads an ill life with him ;
he's a very jealousy man ; she leads a very fram-
pold - life with him, good heart.
Fal. Ten and eleven : Woman, commend me to
her ; I will not fail her.
Quick. Why, you say well : But I have another
messenger to your worship : Mistress Page hath her
hearty commendations to you too ; — and let me
tell you in your ear, she's as fartuous a civil modest
wife, and one (I tell 'you) that will not miss your
morning nor evening prayer, as any is in Windsor,
whoe'er be tlie otlier : and she bade me tell your
worship, that her husband is seldom from home ;
but, she hopes, there will come a time. I never
knew a woman so dote upon a man ; surely, I think
you have charms, la ; yes, in trutli.
Fal. Not I, I assure thee ; setting the attraction
of my good parts aside, I have no other channs.
Quick. Blessing on your heart for't !
Fal. But, I pray thee, tell me this : has Ford's
wife, and Page's wife, acquainted each otlier how
they love me ?
Quick. That were a jest, indeed ! — they have
not so little grace, I hope : — tliat were a trick,
indeed ! But mistress Page would desire you to
send her your little Page, of all loves'; her husband
has a marvellous infection to the little page: and,
truly, master Page is an honest man. Never a wife
in Windsor leads a better life than she does; do
what she will, say what she will, take all, pay all,
all is as she will ; and, truly, she deserves it : for if
tliere be a kind woman in Windsor, she is one. You
must send her your Page ; no remedy.
» A mistake of Mrs. Quickly's for quandary.
I Know. s FretAU, peevish. » By aU
48
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
Act II.
Fal. Why, I will.
Quick. Nay, but do so, then : and, look you, he
may come and go between you both ; and, in any
case, have a nay- word'*, that you may know one
''notlier's mind, and the boy never need to under-
stand any thing ; for 'tis not good that children
should know any wickedness : old folks, you know,
have discretion, as they say, and know the world.
Fal. Fare thee well : commend me to them both :
there's my purse ; I am yet thy debtor. — Boy, go
along with tliis woman. — This news distracts me.
[Exeunt Quickly and Robik.
Pist. This is one of Cupid's carriers : —
Clap on more sails ; pursue, up with your fights ;
Give fire ; she is my prize, or ocean whelm them all !
[Exit Pistol.
Fal. Say'st thou so, old Jack ? go thy ways ; I'll
make more of thy old body than I have done. Will
they yet look after thee ? Wilt thou, after the ex-
pence of so much money, be now a gainer ?
Enter Bardolph.
Bard. Sir John, there's one master Brook below
would fain speak with you, and be acquainted with
you; and hath sent your worship a morning's draught
of sack.
Fal. Brook, is his name ?
Bard. Ay, sir.
Fal. Call him in. [Ent Bardolph.] Such
Brooks are welcome to me, that o'erflow such
liquor. Ah ! ha ! mistress Ford and mistress Page,
have I encompassed you ? go to j via ! ^
Re-enter Bardolph, with Ford disguised.
Ford. Bless you, sir.
Fal. And you, sir : Would you speak with me ?
Ford. I make bold, to press with so little prepar.
ation upon you.
Fal. You're welcome ; What's your will ? Give
us leave, drawer. [Exit Bardolph.
Ford. Sir, I am a gentleman that have spent
much ; my name is Brook. .
Fal. Good master Brook, Ldesire more acquaint-
ance of you.
Ford. Good sir John, I sue for yours : not to
charge you ; for I must let you understand, I think
myself in better plight for a lender than you are :
the which hath something embolden'd me to this
unseason'd intrusion : for they say, if money go
before, all ways do lie open.
Fal. Money is a good soldier, sir, and will on.
Ford. Troth, and I have a bag of money here
troubles me : if you will help me to bear it, sir
John, take all, or half, for easing me of the carriage.
Fal. Sir, I know not how I may deserve to be
your porter.
Ford. I will tell you, sir, if you will give me the
hearing.
Fal. Speak, good master Brook ; I shall be glad
to be your servant.
Ford. Sir, I hear you are a scholar, — I will be
brief with you ; — and you have been a man long
"known to me, though I had never so good means,
as desire, to make myself acquainted with you. I
shall discover a thing to you, wherein I must very
much lay open mine own imperfection : but, good
sir John, as you have one eye upon my follies, as
you hear them unfolded, turn another into the
* A watcli-word.
A cant phrase of exultation.
register of your own ; that I may pass with a. re-
proof the easier, sith ^ you yourself know, how easy
it is to be such an offender.
Fal. Very well, sir ; proceed.
Ford. There is a gentlewoman in this town, her
husband's name is Ford.
Fal. Well, sir.
Ford- I liave long loved her, and, I protest to
you, bestowed much on her; followed her with a
doting observance ; engrossed opportunities to meet
her ; fee'd every slight occasion, that could but
niggardly give me sight of her ; not only bought
many presents to give her, but have given largely
to many, to know what she would have given :
briefly, I have pursued her, as love hath pursued
me ; which hath been, on the wing of all occasions.
But whatsoever I have merited, either in my mind,
or in my means, meed, I am sure, I have received
none; unless experience be a jewel: that I have
purchas'd at an infinite rate ; and that hath taught
me to say this :
Love like a shadow fiies, when substance love pursues ;
Pursuing that that fives, andfiying what pursues.
Fal. Have you received no promise of satisfac-
tion at her hands ?
Ford. Never.
Fal. Have you importun'd her to such a purpose ?
Ford. Never.
Fal. Of what quality was your love then ?
Ford. Like a fair house, built upon another
man's ground ; so that I have lost my edifice, by
mistaking the place where I erected it.
Fal. To what purpose have you unfolded this to me?
Ford. When I have told you that, I have told
you all. Some say, that, though she appear honest
to me, yet, in other places, she enlargeth her mirth
so far, that there is shrewd construction made of
her. Now, sir John, here is the heart of my pur-
pose : You are a gentleman of excellent breeding,
admirable discourse, of great admittance 7, authentic
in your place and person, generally allowed 8 for your
many warlike, courtlike, and learned preparations.
Fal. O, sir !
Ford. Believe it, for you know it. — There is
money ; spend it, spend it ; spend more ; spend all
I have ; only give me so much of your time in ex-
change of it, as to lay an amiable siege to the ho-
nesty of this Ford's wife : use your art of wooing,
win her to consent to you ; if any man may, you
may as soon as any.
Fal. Would it apply well to the vehemency of
your affection, that I should win what you would
enjoy? Methinks you prescribe to yourself veiy
preposterously .
Ford. O, understand my drift! she dwells so
securely on the excellency of her honour, that the
folly of my soul dares not present itself; she is too
bright to be looked against. Now, could I come
to her with any detection in my hand, my desires
had instance and argument to commend themselves ;
I could drive her then from the ward of her purity,
her reputation, her marriage-vow, and a thousand
other her defences, which now are too strongly
embattled against me : What say you to't, sir John ?
Fal. Master Brook, I will first make bold with
your money ; next, give me your hand ; and last,
as I am a gentleman, you shall, if you will, have
Ford's wife.
6 Since.
7 In the greatest companies.
Approved.
Scene III.
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
49
Ford. O good sir !
'Fed. Master Brook, I say you shall.
Fwd. Want no money, sir John, you shall want
none.
JPa/. Want no mistress Ford, master Brook, you
shall want none. I shall be with her (I may tell
you) by her own appointment ; even as you came
in to me, her assistant, or go-between, parted from
me : I say, I shall be with her between ten and
eleven ; for at that time the jealous rascally knave,
her husband, will be forth. Come you to me at
night ; you shall know how I speed.
Ford. I am West in your acquaintance. Do you
know Ford, sir?
Fal. Hang him, poor knave ! I know him not :
— yet I wrong him to call him poor ; they say, the
jealous knave hath masses of money ; for the which
his wife seems to me well-favoured. I will use her
as the key of the rogue's coffer ; and there's my
harvest-home.
Ford. I would you knew Ford, sir ; that you
might avoid him, if you saw him.
Fed. Hang him, mechanical salt-butter rogue ! I
will stare him out of his wits ; I will awe him with
my cudgel : it shall hang like a meteor o'er his horns :
master Brook, thou shalt know, I will predominate
o'er the peasant, and thou shalt have his wife. —
Come to me soon at night : — Ford's a knave, and
I will aggravate his stile 9 ; thou, master Brook,
shalt know him for a knave and cuckold : — come
to me soon at night. \^ExU.
Ford. What an Epicurean rascal is this ! — My
lieart is ready to crack with impatience. — Who
says this is improvident jealousy? My wife hath
sent to him, the hour is fixed, the match is made.
Would any man have thought this ? — See the
curse of having a false woman ! my bed sliall be
abused, my coffers ransacked, my reputation gnawn
at; and I shall not only receive this villainous
wrong, but stand under the adoption of abominable
terms, and by him that does me this wrong. Page
is an ass, a secure ass ; he will trust his wife, he
will not be jealous : I will rather trust a Fleming
with my butter, parson Hugh the Welshman with
my cheese, an Irishman with my aqua-vitje bottle,
or a thief to walk my ambling gelding, than my
wife with herself: then she plots, then she rumi-
nates, then she devises: and what they think in
their hearts they may effect, they will break their
liearts but they will effect. Heaven be praised for
my jealousy ! — Eleven o'clock the hour ; — I will
prevent this, detect my wife, be revenged on Fal-
staff, and laugh at Page. I will about it ; better
three hours too soon, than a minute too late. Fie,
fie, fie ! cuckold ! cuckold ! cuckold ! \^ExU.
SCENE III. — Windsor Park.
Enter Caius and Rugbt.
Cains. Jack Rugby !
Rug. Sir.
Caius. Vat is de clock. Jack ?
Rvg. 'Tis past the hour, sir, that sir Hugh pro-
raised to meet.
Caius. By gar, he has save his soul, dat he is no
come ; he has pray his Pible veil, dat he is no
come : by gar, Jack Rugby, he is dead already, if
he be come.
» Add to his titles.
Rug. He is wise, sir; he knew, your worship
would kill him, if he came.
Caius. By gar, de herring is no dead, so as I vill
kill him. Take your rapier, Jack ; I vill tell you
how I vill kill him.
Rug. Alas, sir, I cannot fence.
Caius. Villainy, take your rapier.
Riig. Forbear, here's company.
Enter Host, Shallow, Slender, and Page.
Host. 'Bless thee, bully doctor.
Shal. 'Save you, master doctor Caius.
Page. Now, good master doctor !
Sleri. Give you good morrow, sir.
Coitcs. Vat be all you, one, two, tree, four, come for.
Host. To see thee fight, to see thee foin ', to see
thee traverse, to see thee here, £o see thee there ; to
see thee pass thy punto, thy stock, thy reverse, thy
distance, thy montlnt.^ Is he dead, my Ethiopian?
is he dead, my Francisco? ha, bully! What says
my ^sculapius ? my Galen ? my heart of elder ?
ha ! is he dead, bully Stale ? is he dead ?
Caius. By gar, he is de coward Jack priest of the
vorld ; he is not show his face.
Host. Thou art a Castilian king ! a Hector of
Greece, my boy !
Caius. I pray you, bear vitness that me have stay
six or seven, two, tree hours for him, and he is no
come.
Shal. He is the wiser man, master doctor : he is
a curer of souls, and you a curer of bodies ; if you
should fight, you go against the hair of your pro-
fessions : is it not true, master Page ?
Page. Master Shallow, you have yourself been
a great fighter, though now a man of peace.
Shal. Bodykins, master Page, though I now be
old, and of the peace, if I see a sword out, my
finger itches to make one : though we are justices,
and doctors, and churchmen, master Page, we have
some salt of our youth in us ; m'c are the sons of
women, master Page.
Page. 'Tis true, master Shallow.
Shal. It will be found so, master Page. Master
doctor Caius, I am come to fetch you home. I am
sworn of the peace ; you have showed yourself a
wise physician, and sir Hugh hath shown liimself a
wise and patient churchman : you must go with me,
master doctor.
Host. Pardon, guest justice : — A word, monsieur.
Caius. Scurvy Jack-dog priest ! by gar, me vill
cut his ears.
Host. He will clapper-claw thee tightly, bully.
Caius. Clapper- de-claw ! vat is dat ?
Host. That is, he will make thee amends.
Caiiis. By gar, me do look, he shall clappcr-dc-
claw me ; for by gar, me vill have it.
Host. And I will provoke him to't, or let him wag.
Caius. Me tank you for dat.
Host. And moreover, bully, — But first, master
guest, and master Page, and eke cavalero Slender,
go you through the town to Frogmore.
[jiside to them.
Page. Sir Hugh is tlicrc, is he ?
Host. He is there : see what humour he is in ;
and I will bring the doctor about by the fields: will
it do well ?
Slial. We will do it.
Page. Shal. and Slcn. Adieu, good master doctor.
[Exeunt Page, Shallow, and Slender.
' Fence. « Terras in fencing.
50
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
Act III.
Caius. By gar, me vill kill de priest; for he speak
for a jack-an-ape to Anne Page.
Host. Let him die : but, first, sheath thy impa-
tience ; throw cold water on thy choler : go about
the fields with me through Frogmore : I will bring
thee where Mrs. Anne Page is, at a farm-house, a
feasting ; and thou shalt woo her : said I well ?
Caiiis. By gar, me tank you for dat : by gar, I
love you ; and 1 shall procure-a you dc good guest,
de earl, de knight, de lords, de gentlemen, my
patients.
Host. For the which, I will be thy adversary to-
wards Anne Page ; said I well ?
Caius. By gar, 'tis good ; veil said.
Host. Let us wag then.
Caiics. Come at my heels. Jack Rugby. [Exeunt.
ACT III,
SCENE I. — A Field near Frogmore.
Enter Sir Hugh Evans and Simple.
Eva. I pray you now, good master Slender's
serving man, and friend Simple by your name,
which way have you looked for master Caius, that
calls himself Doctor of Phi/sick ?
Sim. Marry, sir, the city-ward, the park-ward,
every way ; old Windsor way, and every way but
the town way.
Eva. I most fehemently desire you, you will also
look that way.
Sim. I will, sir.
Eva. 'Pless my soul ! how full of cholers I am,
and trembling of mind ! — I shall be glad, if he
have deceived me : — how melancholies L am ! — I
will knog his knave's costards, when I have good
opportunities for the 'ork: — 'pless my soul ! {Sings.
To shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals ;
There will we make our peds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies.
To shallow ■
Mercy on me ! I have a great dispositions to cry.
Melodious birds sing madrigals ; ■—
When as I sat in Pabylon, — —
And a thousan vagram posies.
To shalloiv
Sim. Yonder he is coming, this way, sir Hugh.
Eva. He's welcome : —
t To shallow rivers, to whose falls ——
Heaven prosper the right ! — What weapons is he?
Sim. No weapons, sir : There comes my master,
master Shallow, and another gentleman from Frog-
more, over the stile, this way
Eva. Pray you, give me my gown ; or else keep
it in your arms.
Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender.
Shal. How now, master parson ? Good morrow,
good sir Hugh. Keep a gamester from the dice, and
a good student from his book, and it is wonderful.
Slen. Ah, sweet Anne Page !
Page. Save you, good sir Hugh !
Eva. 'Pless you from his mercy sake, all of you !
Shal. What ! the sword and the word ! do you
study them both, master parson ?
Page. And youthful still, in your doublet and
hose, this raw rheumatic day ?
Eva. There is reasons and causes for it.
Page. We are come to you, to do a good office,
master parson.
Eva. Fery well : What is it ?
Page. Yonder is a most reverend gentleman,
8 Head.
who belike, having received wrong by some person,
is at most odds with his own gravity and patience,
that ever you saw.
Shal. I have lived fourscore years and upwards ;
I never heard a man of his place, gravity, and
learning, so wide of his own respect.
Eva. What is he ?
Page. I think you know him ; master doctor
Caius, the renowned French physician.
Eva. I had as lief you would tell me of a mess
of porridge.
Page. Why?
Eva. He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates
and Galen, — and he is a knave besides; a cowardly
knave, as you would desires to be acquainted withal.
Page. I warrant you he's the man should fight with
him.
Slen. O, sweet Anne Page !
Shal. It appears so, by his weapons : — Keep
them asunder j — here comes doctor Caius.
Enter Host, Caius, and Rugby.
Page. Nay, good master parson, keep in your
weapon.
Shal. So do you, good master doctor.
Host. Disarm them, and let them question : let
them keep their limbs whole, and hack our English.
Caius. I pray you, let-a me speak a word vit your
ear : Verefore vill you not meet a-me ?
Eva. Pray you, use your patience : In good time.
Caius. By gar, you are de coward, de Jack dog,
John ape-
Eva. Pray you, let us not be laughing-stogs to
other men's humours ; I desire you in friendship,
and I will one way or other make you amends :
and I will knog your knave's cogscomb, for missing
your meetings and appointments.
Caius. Hiable ! — Jack Rugby, — mine Host de
Jarterre, have I not stay for him, to kill him ? have
I not, at de place I did appoint ?
Eva. As I am a christians soul, now, look you,
this is the place appointed ; I'll be judgment by
mine host of the Garter.
Host. Peace, I say, Guallia, and Gaul, French
and Welsh ; soul-curer and body-curer.
Caius. Ay, dat is very good ! excellent !
Host. Peace, I say ; hear mine host of the Garter.
Am I politick ? am I subtle ? am I a Machiavel ?
Shall I lose my doctor ? no ; he gives me the po-
tions. Shall I lose my parson ? my priest ? my sir
Hugh ? no ; he gives me the proverbs and the no-
verbs.— Give me thy hand, terrestrial ; so : — Give
me thy hand, celestial ; so. Boys of art, 1 have
deceived you both ; I have directed you to wrong
places : your hearts are mighty, your skins are
whole, and let burnt sack be the issue. — Come
Scene II.
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
51
lay their swords to pawn : — Follow me, lad of
peace ; follow, follow, follow.
Sluil. Trust me, a mad host : — Follow, gentle-
men, follow.
Slen. O, sweet Anne Page !
[Exeunt Shal. Slen. Page, and Host.
Caius. Ha ! do I perceive dat ? have you make-a
de sot of us ? ha, ha !
Eva. This is well ; he has made us his vlouting-
stog. — I desire you, that we may be friends ; and
let us knog our prains together, to be revenge on
this same scall, scurvy, cogging companion, the
host of the Garter.
Caius. By gar, vit all my heart : he promise to bring
me vere is Anne Page : by gar, he deceive me too.
Eva. Well, I will smite his noddles : — Pray you,
follow. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. — The Street in Windsor.
Enter Mistress Page a7id Robik.
Mrs. Page. Nay, keep your way, little gallant ;
you were wont to be a follower, but now you are a
leader: Whether had you rather, lead mine eyes,
or eye your master's heels ?
Rob. I had rather, forsooth, go before you like
a man, than follow him like a dwarf.
Mrs. Page. O you are a flattering boy ; now, I
see, you'll be a courtier.
Enter Ford.
Ford. Well met, mistress Page: Whither go you?
Mrs. Page. Truly, sir, to see your wife : Is she
at home?
Ford. Ay ; and as idle as she may hang together,
for want of company : I think if your husbands
were dead, you two would marry.
Mrs. Page. Be sure of that, — two other husbands.
Ford. Where had you this jiretty weather-cock ?
Mrs. Page. I cannot tell what his name is my
husband had him of: What do you call your
knight's name, sirrah ?
Rob. Sir John Falstaff.
Ford. Sir John Falstaff!
Mrs. Page. He, he ; I can never hit on's name.
There is such a league between my good man and
he ! — Is your wife at home, indeed ?
Ford. Indeed, she is.
Mrs. Page. By your leave, sir ; — I am sick, till
I see her. [Exeunt Mrs. Page and Robin.
Ford. Has Page any brains ? hath he any eyes ;
hath he any thinking ? Sure they sleep ; he hath no
use of them. Why, this boy will carry a letter twenty
miles, as easy as a cannon will shoot point-blank
twelve score. He pieces-out his wife's inclination ;
he gives her folly motion, and advantage : and now
she's going to my wife, and Falstaff's boy with her.
A man may hear this shower sing in the wind ! —
and Falstaft"'s boy with her ! — Good plots ! — they
are laid ; and our revolted wives share damnation
togetlier. Well ; I will take him, then torture my
wife, pluck the borrowed veil of modesty from the
so seeming mistress Page, divulge Page himself for
a secure and wilful Actaeon ; and to these violent
proceedings all my neighbours shall cry aim.-* [Clock
strikes.'l The clock gives me my cue, and my as-
surance bids me search ; tliere I shall find Falstaff:
I shall be rather praised for this than mocked ; for
it is as positive as the eartli is firm, that Falstaff is
there : I will go.
< Shall encourage.
Enter Page, Shallow, Slender, Host, Sir Hugh
Evans, Caius, and Rugby.
Shal. Page, &c. Well met, master Ford.
Ford. Trust me, a good knot : I have good cheer
at home ; and I pray you, all go witli me.
Shal. I must excuse myself, master Ford.
Slen. And so must I, sir ; we have appointed to
dine with mistress Anne, and I would not break
with her for more money than I'll speak of.
Shal. We have lingered about a match between
Anne Page and my cousin Slender, and this day
we shall have our answer.
Slen. I hope I have your good-will, father Page.
Page. You have, master Slender ; I stand wholly
for you : — but my wife, master doctor, is for you
altogether,
Caius. Ay, by gar ; and de maid is love-a me ;
my nursh-a Quickly tell me so mush.
Host. What say you to young master Fenton ?
he capers, he dances, he has eyes of youth, he
writes verses, he speaks holyday ^ ; he smells April
and May : he will carry't, he will carry't.
Page. Not by my consent, I promise you. The
gentleman is of no having : he kept company with
the wild Prince and Poins ; he is of too high a
region, he knows too much. No, he shall not
knit a knot in his fortunes ^vith the finger of my
substance : if he take her, let him take her simply ;
the wealth I have, waits on my consent, and my
consent goes not that way.
Ford. I beseech you, heartily, some of you go
home with me to dinner : besides your cheer, you
shall have sport ; I will show you a monster.
Master doctor, you shall go ; — so shall you, master
Page ; — and you, sir Hugh.
Shal. Well, fare you well : — we shall have the
freer wooing at master Page's.
[Exeunt Shallow atid Slender.
Caius. Go home, John Rugby; I come anon.
[Exit Rugby.
Host. Farewell, my hearts : I will to my honest
knight Falstaff, and drink canary with him.
[Exit Host,
Ford. [Aside.] I think, I shall drink in pipe-wine
first with him ; I'll make him dance. Will you go,
gentles ?
All. Have with you, to see this monster. [Exeunt.
SCENE III. — A Room in Ford's House.
Enter Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page.
Mrs. Ford. What, John ! what, Robert !
Mrs. Page. Quickly, quickly : Is the buck-bas-
ket—
Mrs. Ford. I warrant : — What, Robin, I say.
Enter Servants tvith a basket.
Mrs. Page. Come, come, come.
Mrs. Ford. Here, set it down.
Mrs. Page. Give your men the charge ; we must
be brief.
Mrs. Ford. Marry, as I told you before, John
and Robert, be ready here hard by in tlie brew-
house ; and when I suddenly call you, come forth,
and (without any pause, or staggering,) take this
basket on your shoulders : that done trudge with
it in all haste, and carry it among the whitsters in
* Out of the common style.
£ 3
52
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
Act III.
Datchet-mead, and there empty it in the muddy
ilitch, close by the Thames' side.
Mrs. Page. You will do it ?
Mrs. Ford. I have told them over and over ; they
lack no direction : Begone, and come when you
are called. [Exeunt Servants.
Mrs. Page. Here comes little Robin.
Enter Robin.
Mrs. Ford. How now, my eyas-musket ? ^ what
news with you ?
Rob. My master sir John is come in at your back-
door, mistress Ford ; and requests your company.
Mrs. Page. You little Jack-a-lent 7, have you
been true to us ?
Rob. Ay, I'll be sworn : My master knows not
of your being liere ; and hath threatened to put me
into everlasting liberty, if I tell you of it ; for, he
swears, he'll turn me away.
Mrs. Page. Thou'rt a good boy ; this secrecy of
thine shall be a tailor to thee, and shall make thee
a new doublet and hose. — I'll go hide me.
Mrs. Ford. Do so : — Go tell thy master, I am
alone. Mistress Page, remember you your cue.
[Exit Robin.
Mrs. Page. I warrant thee ; if I do not act it,
hiss me. [Exit Mrs. Page.
Mrs. Ford. Go to then ; we'll use this gross
watery pumpion j we'll teach him to know turtles
from jays.
Enter Falstaff.
Fal. Have I caught thee, mi/ heavenly jewel !
Why, now let me die, for I have lived long enough :
this is the period of my ambition : O this blessed
hour!
Mrs. Ford. O sweet sir John !
Fal. Mistress Ford, I cannot cog, I cannot prate,
mistress Ford. Now shall I sin in my wish : I would
thy husband were dead ; I'll speak it before the
best lord, I would make thee my lady.
Mrs. Ford. I your lady, sir John ! alas, I should
be a pitiful lady.
Fal. Let the court of France show me such an-
other : I see how thine eye would emulate the dia-
mond : Thou hast the right arched bent of the brow,
that becomes the ship-tire, the tire-valiant, or any
tire of Venetian admittance.
Mrs. Ford. A plain kerchief, sir John : my brows
become nothing else ; nor that well neither.
Fal. Thou art a traitor to say so : thou would'st
make an absolute courtier : and the firm fixture of
thy foot would give an excellent motion to thy gait,
in a semi-circled farthingale. I see what thou wert,
if fortune thy foe were not ; nature is thy friend :
Come, thou canst not hide it.
Mrs. Ford. Believe me, there's no such thing in
me.
Fal. What made me love thee ? let that persuade
thee, there's something extraordinary in thee.
Come, I cannot cog, and say, thou art this and
that, like a many of these lisping haw-thorn buds,
that come like women in men's apparel, and smell
like Bucklers-bury 8 in simple-time ; I cannot : but
I love thee ; none but thee ; and thou deservest it.
Mrs. Ford. Do not betray me, sir ; I fear, you
love mistress Page.
" A young small hawk.
7 A puppet thrown at in Lent, like shrove-cocks.
8 Formerly chiefly inhabited by druggists.
Fal. Thou might'st as well say, I love to walk
by the Counter-gate ; which is as hateful to me as
the reek of a lime-kiln.
Mrs. Ford. Well heaven knows, how I love you ;
and you sliall one day find it.
Fal. Keep in that mind ; I'll deserve it.
Mrs Ford. Nay, I must tell you, so you do ; or
else I could not be in that mind.'
Rob. [ivithin.] Mistress Ford, mistress Ford !
here's mistress Page at the door, sweating, and
blowing, and looking wildly, and would needs speak
with you presently.
Fal. She shall not see me ; I will ensconce 9 me
behind the arras.
Mrs. Ford. Pray you, do so ; she's a very tat-
tling woman. — [Falstaff hides himself.
Enter Mrs. Page and Robin.
What's the matter ? how now ?
Mrs. Page. O mistress Ford, what have you
done ? You're shamed, you are overthrown, you
are undone for ever.
Mrs. Ford. What's the matter, good mistress
Page?
Mrs. Page. O well-a-day, mistress Ford ! having
an honest man to your husband, to give him such
cause of suspicion !
Mrs. Ford. What cause of suspicion ?
Mrs. Page. What cause of suspicion ! — Out
upon you ! how am I mistook in you ?
Mrs. Ford. Why, alas ! what's the matter ?
Mrs. Page. Your husband's coming hither, wo-
man, with all the officers in Windsor, to search for
a gentleman, that, he says, is here, now in the
house, by your consent, to take an ill advantage of
his absence : you are undone.
Mrs. Ford. Speak louder, [Aside."] — 'Tis not
so, I hope.
Mrs. Page. Pray heaven it be not so, that you
have such a man here ; but 'tis most certain your
husband's coming with half Windsor at his heels,
to search for such a one. I come before to tell
you : If you know yourself clear, why I am glad of
it : but if you have a friend here, convey, convey
him out. Be not amazed ; call all your senses to
you : defend your reputation, or bid farewell to
your good life for ever.
Mrs. Ford. What shall I do ? — There is a gen-
tleman, my dear friend ; and I fear not mine own
shame, so much as his peril : I had rather than a
thousand pound, he were out of the house.
Mrs. Page. For shame, never stand you had
rather, and you had rather,- your husband's here
at hand, bethink you of some conveyance : in the
house you cannot hide him. — O, how have you
deceived me ! — Look, here is a basket : if he be
of any reasonable stature, he may creep in here;
and throw foul linen upon him, as if it were going
to bucking : Or, it is whiting-time ', send him by
your t\?'o men to Datchet-mead.
Mrs. Ford. He's too big to go in there: What
shall I do ?
Re-enter Falstaff.
Fal. Let me see't ! let me see't ! O let me see't !
I'll in, I'll in ; — follow your friend's counsel ; —
I'll in.
Mrs. Page. What ! sir John Falstaff ! Are these
your letters, knight ?
" Hide. 1 Bleaching time.
Scene IV.
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
53
Fed. I love ihee, and none but thee ; help me
away : let me creep in here ; I'll never
\_He goes into the basket ; they cover him
with foul linen.
Mrs. Page. Hef][> to cover your master, boy :
Call your men, mistress Ford : — You dissemblinff
knight. ^
Mrs Ford. What, John, Robert, John ! [Exit
RowN ; Re-enter Servants.] Go, take up these
clothes here, quickly; Where's the cowl-staff?^
look, how you drumbleS ; carry them to the laun-
dress in Datchet-mead ; quickly, come.
EiUer Ford, Page, Caius, and Sir Hugh Evans.
Ford. Pray you, come near : if I suspect without
cause, why Uien make sport at me, then let me be
your jest ; I deserve it. — How now ? whither bear
you this ?
Serv. To the laundress, forsooth.
Mrs. Ford. Why, what have you to do whither
they bear it ? You were best meddle with buck-
washing.
Ford. Buck ? I would I could wash myself of
tlie buck ! Buck, buck, buck ? Ay, buck ; I war-
rant you, buck ; and of the season too, it shall ap-
pear. [Exeunt Servants with the basket.] Gentle-
men, I have dreamed to-night: I'll tell you my
dream. Here, here, here be my keys : ascend my
chambers, search, seek, find out : I'll warrant we'll
unkennel the fox : — Let me stop this way first :
So now uncape.*
Page. Good master Ford, be contented : you
wrong yourself too much.
Ford. True, master Page.— Up, gentlemen; you
shall see sport anon : follow me, gentlemen. [Exit.
Eva. This is fery fantastical humours, and jea-
lousies.
Caius. By gar, 'tis no de fashion of France : it is
not jealous in France.
Page. Nay, follow him, gentlemen ; see the issue
of liis search. [Exeunt Evans, Page, and Caius.
Mrs. Page. Is there not a double excellency in
this? ^
Mrs. Ford. I know not which pleases me better,
tliat my husband is deceived, or sir John.
Mrs. Page. What a taking was he in, when your
husband asked who was in the basket ?
Mrs. Ford. Tlu-owing him into the water will do
liim a benefit.
Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest rascal ! I would,
all of tlie same strain were in the same distress.
Mrs. Foi'd. I think my husband hath some spe-
cial suspicion of Falstaff*'s being here ; for I never
saw him so gross in his jealousy till now.
Mrs. Page. I will lay a plot to try that : And we
will yet have more tricks with Falstaft': his dissolute
disease will scarce obey this medicine.
Mrs. Ford. Shall we send that foolish carrion,
mistress Quickly, to him, and excuse his throwing
into the water; and give him another hope, to
betray him to another punishment ?
Mrs. Page. We'll do it ; let him be sent for to-
morrow eight o'clock, to have amends.
Re-enter Ford, Page, Caius, andSirlixsQn Evans.
Ford. I cannot find him: may be the knave
bragged of Uiat he could not compass.
Mrs. Page. Heard you that ?
Mrs. Ford. Ay, ay, peace : — You use me well,
master Ford, do you ?
Ford. Ay, I do so.
Mrs. Ford. Heaven make you better than your
thoughts !
Ford. Amen.
Mrs. Page. You do yourself mighty wrong, mas-
ter Ford.
Ford. Ay, ay ; I must bear it.
Eva. If there be any pody in the house, and in
the chambers, and in the coflfers, and in the presses,
heaven forgive my sins !
Caius. By gar, nor I too ; dere is no bodies.
Page. Fie, fie, master Ford! are you not ashamed?
What spirit, what devil suggests this imagination ?
I would not have your distemper in tliis kind, for
the wealth of Windsor Castle.
Ford. 'Tis my fault, master Page : I suffer for it.
Eva. You suffer for a pad conscience ; your wife
is as honest a 'omans, as I will desires among five
thousand, and five hundred too.
Caius. By gar, I see 'tis an honest woman.
Ford. Well ; — I promised you a dinner :
Come, come, walk in the park : I pray you, pardon
me ; I will hereafter make known to you, why I
have done this. — Come, wife ; — come mistress
Page : I pray you pardon me ; pray heartily, par-
don me.
Page. Let's go in, gentlemen; but, trust me,
we'll mock him. I do invite you to-morrow morn-
ing to my house to breakfast ; after, we'll a birding
together ; I have a fine hawk for the bush : Shall it
be so?
Ford. Any thing.
Eva. If there is one, I shall make two in the
company.
Ford. Pray you go, master Page.
Eva. I pray you now, remembrance to-morrow
on the knave, mine host.
Caius. Dat is good ; by gar, vit all my heart.
Eva. A knave ; to have liis gibes and his mock-
eries- [Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — A Room in Page's House.
Enter Fenton, and Mistress Anne Page.
Fent. I see, I cannot get thy father's love ;
Therefore, no more turn me to him, sweet Nan.
Anne. Alas ! how then ?
Fen. Why, thou must be tliyself.
He doth object, I am too great of birtli ;
And that, my state being gall'd with my expence,
I seek to heal it only by his wealth :
Besides these, other bars he lays before me,
My riots past, my wild societies ;
And tells me, 'tis a thing impossible
I should love thee, but as a property.
Anne. INIay be, he tells you true.
Fent. No, heaven so speed mc in my time- lo
come !
Albeit, I will confess, thy father's wealth
Was the first motive that I woo'd thee, Anne :
Yet, wooing thee, I found thee of more value
Than stamps in gold, or sums in scaled bags ;
And 'tis the very riches of thyself
That now I aim at,
Anne. Gentle master Fenton,
Yet seek my father's love : still seek it, bir :
E 3
54
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
Act III.
If opportunity and humblest suit.
Cannot attain it, why then. — Hark you hither.
{_Tliey converse apart.
Enter Shallow, Slender, and Mrs. Quickly.
Shal. Break their talk, Mrs. Quickly j my kins-
man shall speak for himself.
Slen. I'll make a shaft or a bolt on't* : slid, 'tis
but venturing.
Shal. Be not dismay'd.
iSZen. No, she shall not dismay me : I care not*
for that, — but that I am afeard.
Quiclc. Hark ye ; master Slender would speak a
word with you.
Anne. I come to him. — This is my father's
choice.
O, what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults
Looks liandsome in three hundred pounds a year !
[Asixle.
Quick. And how does good master Fenton? Pray
you, a word with you.
Shal. She's coming ; to her, coz. O boy, thou
hadst a father.
Slen. I had a father, mistress Anne ; — my uncle
can tell you good jests of him : — Pray you, uncle,
tell mistress Anne the jest, how my father stole
two geese out of a pen, good uncle.
Shal. Mistress Anne, my cousin loves you.
Slen. Ay, that I do ; as well as I love any woman
in Glocestershire.
Shnl. He will maintain you like a gentlewoman.
Slen. Ay, that I will, come cut and long-tail,
under the degree of a 'squire.
Shal. He wall make you a hundred and fifty
pounds jointure.
Anne. Good master Shallow, let him woo for
himself.
Shal. Marry, I thank you for it ; I thank you for
that good comfort. She calls you, coz ; I'll leave
you.
Anne. Now, master Slender.
Slen. Now, good mistress Anne.
Anne. What is your will.
Slen. My will? od's heartlings, that's a pretty
jest indeed ! I ne'er made my will yet, I thank
heaven ; I am not such a sickly creature, I give
heaven praise.
Anne. I mean, master Slender, what would you
with me ?
Sle?i. Truly, for mine own part, I would little or
nothing with you : Your father, and my uncle, have
made motions : if it be my luck, so ; if not, happy
man be his dole ! ^ They can tell you how things
go, better than I can : You may ask your father ;
here he comes.
E7iter Page, and Mistress Page.
Page. Now, master Slender : — Love him, daugh-
ter Anne. —
Why, how now ! what does master Fenton here ?
You wrong me, sir, thus still to haunt my house :
I told you, sir, my daughter is dispos'd of.
Fent. Nay, master Page, be not impatient.
Mrs. Page. Good master Fenton, come not to
my child.
Page. She is no match for you.
Fent. Sir, will you hear me ?
Page. No, good master Fenton.
* A proverb — a shaft was a long arrow, and a bolt a thick
ihort one. » Lot.
Come, master Shallow : come, son Slender ; in : —
Knowing my mind, you wrong me, master Fenton.
[Exeunt Page, Shallow, and Slendek.
Quick. Speak to mistress Page.
Fent. Good mistress Page, for that I love your
daughter
In such a righteous fashion as I do.
Perforce, against all checks, rebukes, and manners,
I must advance the colours of my love,
And not retire : Let me liave your good will.
Anne. Good mother, do not marry me to yond'
fool.
Mrs. Page. I mean it not ; I seek you a better
husband.
Quick. That's my master, master doctor.
Anne. Alas, I had rather be set quick i' the earth,
And bowl'd to death with turnips.
Mrs. Page. Come, trouble not yourself: Good
master Fenton.
I will not be your friend, nor enemy :
My daughter will I question how she loves you.
And as I find her, so am I aflfected ;
'Till then, farewell sir : — : She must needs go in ;
Her father will be angry.
[Exeunt Mrs. Page and Anne.
Fent. Farewell, gentle mistress ; farewell. Nan.
Quick. This is my doing now ; — Nay, said I,
will you cast away your child on a fool, and a
physician ? Look on master Fenton : — this is my
doing.
Fent. I thank thee ; and I pray thee, once to-
night
Give my sweet Nan this ring : There's for thy pains.
[Exit.
Quick. Now heaven send thee good fortune ! A
kind heart he hath : a woman would run through
fire and water for such a kind heart. But yet, I
would my master had mistress Anne ; or I would
master -Slender had her ; or, in sooth, I would
master Fenton had her : I will do what I can for
tliem all three ; for so I have promised, and I'll be
as good as my word ; but speciously ^ for master
Fenton. Well, I must of another errand to sir
John Falstaff from my two mistresses: What a
beast am I to slack 7 it. [ExU,
SCENE V. — A Room in the Garter Inn.
Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.
Fal. Bardolph, I say, —
Bard. Here, sir.
Fal. Go fetch me a quart of sack ; put a toast
in't. [Exit Bard.] Have I lived to be carried in
a basket, like a barrow of butcher's offal ? and to
be thrown into the Thames? Well; if I be served
such another trick, I'll have my brains ta'en out,
and buttered, and give them to a dog for a new
year's gift. The rogues slighted me into the river
with as littlp remorse as they would have drowned
blind puppies, fifteen i' the litter : and you may
know by my size, that I have a kind of alacrity in
sinking ; if the bottom were ever so deep, I should
down. I had been drowned, but that the shore
was shelvy and shallow : a death that I abhor ; for
the water sM^ells a man ; and what a thing should I
have been, when I had been swelled! I should
have been a mountain of mummy.
Specially.
Neglect.
J
Scene V.
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
bb
Re-enter Bardolph, with the wine.
Hard. Here's mistress Quickly, sir, to speak with
you.
Fal. Come, let me pour in some sack to the
Thames water ; for my inside's as cold, as if I liad
swallowed snow-balls. Call her in.
Bard. Come in, woman.
Enter Mrs. Quickly.
Quick. By your leave ; I cry you mercy : Give
your worship good-morrow.
Fal. Take away these chalices : Go brew me a
pottle of sack finely. — {Eint Bardolph.] — How
now ?
Quiclr. Marry, sir, I come to your worship from
mistress Ford.
Fal. Mistress Ford! I have had ford enough: I
was thrown into the ford.
Quick. Alas the day ! good heart, that was not
her fault ; she does so take on with her men ; they
mistook their erection.
Fal. So did I mine, to build upon a foolish wo-
man's promise.
Quick. Well, she laments, sir, for it, that it would
yearn your heart to see it. Her husband goes tliis
morning a birding ; she desires you once more to
come to her between eight and nine : I must carry
her word quickly ; slie'll make you amends, 1
warrant you.
Fal. Well, I will visit her: Tell her so; and bid
her tliink, what a man is : let her consider his
frailty, and then judge of my merit.
Quick. I will tell her.
Fal. Do so. Between nine and ten, say'st thou?
QuicA: Eight and nine, sir.
Fal. Well, be gone : I will not miss her.
Quick. Peace be with you, sir. [Exit.
Fal. I marvel, I hear not of master Brook ; he
sent me word to stay within : I like his money
well. O, here he comes.
Enter Ford.
Ford. Bless you, sir !
Fal. Now, master Brook? you come to know
what hath passed between me and Ford's wife ?
Ford. That, indeed, sir John, is my business.
Fal. Master Brook, I will not lie to you ; I was
at her house the hour she appointed me.
Ford. And how sped you, sir?
Fal. Very ill-favouredly, master Brook.
Ford. How so, sir ? Did she change her deter-
mination ?
Fal. No, master Brook ; but the peaking cor-
nuto, her husband, master Brook, dwelling in a
continual 'larum of jealousy, comes me in the in-
stant of our encounter, after we had embraced,
kissed, protested, and, as it were, spoke tlie pro-
logue of our comedy ; and at his heels a rabble of
his companions, tliither provoked and instigated by
liis distemjjer, and, forsooth, to search his house for
his wife's love.
Ford. What, while you were there ?
Fal. While I was there.
Ford. And did he search for you, and could not
find you ?
Fal. You shall hear. As good luck would have
it, comes in one mistress Page ; gives intelligence
of Ford's approach ; and, by her invention, and
Ford's wife's distraction, they conveyed me into a
buck-basket ?
Ford. A buck-basket?
Fal. Yea, a buck-basket: rammed me in with
foul shirts and socks, foul stockings, and greasy
napkins; that, master Brook, there was the rankest
compound of villainous smell, that ever offended
nostril.
Ford. And how long lay you there ?
Fal. Nay, you shall hear, master Brook, what I
have suffered to bring this woman to evil for your
good. Being thus crammed in the basket, a couple
of Ford's knaves, his hinds, were called forth by
tlieir mistress, to carry me in the name of foul
clothes to Datchet-lane : they took me on tlieir
shoulders ; met the jealous knave their master in
tlie door ; who asked them once or twice what tljey
had in their basket : I quaked for fear, lest the
lunatic knave would have searched it; but Fate,
ordaining he should be a cuckold, held his hand.
Well ; on went he for a search, and away went I
for foul clothes. But mark the sequel, master
Brook : I suffered tlie pangs of three several deatlis:
first, an intolerable fright, to be detected -with a
jealous bell-wether : next, to be compassed like a
good bilbo 8, in the circumference of a peck, hilt to
point, heel to head : and then, to be stopped in,
like a strong distillation, with stinking clothes :
think of that, — a man of my kidney, think of that ;
that am as subject to heat as butter ; a man of
continual dissolution and thaw ; it was a miracle to
'scape suffocation. And in the height of this bath,
when I was more than half stewed in grease, like a
Dutch dish, to be thrown into the Thames, and
cooled, glowing hot, in that surge, like a horse-
shoe ; think of that ; — hissing hot, — think of that,
master Brook.
Ford. In good sadness, sir, I am sorry that for
my sake you have suffered all this. My suit then
is desperate ; you'll undertake her no more.
Fal. Master Brook, I will be thrown into ^tna,
as I have been into Thames, ere I will leave her
thus. Her husband is this morning gone a bird-
ing : I have received from her another embassy of
meeting ; 'twixt eight and nine is the hour, master
Brook.
Ford. 'Tis past eight already, sir.
Fal. Is it? I will then address me to my appoint-
ment. Come to me at your convenient leisure, and
you shall know how I speed ; and the conclusion
shall be crowned with your having her : Adieu.
You shall have her, master Brook ; master Brook,
you shall cuckold Ford. [Exit.
Ford. Hum! ha! is this a vision? is this a dream?
do I sleep ? Master Ford, awake ; awake, master
Ford; there's a hole made in your best coat, master
Ford. This 'tis to be married ! this 'tis to have
linen and buck-baskets ! — Well, I will proclaim
myself what I am : I will now take the lecher ; he
is at my house : he cannot 'scaj>e me ; 'tis impos-
sible he should ; he cannot creep into a halfpenny
purse, nor into a pepper-box : but, lest the devil
that guides him should aid him, I will search im-
possible places. Though what I am I cannot
avoid, yet to be what I would not, shall not make
me tame : if I have horns to make one mad, let tlie
proverb go with me, I'll be horn mad. [Exit.
^ Bilboa, where the lN>st blades arc made.
E 4
56
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
Act IV.
ACT IV.
SCENE l. — A Room in Ford'* House.
Enter Falstaff and Mrs. Ford.
Fed. Mistress Ford, your sorrow hath eaten up
my sufferance : I see you are obsequious in your
love, and I profess requital to a hair's breadUi; not
only, mistress Ford, in the simple office of love, but
in all the accoutrement, complement, and ceremony
of it. But are you sure of your Iiusband now ?
Mrs. Ford. He's a birding, sweet sir John.
Mrs. Page. [Within.'\ What hoa, gossip Ford!
what hoa !
Mrs. Ford. Step into the chamber, sir John.
\_E3it Falstaff.
Enter Mrs. Page.
Mrs. Page. How now, sweetheart? who's at
home beside yourself?
Mrs. Ford. Why, none but mine own people.
Mrs. Page. Indeed?
Mrs. Ford. No, certainly ; — speak louder. [Aside.
Mrs. Page. Truly, I am so glad you have nobody
here.
Mrs. Ford. Why ?
Mrs. Page. Why, woman, your husband is in
his own lunes 9 again : he so takes on yonder with
my husband ; so rails against all married mankind j
so curses all Eve's daughters, of what complexion
soever ; and so buffets himself on the forehead, cry-
ing Peer out, peer out ! that any madness I ever
yet beheld seemed but taraeness, civility, and pa-
tience, to this his distemper he is in now : I am
glad the fat knight is not here.
Mrs. Ford. Why, does he talk of him ?
Mrs. Page. Of none but him; and swears, he
was carried out, the last time he searched for him
in a basket : protests to my husband he is now
here; and hath drawn him and the rest of their
company from their sport, to make another experi-
ment of liis suspicion : but I am glad the knight is
not here ; now he shall see his own foolery.
Mrs. Ford. How near is he, mistress Page ?
Mrs. Page. Hard by ; at street end ; he will be
here anon.
Mrs. Ford. I am undone ! — the knight is here.
Mrs. Page. Why, then you are utterly shamed,
arid he's but a dead man. What a woman are you ?
— Away with him, away with him ; better shame
than murder.
Mrs. Ford. Which way should he go? how
should I bestow him? Shall I put him into the
basket again?
Re-enter Falstaff.
Fa I. No, I'll come no more i' the basket : May
I not go out ere he come ?
Mrs. Page. Alas, three of master Ford's bro-
thers watch the door with pistols, that none shall
issue out ; otherwise you might slip away ere he
came. But what make you here ?
Fal. Whall shall I do ? — I'll creep up into the
chimney.
Mrs. Ford. There they always use to discharge
their birding pieces : creep into the kiln hole.
Fal. Where is it ?
3 Mad fits.
Mrs. Ford. He will seek there on my word.
Neither press, coffer, chest, trunk, well, vault, but.
he hath an abstract for the remembrance of such
places, and goes to them by his note : There is no
hiding you in the house.
Fal. I'll go out then.
Mrs. Page. If you go out in your own sem-
blance, you die, sir John. Unless you go out dis-
guised.
Mrs. Ford. How might we disguise him?
Mrs. Page. Alas the day, I know not. There
is no woman's gown big enough for him ; other-
wise, he might put on a hat, a muffler, and a ker-
chief, and so escape.
Fed. Good hearts, devise something ; any extre-
mity rather than a mischief.
Mrs. Ford. My maid's aunt, the fat woman of
Brentford, has a gown above.
Mrs. Page. On my w'ord, it will serve liim ;
she's as big as he is : and there's her thrum'd hati
and her muffler too : Run up, sir John.
Mrs. Ford. Go, go, sweet sir John : mistress
Page and I will look some linen for your head.
Mrs. Page. Quick, quick; we'll come dress you
straight: put on the gown the while. [£xj/ Falstaff.
Mrs. Ford. I would my husband would meet liim
in this shape : he cannot abide the old woman of
Brentford ; he swears she's a witch : forbade lier
my house, and hath threatened to beat her.
Mrs. Page, Heaven guide him to thy husband's
cudgel ; and the devil guide his cudgel afterwards !
Mrs. Ford. But is my husband coming ?
Mrs, Page. Ay, in good sadness is he; and talks
of the basket; too, howsoever he hath had intelli-
gence.
Mrs. Ford. We'll try that ; for I'll appoint my
men to carry the basket again, to meet him at the
door with it, as they did last time.
Mrs. Page. Nay, but he'll be here presently ;
let's go dress him like the witch of Brentford.
Mrs. Ford. I'll first direct my men, what they
shall do with the basket. Go up, I'll bring linen
for him straight. [Exit.
Mrs. Page. Hang him, dishonest varlet ! we can-
not misuse him enough.
We'll leave a proof, by that which we will do.
Wives may be merry, and yet honest too. [Exit.
Re-enter Mrs. Ford, with two servants.
Mrs. Ford. Go, sirs, take the basket again on
your shoulders ; your master is hard at door ; if he
bid you set it down, obey him : quickly, dispatch.
[Exit.
1 Serv. Come, come, take it up.
2 Serv. Pray heaven, it be not full of the knight
again.
1 Serv, I hope not ; I had as lief bear so much
lead.
Enter Ford, Page, Shallow, Caius, and Sir
Hugh Evans.
Ford. Ay, but if it prove true, master Page, have
you any way then to unfool me again ? — Set down
the basket, villain : — Somebody call my wife
You, youth in a basket, come out here ! — O, you
panderly rascals ! there's a knot, a gang, a pack, a
Scene I.
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
57
conspiracy against me : Now shall the devil be
shamed. What ! wife, I say ! come, come forth ;
behold what honest clothes you send forth to bleach-
ing.
Page. Why, this passes! Master Ford, you are not
to go loose any longer ; you must be pinioned.
Eva. Why, this is lunatics ! this is mad as a mad
dog!
Shed. Indeed, master Ford, this is not well ; in-
deed.
Enter Mrs. Ford.
Ford. So say I too, sir. — Come hither, mistress
Ford ; mistress Ford, the honest woman, the modest
wife, the virtuous creature, that hath the jealous fool
to her husband ! — I suspect without cause, mistress,
do I?
Mrs. Ford. Heaven be my witness, you do, if you
suspect me in any dishonesty.
Ford. Well said, brazen-face j hold it out.
Come fortli, sirrah.
{Pulls the clothes out of the basket.
Page. Tliis passes !
Mrs. Ford. Are^you not ashamed? let the clothes
alone.
Ford. I shall find you anon.
Eva. 'Tis unreasonable ! Come away.
Ford. Empty the basket, I say.
Mrs. Ford. Why, man, why, —
Ford. Master Page, as I am a man, there was one
conveyed out of my house yesterday in this basket :
Why may not he be there again ? In my house I am
sure he is : my intelligence is true ; my jealousy is
reasonable : Pluck me out all the linen.
Mrs. Ford. If you find a man there, he shall die
a flea's death.
Page. Here's no man.
Shot. By my fidelity, this is not well, master Ford ;
this wrongs you.
Eva. Master Ford, you must pray, and not fol-
low the imaginations of your own heart : tliis is
jealousies.
Ford. Well, he's not here I seek for.
Page. No, nor no where else, but in your brain.
Ford. Help to 5earch my house this one time :
if I find not what I seek, show no colour for my
extremity, let me for ever be your table-sport ; let
tliem say of me, As jealous as Ford, that searched a
hollow walnut for his wife's Icman. ' Satisfy me once
more ; once more search with me.
Mrs. Ford. What hoa, mistress Page ! come you,
and the old woman down ; my husband will come
into the chamber.
Ford. Old woman ! What old woman's that ?
Mrs. Ford. Why, it is my maid's auntof Brentford.
Ford. A witch, a quean, an old cozening quean !
Have I not forbid her my house ? She comes of er-
rands, does she ? We are simple men ; we do not
know what's brought to pass under the profession
of fortune-telling. She works by charms, by spells,
by the figure, and such daubcry as tliis is ; beyond
our element : we know nothing. — — Come down,
you witch, you hag you ; come down, I say.
Mrs. Ford. Nay, good, sweet husband ; — good
gentlemen, let him not strike the old woman.
Enter Falstaff in woman s clothes, led by Mrs.
Page.
Mrs. Page. Come, mother Pratt, come, give me
your hand.
» Lover.
Ford. I'll jjrat her : out of my door, you
witch ! {beats him.'] you rag, you baggage, you
pole-cat, you ronyon ! ^ out ! out ! I'll ceujure you,
I'll fortune-tell you. [Exit Fal.
Mrs. Page. Are you not ashamed ? I tliink you
have kill'd the poor woman.
Mrs. Ford, Nay, he will do it : — 'Tis a goodly
credit for you.
Ford. Hang her, vHtch !
Eva, By yea and no, I think, the 'oman is a witch
indeed : I like not when a 'oman has a great peard ;
I spy a great peard under her muffler.
Ford. Will you follow, gentlemen ? I beseech
you, follow ; see but the issue of my jealousy : if I
cry out thus upon no trail 3, never trust me when I
open again.
Page. Let's obey his humour a little further:
Come, gentlemen.
{Exeunt Page, Ford, Shallow, and Evans.
Mrs. Page. Trust me, he beat him most pitifully.
Mrs. Ford. Nay, by the mass, that he did not ;
he beat him most unpitifuUy, methought.
Mrs. Page. I'll have the cudgel hallowed ; it hatli
done meritorious service.
Mrs. Ford. What think you ? May we, with the
warrant of womanhood, and the witness of a good
conscience, pursue him with any further revenge ?
Mrs. Page. The spirit of wantonness is, sure,
scared out of him ; if the devil have him not in fee-
simple, with fine and recovery, he will never, 1
think, attempt us again.
Mrs. Ford. Shall we tell our husbands how we
have served him ?
Mrs. Page. Yes, by all means ; if it be but to
scrape the figures out of your husband's brains. If
they can find in their hearts, the poor unvirtuous
fat knight shall be any further afiSicted, we two will
still be the ministers.
Mrs. Ford. I'll warrant, they'll have him pub-
lickly shamed : and, methinks, there would be no
period to the jest, should he not be publickly
shamed.
Mrs. Page. Come, to the forge with it then, shape
it : I would not have things cool. {Exeu7zt.
SCENE II. — ^ Room in the Garter Inn.
Enter Host and Bardolph.
Bard. Sir, the Germans desire to have three of
your horses : the duke himself will be to-morrow at
court, and they are going to meet him.
Host. What duke should that be, comes so se-
cretly ? I hear not of him in the court : Let me
speak with the gentlemen ; they speak English ?
Bard. Ay, sir ; I'll call them to you.
Host. They shall have my horses ; but I'll make
them pay, I'll sauce them : they have had my houses
a week at command ; I have turned away my other
guests: they must come off ; I'll sauce them : Come.
{Exeunt,
SCENE IIL — A Room in Ford'* House.
Enter Page, Ford, Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and
Sir Hugh Evans.
Eva. 'Tis one of the pest discretions of a 'oman
as ever I did look upon.
Page. And did he send you both these letters at
nn instant?
J Scab. i Scent
58
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
Act IV.
Mrs. Page, Within a quarter of an hour.
Ford. Pardon me, wife : Henceforth do what
thou wilt ;
I rather will suspect the sun with cold,
Than thee with wantonness : now doth thy honour
stand,
In him that was of late an heretick.
As firm as faith.
Page. 'Tis well, 'tis well; no more.
Be not as extreme in submission,
As in offence ;
But let our plot go forward : let our wives
Yet once again, to make us publick sport.
Appoint a meeting with this old fat fellow,
Where we may take him, and disgrace him for it.
Ford. There is no better way than that they
spoke of.
Page. How ! to send. him word they'll meet him
in the park at midnight ! fie, fie ! he'll never come.
Eva. You say, he has been thrown in the rivers ;
and has been grievously peaten, as an old 'oraan :
methinks, there should be terrors in him, that he
should not come.
Page. So think I too.
Mrs. Ford. Devise but how you'll use him when
he comes.
And let us two devise to bring him thither.
Mrs. Page. There is an old tale goes, that Heme
the hunter,
Sometime a keeper here in Windsor forest,
Doth all the winter time, at still midnight.
Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns ;
And there he blasts the tree, and takes * the cattle ;
And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a
chain
In a most liideous and dreadful manner :
You have heard of such a spirit ; and well you know.
The superstitious idle-headed eld ^
Received, and did deliver to our age.
This tale of Heme the hunter for a truth.
Page. Why, yet there want not many, that do fear
In deep of night to walk by this Heme's oak :
But what of this ?
Mrs. Ford. Marry, this is our device ;
That FalstafF at that oak shall meet with us,
Disguis'd like Herne, with huge horns on his head.
Page. Well, let it not be doubted but he'll come.
And in this shape : When you have brought him
tliither,
What shall be done with him ? what is your plot ?
Mrs. Page. That likewise have we thought upon,
and thus :
Nan Page my daughter, and my little son.
And three or four more of their growth, we'll dress
Like urcliins, ouphes 6, and fairies, green and white.
With rounds of waxen tapers on their heads,
And rattles in their hands ; upon a sudden,
As Falstaff", she, and I, are newly met,
Let them from forth a saw-pit rush at once
With some diffused song ; upon their sight.
We two in great amazedness will fly :
Then let them all encircle him about.
And, fairy-like, to pinch the unclean knight ;
And ask him, why, that hour of fairy-revel.
In their so sacred paths he dares to tread.
In shape prophane.
Mrs. Ford. And till he tell the truth,
Let the supposed fairies pinch him sound,
And burn him with their tapers.
■• Strikes.
s Old age.
6 Elf, hobgoblia
Mrs. Page. The truth being known.
We'll all present ourselves ; dis-horn the spirit.
And mock him home to Windsor.
Ford. The children must
Be practised well to this, or they'll ne'er do't.
Eva. I will teach the children their behaviours ;
and I will be like a jack-an-apes also, to burn the
knight with my taber.
Ford, That will be excellent. I'll go buy them
vizards.
Mrs. Page. My Nan shall be the queen of all the
fairies.
Finely attired in a robe of white.
Page. That silk will I go buy ; — and in that time
Shall master Slender steal my Nan away, [Aside.
And marry her at Eton. Go, send to Falstaff
straight.
Ford. Nay, I'll to him again in name of Brook :
He'll tell me all his purpose : Sure, he'll come.
Mrs. Page. Fear not you that : Go, get us pro-
perties.
And tricking for our fairies.
Eva. Let us about it : It is admirable pleasures,
and fery honest knaveries.
[Exeunt Page, Ford, and Evans.
Mrs. Page. Go, mistress Ford,
Send quickly to sir John, to know his mind.
[Exit Mrs. Ford.
I'll to the doctor ; he hath my good will.
And none but he, to marry with Nan Page.
That Slender, though well landed, is an idiot ;
And he my husband best of all affects :
The doctor is well money'd, and his friends
Potent at court ; he, none but he, shall have her,
Though twenty thousand worthier come to crave her.
[Exit.
SCENE IV. — ^ Room hi the Garter Inn.
Enter Host and Simple.
Host. What would'st thou have, boor? what,
thick-skin? speak, breathe, discuss; brief, short,
quick, snap.
Sim. Marry, sir, I come to speak with sir John
Falstaff from master Slender.
Host. There's his chamber, his house, his castle,
his standing-bed, and truckle-bed ; 'tis painted about
with the story of the prodigal, fresh and new : Go,
knock and call ; he'll speak like an Anthropopha-
ginian 7 unto thee : Knock, I say.
Sim. There's an old woman, a fat woman, gone
up into his chamber ; I'll be so bold as stay, sir,
till she come down : I come to speak with her, in-
deed.
Host. Ha ! a fat woman ! the knight may be
robbed : I'll call.— Bully knight ! Bully sir John !
speak from thy lungs military : Art thou there ? it
is thine host, thine Ephesian, calls.
Fal. [above."] How now, mine host?
Host. Here's a Bohemian- Tartar tarries the com-
ing down of thy fat woman : Let her descend, bully,
let her descend ; my chambers are honourable : Fye ! m j
privacy ! fye ! f| !
Enter Falstaff.
Fal. There was, mine host, an old fat woman
even now with me ; but she's gone.
Sim. Pray you, sir, was't not the wise woman of
Brentford ?
7 A cannibal.
Scene IV.
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
59
Fal. Ay, marry, was it, muscle-shell; What
would you with her ?
Sim. My master, sir, my master Slender, sent to
her, seeing her go through the streets, to know, sir,
whether one Nym, sir, that beguiled him of a chain,
had the chain, or no.
Fal. I spake with tlie old woman about it.
Sinu And what says she, I pray, sir?
Fal. Marry, she says, that tlie very same man,
that beguiled master Slender of his chain, cozened
him of it.
Sim. I would, I could have spoken with the
woman herself; I had other things to have spoken
with her too, from him.
Fal. What are tliey ? let us know.
Host. Ay, come ; quick.
Sim. I may not conceal them, sir.
Fal. Conceal them, or thou diest.
Sim, Why, sir, they were notliing but about
mistress Anne Page ; to know, if it were my mas-
ter's fortune to have her, or no.
Fal. 'Tis, 'tis his fortune.
Sim. What, sir?
Fal. To have her, — or no : Go ; say, the woman
told me so.
Sim. May I be so bold to say so, sir ?
Fal. Ay, sir Tike ; who more bold ?
Sinu I thank your worship : I shall make my
master glad with these tidings. \^Exit Simple.
Host. Thou art clerkly >*, thou art clerkly, sir
John. Was there a wise woman with thee ?
Fal. Ay, tliat there was, mine host ; one, that
hath taught me more wit than ever I learned before
in my life : and I paid nothing for it neither, but
was paid for my learning.
Enter Bardolph.
Bard. Out, alas, sir ! cozenage ! mere cozenage !
Host. Where be my horses ? speak well of them,
varletto.
Bard. Run away with the cozeners : for so soon
as I came beyond Eton, they threw me off, from
behind one of them, in a slough of mire ; and set
spurs, and away, like three German devils, three
Doctor Faustuses.
Hoft. They are gone but to meet the duke, vil-
lain : do not say, they be fled ; Germans are honest
men.
Enter Sir Hugh Evans.
Eva. WTiere is mine host ?
Host. What is the matter, sir ?
Eva. Have a care of your entertainments : there
is a friend of mine come to town, tells me, there is
three couzin germans, that has cozened all the
hosts of Readings, of Maidenhead, of Colebrook,
of horses and money. I tell you for good-will, look
you : you are wise, and full of gibes and vlouting-
stogs ; and 'tis not convenient you should be co-
zened : Fare you well. \^Exit.
Enter Doctor Caius.
Caius. Vere is mine Host de Jarterre 9
Host. Here, master doctor, in perplexity, and
doubtful dilemma.
Caius. I cannot tell vat is dat : but it is tell-a me,
dat you make grand preparation for a duke dc Jar-
many : by my trot, dere is no duke, cLit the court
is know to come ; I tell you for good vill : Adieu.
{EiU.
* Scholar like.
Host. Hue and cry, villain, go : — assist me,
knight ; I am undone : — fly, run, hue and cry,
villain ! I am undone !
\^Exeunt Host and Bardolph.
Fal. I would, all the world might be cozened ;
for I have been cozened and beaten too. If it
should come to the ear of the court, how I have
been transformed, and how my transformation hath
been washed and cudgeled, they would melt me
out of my fat, drop by drop, and liquor fishermen's
boots with me ; 1 warrant, they would whip me
with their fine wits, till I were as crest-fallen as a
dried pear. I never prospered since I foreswore
myself at Primero. 9 Well, if my wind were but
long enough to say my prayers, I would repent. —
Enter Mrs. Quickly.
Now ! whence come you ?
Quick. From the two parties, forsooth.
Fal. The devil take one party, and his dam the
other, and so they shall be both bestowed ! I have
suffered more for their sakes, more, tlian the vil-
lainous inconstancy of man's disposition is able to
bear.
Quick. And have not they suffered ? Yes, I war-
rant ; speciously one of them : mistress Ford, good
heart, is beaten black and blue, that you cannot
see a white spot about her.
Fal. What tell'st thou me of black and blue ? I
was beaten myself into all the colours of the rain-
bow, and I was like to be apprehended for the
witch of Brentford ; but that my admirable dex-
terity of wit, my counterfeiting the action of an
old woman, deliver'd me, the knave constable had
set me i' the stocks, i' the common stocks, for a
witch.
Quick. Sir, let me speak with you in your cham-
ber : you shall hear how things go ; and, I warrant,
to your content. Here is a letter will say some-
what. Good hearts, what ado here is to bring you
together ! Sure one of you does not serve heaven
well, that you are so crossed.
Fal. Come up into my chamber. - [Exeunt.
SCENE V. — Another Room in the Garter Inn.
Enter Fenton and Host.
Host. Master Fenton, talk not to me ; my mind
is heavy, I will give over all.
Fent. Yet hear me speak : Assist me in my pur-
pose.
And, as I am a gentleman, I'll give thee
A hundred pound in gold, more than your loss.
Host. I will hear you, master Fenton ; and I will,
at the least, keep your counsel.
Fent. From time to time I have acquainted you
With the dear love I bear to fair Anne Page ;
Who, mutually, hath answered my affection
(So far fortli as herself might be her chooser).
Even to my wish : I have a letter from her
Of such contents as you will wonder at;
The mirth whereof so larded with my matter.
That neither, singly, can be manifested.
Without the show of both ; — wherein fat Falstaff
Hath a great scene : the image of the jest
[Shoning the letter
I'll show you here at large. Hark, good mine host
To-night at Heme's oak, just 'twixt twelve and one,
> A game at cards.
60
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
Act V.
Must my sweet Nan present the fairy queen ;
The purpose why, is here ; in which disguise,
While other jests are something rank on foot,
Her father hath commanded her to slip
Away with Slender, and with him at Eton
Immediately to marry : she hath consented :
Now, sir,
Her mother, ever strong against that match,
And firm for doctor Caius, hath appointed
That he shall likewise shuffle her away,
While other sports are tasking of their minds.
And at the deanery, where a priest attends,
Straight marry her: to this her mother's plot
She, seemingly obedient, likewise hath
Made promise to the doctor ; — Now, thus it rests ;
Her father means she shall be all in white ;
And in that habit, when Slender sees his time
To take her by the hand, and bid her go,
She shall go with him : — her mother hath intended,
Tlie better to denote her to the doctor
(For they must all be mask'd and vizarded).
That, quaint in green, she shall be loose enrob'd,
With ril)ands pendant, flaring 'bout her head j
And when the doctor spies his vantage ripe.
To pinch her by the hand, and on that token,
The maid hath given consent to go with him.
Host. Which means she to deceive? father or
mother ?
Fent. Both, my good host, to go along with me :
And here it pests, — that you'll procure the vicar
To stay for me at church, 'twixt twelve and one,
And, in the lawful name of marrying,
To give our hearts united ceremony.
Host. Well, husband your device; I'll to the
vicar :
Bring you the maid, you shall not lack a priest.
Fent. So shall I evermore be bound to thee ;
Besides, I'll make a present recompense. \_Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I. — A Room in the Garter Inn.
Filter Falstaff and Mrs. Quickly.
Fal. Pr'y thee, no more prattling ; — go. I'll
hold 1 : This is the third time ; I hope, good luck
lies in odd numbers. Away, go ; they say, there is
divinity in odd numbers, either in nativity, chance,
or death. — Away.
Quick. I'll provide you a chain j and I'll do what
I can to get you a pair of horns.
Fal. Away, I say ; time wears : hold up your
head, and mince. [Exit Mrs. Quickly.
Enter Ford.
How now, master Brook ? master Brook, the mat-
ter will be known to-night, or never. Be you in
the Park about midnight, at Heme's oak, and you
shall see wonders.
Ford. Went you not to her yesterday, sir, as you
told me you had appointed ?
Fal. I went to her, master Brook, as you see,
like a poor old man : but I came from her, master
Brook, like a poor old woman. That same knave.
Ford, her husband, hath the finest mad devil of
jealousy in him, master Brook, that ever governed
frenzy. I will tell you. — He beat me grievously,
in the shape of a woman ; for in the shape of man,
master Brook, I fear not Goliath with a weaver's
beam ; because I know also, life is a shuttle. I am
in haste; go along with me ; I'll tell you all, master
Brook. Since I plucked geese, played truant, and
whipped top, I knew not what it was to be beaten,
till lately. Follow me : I'll tell you strange things
of this knave Ford : on whom to-night I will be
revenged, and I will deliver his wife into your hand.
— Follow : Strange things in hand, master Brook !
follow. \_Exexint.
SCENE II. — Windsor Park.
Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender.
Page. Come, come ; we'll couch i' the castle-
ditch, till we see the light of our fairies. — Re-
member, son Slender, my daughter.
' Keep to the time.
Slen. Ay, forsooth ; I have spoke with her, and
we have a nay-word ^, how to know one another. 1
come to her in white, and cry mum; she cries
budget ; and by that we know one another.
Shal. That's good too; But what needs either
your mum or her budget ? the white will decipher
her well enough. — It hath struck ten o' clock.
Page. The night is dark ; light and spirits will
become it well. Heaven prosper our sport ! No
man means evil but the devil, and we shall know
him by liis horns. Let's aAvay ; follow me.
\_Exeunt.
SCENE III. — The Street in Windsor.
Enter Mrs. Page, Mrs. Ford, and Dr. Caius.
Mrs- Page. Master doctor, my daughter is in
green : when you see your time, take her by the
hand, away with her to the deanery, and despatch
it quickly : Go before into the park ; we two must
go together.
Caius. I know vat I have to do ; Adieu.
Mrs. Page. Fare you well, sir. [Exit Caius.]
My husband will not rejoice so much at the abuse
of Falstaff, as he will chafe at the doctor's marrying
my daughter : but 'tis no matter ; better a little
chiding, than a great deal of heart-break.
Mrs. Ford. Where is Nan now, and her troop
of fairies ? and the Welsh devil, Hugh ?
Mrs. Page. They are all couched in a pit hard
by Heme's oak, with obscured lights : which at the
very instant of Falstaff 's and our meeting, they will
at once display to the night.
Mrs. Ford. That cannot choose but amaze him.
Mrs. Page. If he be not amazed, he will be
mocked ; if he be amazed, he will every way be
mocked.
Mrs. Ford. We'll betray him finely.
Mrs. Page. Those who betray him do no treach-
ery.
Mrs. Ford. The hour draws on ; To the oak, to
the oak! [Exeunt.
2 Watch-word.
Scene IV.
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
61
SCENE IV. — Windsor Park.
Enter Sir Hugh Evans, and Fairies.
Eoa. Trib, trib, fairies ; come ; and remember
your parts : be pold, I pray you ; follow me into
the pit : and when I give the watch-'ords, do as I
pid you ; Come, come ; trib, trib.
\^Exeunt.
SCENE V. — Another Part of the Park.
Enter Falstaff dutguised, with a buck's head on.
Fal. Tlie Windsor bell hath struck twelve; the
minute draws on : Now, love assist me : — Re-
member, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy Europa;
love set on thy horns. — O powerful love ! — For
me, I am here a Windsor stag ; and the fattest, I
think, i' the forest : Who comes here ? my doe ?
Enter Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page.
Mrs. Ford. Sir John ? art thou there, my deer ?
my male deer ?
Fal. My doe? — Let the sky rain potatoes; let
it thunder to the tune of Green Sleeves; hail kissing-
corafits, and snow eringoes ; I will shelter me here.
[Embracing her.
Mrs. Ford. Mistress Page is come with me,
sweet-heart.
Fal. Divide me like a bribe-buck, each a haunch :
I wiU keep my sides to myself, my shoulders for the
fellow of this walk, and my horns I bequeath your
husbands. Am I a woodman ? ha ! Speak 1 like
Heme the hunter? — Why, now is Cupid a child of
conscience ; he makes restitution. As I am a true
spirit, welcome. [Noise within.
Mrs. Page. Alas ! what noise ?
Mrs. Ford. Heaven forgive our sins !
Fal. What should this be ?
mZ pZ': } ''™'" '™^- f ''"'••' "'" °-^-
Fal. I think, the devil will not have me ; he
would never else cross me thus.
E7iter Sir Hugh Evans, like a satyr; Mrs. Quicklt
and Pistol ; Anne Page, as tlie Fairy Queen, at-
tended by her brother and others, dressed like fairies,
%vith waxen tapers on their heads.
Quick. Fairies, black, grey, green, and white.
You moon-shine revellers, and shades of night,
You orphan heirs of fixed destiny.
Attend your office, and your quality.
Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy o-yes.
Pist. Elves, list your names; silence, you airy toys.
Cricket, to Wi4idsor chimnies shalt thou leap :
Wherefiresthou find'stunrak'd,and hearths unswept,
There pinch the maids as blue as bilberry :
Our radiant queen hates sluts and sluttery.
Fal. They are fairies ; he, that speaks to them,
shall die :
I'll wink and couch : No man their works must eye.
[Lies down upon his face.
Eva. Where's Pede ? — Go you, and where you
find a maid.
That, ere she sleep, lias tlirice her prayers said,
Raise up the organs of her fantasy,
Sleep slic as sound as careless infancy :
But those as sleep, and think not on their sins,
Pinch them, arms, legs, backs, shoulders, sides, and
shins.
Quick. AI)Out, about ;
Search Windsor Castle, elves, within and out :
Strew good luck, ouphcs, on every sacred room ;
That it may stand till the perpetual doom,
In state as wholesome, as in state 'tis fit ;
Worthy the owner, and the owner it.
The several chairs of order look you scour
With juice of balm, and every precious flower ;
Each fair instalment, coat, and several crest.
With royal blazon,. evermore be l)lest!
And nightly, meadow-fairies, look you sing,
Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring :
The expressure that it bears, green let it be.
More fertile-fresh than all the field to see ;
And, Hony soil qui mal y j)ense, write.
In emerald tufts, flowers purjjle, blue, and white ;
Like sapphire, pearl, and rich embroidery,
Buckled below fair knighthood's bending knee :
Fairies use flowers for their charactery.
Away ; disperse : But, till 'tis one o'clock,
Our dance of custom, round about the oak
Of Heme the hunter, let us not forget.
Eva. Pray you, lock hand in hand ; yourselves
in order set :
And twenty glow-worms shall our lanterns be,
To guide our measure round about the tree.
But, stay ; I smell a man of middle earth.
Fal. Heavens defend me from that Welsh fiiiry !
lest he transform me to a piece of cheese !
Pist. Vile worm thou wast o'erlooked even in
thy birth.
Quick. With trial-fire touch me his finger-end :
If he be chaste, the flame will back descend.
And turn him to no pain ; but if he start.
It is the flesh of a corrupted heart.
Pist. A trial, come.
Eva. Come, will this wood take fire ?
[ They bum him wiih their tapers.
Fal. Oh, oh, oh !
Quick. Corrupt, corrupt, and tainted in desire !
About him fairies ; sing a scornful rhyme :
And, as you trip, still pinch him to your time.
Eva. It is right ; indeed he is full of iniquity.
SONG.
Fye on sinful fantasy I
Eye on lust and luxury !
Lust is but a bloody fu-e.
Kindled with unchaste desire.
Fed in heart ; tohose flames aspire.
As thoughts do bloiv then}, higher and higlier*
Pinch him, fairies, mutually ;
Pinch him for his villainy ;
Pinch him, and bum him, and turn him about.
Till candles, and starlight, and moonshine be out.
[During this song, the fairies pinch FalstaflT. Doctor
Caius comes one u<ay, and steals away a fairy in
green ; Slender another way, and takes off a fairy
in white; and Fenton comes, and steals away
Mrs. Anne Page. A noise of hunting is made
within. All the fairies run away. Fal&taff pulls
off his buck's head, and rises.]
EiUer Page, Ford, Mrs. Page, and Mrs. Ford.
They lay hold on him.
Page. Nay, do not fly ; I think we have watch 'd
you now ;
Will none but Heme the hunter serve your turn ?
Mrs. Page. I pray you, come ; hold up the jest
no higher : —
«
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
Act V.
Now, good sir John, how like you Windsor wives?
See you these, husband ? do not these fair yokes 3
Become the forest better than the town ?
Ford. Now, sir, who's a cuckold now? — Master
Brook, Falstaff 's a knave, a cuckoldly knave ; here
are his horns, master Brook : And, master Brook,
he hath enjoyed notliing of Ford's but his buck-
basket, his cudgel, and twenty pounds of money ;
which must be paid to master Brook ; his horses
are arrested for it, master Brook.
Mrs. Ford. Sir John, we have had ill luck : we
could never meet. I will never take you for my
love again, but I will always count you my deer.
Fal. I do begin to perceive that I am made an ass.
Ford. Ay, and an ox too ; both the proofs are
extant.
Fal. And these are not fairies ? I was tliree or
four times in the thought, they were not fairies : and
yet the guiltiness of my mind, the sudden surprise
of my powers, drove the grossness of the foppery
into a received belief, in despite of the teeth of all
rhyme and reason, that they were fairies. See
now, how wit may be made ^ Jack-a-lent, when 'tis
upon ill employment !
Evn. Sir John FalstafF, serve Got, and leave your
desires, and fairies will not pinse you.
Ford. Well said, fairy Hugh.
Eva. And leave you your jealousies too, I pray
you.
Ford. I will never mistrust my wife again, till
thou art able to woo her in good English.
Fal. Have I laid my brain in the sun, and dried
it, that it wants matter to prevent so gross o'er-
reaching as this ? Am I ridden with a Welsh goat
too ? Shall I have a coxcomb of frize ? 4 'tis time I
were choked with a piece of toasted cheese.
Eva. Seese is not good to give putter ; your
pelly is all putter.
Fal. Seese and putter ! Have I lived to stand at
the taunt of one that makes fritters of English?
This is enough to be the decay of late-walking,
through the realm.
Mrs. Page. Why, sir John, do you think, though
we would have thrust virtue out of our hearts by
the head and shoulders, and have given ourselves
without scruple to hell, that ever the devil could
have made you our delight ?
Ford. What, a hodge-pudding ? a bag of flax ?
Mrs. Page. A puffed man ?
Page. Old, and withered ?
Ford. And one that is as slanderous as Satan ?
Page. And as poor as Job.
Ford. And as wicked as his wife ?
Eva. And given to taverns, and sack, and wine,
and metheglins, and to drinkings, and swearings,
and starings, pribbles and prabbles ?
Fal. Well, I am your theme : you have the start
of me : I am dejected ; I am not able to answer the
Welsh flannel ; ignorance itself is a plummet o'er
me : use me as you will.
Ford. Marry, sir, we'll bring you to Windsor, to
one master Brook, that you have cozened of money,
to whom you should have been a pander : over and
above that you have suffered, I think to repay that
money will be a biting affliction.
Mrs. Ford. Nay, husband, let that go to make
amends ;
Forgive that sum, and so we'll all be friends.
3 Horns which Falstaff had.
•* A fool's cap of Welsh materials.
Ford. Well, here's my hand ; all's forgiven at last.
Page. Yet be cheerful, knight : thou shalt eat a
posset to-night at my house ; where I will desire thee
to laugh at my wife that now laughs at thee : Tell
her, master Slender hath married her daughter.
Mrs. Page. Doctors doubt that : — If Anne Page
be my daughter, she is, by this, doctor Caius's wife.
[Aside.
Enter Slender.
Slen. Whoo, ho ! ho ! father Page !
Page. Son ! how now ? how now, son ? have you
despatched ?
Slen. Despatched — I'll make the best in Glo-
cestershire know on't ; would I were hanged, la,
else.
Page. Of what, son ?
Slen. I came yonder at Eton to marry mistress
Anne Page, and she's a great lubberly boy : If it
had not been i' the church, I would have swinged
him, or he should have swinged me. If I did not
think it had been Anne Page, would I might never
stir, and 'tis a post-master's boy.
Page. Upon my life then you took the wrong.
Slen. What need you tell me that? I think so,
when I took a boy for a girl : If I had been married
to him, for all he was in woman's apparel, I would
not have had him.
Page. Why, this is your own folly. Did not I
tell you, how you should know my daughter by her
garments ?
Sle7i. I went to her in white, and cry'd mum, and
she cry'd budget, as Anne and I had appointed ;
and yet it was not Anne, but a post-master's boy.
Eva. Master Slender, cannot you see but marry
boys?
Page. O, I am vexed at heart : What shall I do ?
Mrs. Page. Good George, be not angry : I knew
of your purpose ; turned my daughter into green ;
and, indeed, she is now with the doctor at the
deanery, and there married.
Enter Caius.
Cains. Vere is mistress Page? By gar, I am
cozened; I ha' married un garqon, a boy ; unpaisan,
by gar, a boy ; it is not Anne Page : by gar, I am
cozened.
Mrs. Page. Why, did you take her in green ?
Caius. Ay, by gar, and 'tis a boy : by gar, I'll
raise all Windsor. [Exit Caius.
Ford. This is strange : Who hath got the right
Anne?
Page. My heart misgives me : Here comes
Fenton.
Enter Fenton and Anne Page.
How now, master Fenton ?
An7ie. Pardon, good father ! good my mothe
pardon !
Page. Now, mistress ? how chance you went not
with master Slender ?
Mrs. Page. Wliy went you not with master doctor,
maid?
Fent. You do amaze her : Hear the truth of it.
You would have married her most shamefully,
Where there was no proportion held in love.
The truth is, she and I, long since contracted.
Are now so sure, that nothing can dissolve us.
The offence is holy, that she hath committed :
And this deceit loses the name of craft.
Of disobedience, or unduteous title ;
Scene V.
MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.
63
Since therein she doth cvitate and shun
A thousand irreligious cursed hours,
Which forced marriage would have brought upon
her.
Ford. Stand not amaz'd : here is no remedy : —
In love, the heavens tlicmselves do guide the state;
Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate.
Fal. I am glad, though you have ta'en a special
stand to strike at me, that your arrow hath glanced.
Page. Well, what remedy ? Fenton, heaven give
thee joy !
What cannot be eschew 'd must be embrac'd.
Fal. When night-dogs run, all sorts of deer arc
chas'd.
Eva I will dance and eat plums at your wedding.
Mrs. Page. Well, I will muse no further :
Master Fenton,
Heaven give you many, many merry days !
Good husband, let us every one go home,
And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire ;
Sir John and all.
Ford. Let it be so : — Sir John,
To master Brook you yet shall hold your word ;
For he, to-night, shall lie with Mrs. Ford. \^Exeunt.
TWELFTH NIGHT:
OR,
WHAT YOU WILL.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
O RSI NO, Duke of Illyria.
Sebastian, a young Gentleman, Brot/ier to Viola.
Antonio, a Sea-Captain, Friend to Sebastian.
A Sea-Captain, Friend to Viola.
Valentine, ~| ^ , ^
Curio, | ^^^^"^"' attending on the Duke.
Sir Tobv Belch, Uncle o/* Olivia.
Sir Andrew Agoe-cheek.
Malvolio, steward to Olivia.
Fabian, "1
Clown, J
Servants to Olivia.
Olivia, a nch Countess.
Viola, in love with the Duke.
Maria, Olivia'5 woman.
Lords, Priests, Sailors, Officers, Musicians, and other
Attendants.
SCENE, a city in Illyria ; and the Sea- Coast near it.
»
J! ' I F \ t IV.
OLl. — WH«iT la lUE MATTER WITH THEEr"
MAL. — NOT blac;k; in my mind, thoogh tkltow in my legs.
TWELFTH NIGHT:
OR,
WHAT YOU WILL.
ACT L
SCENE I. — All Aparimeyit in the Duke's palace.
Enter Duke, Curio, Lords; Musicians attending.
Duke If musick be the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again ; — it had a dying fall :
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet soutli,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing, and giving odour. — Enough ; no more ,
'Tis not so sweet now, as it was before.
O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou !
That notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soever,
But falls into abatement and low price,
Even in a minute! so full of shapes is fancy
That it alone is high-fantastical.
Cur. Will you go hunt, my lord ?
Duke. What, Curio?
Cur. The hart.
Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have :
O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first,
Methought, she purg'd the air of pestilence ;
That instant was I turned into a hart ;
And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds,
E'er since pursue me. — How now ? wliat news
from her?
Enter Vai.kntine.
Val. So please my lord, I might not be admitted,
But from her handmaid do return this answer :
The element itself, till seven years' heat.
Shall not behold her face at ample view ;
But, like a cloistress, she will veiled walk.
And water once a day her chamber round
With eye offending brine : all this, to season
A brother's dead love, which she would keep fresh.
And lasting, in her sad remembrance.
Duke. O, she, that hath a heart of that fine frame,
To pay this debt of love but to a brother.
How will she love, when the rich golden shaft,
Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else
That live in her ! when liver, brain, and heart.
These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, and fill'd
( Her sweet perfections) with one self king ! —
Away before me to sweet beds of flowers ;
Love-thoughts lie rich, when canopied with bowers.
\^Exeunt.
SCENE II. — The Sea Coast.
Enter Viola, Captain, and Sailors.
Via. What country, friends, is this ?
Clip. lUyria, lady.
Vio. And wiiat should I do in Illyria?
Act I. Scene II. TWELFTH NIGHT : OR, WHAT YOU WILL.
65
My brother he is in Elysium.
Perchance, he is not drown'd : — What think you,
sailors ?
Cap. It is perchance, that you yourself wore
saved.
Vio. O my poor brother ! and so, perchance,
may he be.
Cap. True, madam : and to comfort you with
chance,
Assure yourself, after our ship did split,
When you, and that poor number saved with you,
Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother,
Most provident in peril, bind himself
(Courage and hope both teaching him the practice)
To a strong mast, that lived upon the sea ;
Where, like Arion on the dolphin's back,
I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves,
So long as I could see.
Vio. For saying so, there's gold :
Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope,
Whereto thy speech serves for authority,
The like of him. Know'st thou this country ?
Cap. Ay, madam, well ; for I was bred and bom,
Not three hours' travel from this very place.
Vio. Who governs here ?
Cap. A noble duke, in nature.
As in his name.
Vio. What is his name ?
Cap. Orsino.
Vio. Orsino ! I have heard my father name him !
He was a bachelor then.
Cap. And so is now,
Or was so very late : for but a month
Ago I went from hence ; and then 'twas fresh
In murmur, (as, you know, what great ones do,
The less will prattle of,) that he did seek
The love of fair Olivia.
Vio. What's she ?
Cap. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count
That died some twelvemonth since ; then leaving her
In tlie protection of his son, her brother.
Who shortly also died : for whose dear love.
They say, she hath abjur'd the company
And sight of men.
Vio. O, that I served that lady :
And might not be delivered to the world.
Till 1 had made mine own occasion mellow,
What my estate is.
Cap. That were hard to compass ;
Because she will admit no kind of suit.
No, not the duke's.
Vio. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain ;
And though that nature with a beauteous wall
Doth oft close in pollution, yet of thee
I will believe, thou hast a mind that suits
With this thy fair and outward character.
I pray thee, and I'll pay thee bounteously.
Conceal me what I am ; and be my aid
For such disguise as, haply, shall become
The form of my intent. I'll serve this duke ;
Thou shalt present me as a page to him.
It may be worth thy pains ; for I can sing.
And speak to him in many sorts of musick,
That will allow me very worth his service.
What else may hap, to time I will commit ;
Only shape thou thy silence to my wit.
Cap. Be you his page, and I your mute will be :
W'hen my tongue blabs, let mine eyes not see !
Vio. I thank thee, lead me on.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. — A Room in Olivia'a House.
Enter Sir Toby Belch, and Maria.
Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take
the death of her brother thus? I am sure, care's
an enemy to life.
Mar. By troth. Sir Toby, you must come in ear-
lier o'nights ; your cousin, my lady, takes great ex-
ceptions to your ill hours.
Sir To. Why, let her except before excepted.
Mar. Ay, but you must confine yourself within
the modest limits of order.
Sir To. Confine! I'll confine myself no finer
than I am : these clothes are good enough to drink
in, and so be these boots too ; an they be not, let
them hang themselves in their own straps.
Mar. That quaffing and drinking will undo you :
I heard my lady talk of it yesterday ; and of a
foolish knight, that you brought in one night here,
to be her wooer.
Sir To. Who ? Sir Andrew Ague-cheek ?
Mar. Ay, he.
Sir To. He's as tall a man as any's in Illyria.
Mar. What's that to the purpose ?
Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats a year.
Mar. Ay, but he'll have but a year in all these
ducats ; he's a very fool, and a prodigal.
Sir To. Fye, that you'll say so ! he plays o' the
viol-de gambo, and speaks three or four languages
word for word without book, and hatli all the good
gifts of nature.
Mar. He hath, indeed, — almost natural : for,
besides that he's a fool, he's a great quarreller ;
and but that he hath the gift of a coward to allay
the gust he hath in quarrelling, 'tis thought among
the prudent, he would quickly have the gift of a grave.
Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels, and
substractors, that say so of him. Who are they ?
Mar. They that add moreover, he's drunk nightly
in your company.
Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece ; I'll
drink to her, as long as there is a passage in my
throat, and drink in Illyria : He's a coward, and a
coystril ', that vnll not drink to my niece, till his
brains turn o' the toe like a parish-top. Here
comes Sir Andrew Ague-face.
Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek.
Sir And. Sir Toby Belch ! how now, Sir Toby
Belch?
Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew !
Sir And. Bless you, fair shrew.
Mar. And you too, sir.
Sir To. Accost, sir Andrew, accost.
Sir And. What's that?
Sir To. My niece's chamber-maid.
Sir And. Good mistress Accost, I desire better
acquaintance.
Mar. My name is Mary, sir.
Sir And. Good mistress Mary Accost, — —
Sir To. You mistake, knight: accost, is, front
her, board her, woo her, assail her.
Sir And. Is that the meaning of accost?
Mar. Fare you well, gentlemen.
5^r To. An thou let part so, sir Andrew, would
thou might'st never draw sword again.
Sir And. And you part so, mistress, I would I
« KeTBtril, • bastard hawk.
F
66
TWELFTH NIGHT:
Act I.
might never draw sword again. FaiT lady, do you
think you have fools in hand?
Mar. Sir, I have not you by the hand.
Sir And. Marry, but you shall have ; and here's
my hand.
Mar. Now, sir, thought is free : I pray you,
bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink.
Sir And. Wherefore, sweet heart? what's your
metaphor ?
Mar. Its dry, sir.
Sir And. Why, I think so ; I am not such an
ass, but I can keep my hand dry. But what's
your jest ?
Mar. A dry jest, sir.
Sir And. Are you full of them ?
Mar. Ay, sir; I have them at my fingers' ends.
[Eodt Maria.
Sir To. O knight, thou lack'st a cup of canary :
When did I see thee so put down ?
Sir And. Never in your life, I think ; unless you
see canary put me down : Methinks, sometimes I
have no more wit than an ordinary man has : but I
am a great eater of beef, and, I believe, that does
harm to my wit.
Sir To. No question.
Sir And. An I thought that, I'd forswear it. I'll
ride home to-morrow, sir Toby.
Sir To. Pour quay, my dear knight ?
Sir And. What is pourquoy ? do or not do ? I
would I had bestowed that time in the tongues,
that I have in fencing, dancing, and bear-baiting :
O, had I but followed the arts !
Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head
of hair.
Sir And. Why, would that have mended my hair ?
Sir To. Past question ; for thou seest, it will not
curl by nature.
Sir And. But it becomes me well enough, does't
not?
Sir To. Excellent ; it hangs like flax on a distaff.
Sir And. I'll home to-morrow, sir Toby : your
niece will not be seen ; or, if she be, it's four to one
she'll none of me : the count himself, here hard by,
wooes her.
Sir To. She'll none o' the count ; she'll not
match above her degree, neither in estate, years, nor
wit ; I have heard her swear it. Tut, there's life
in't, man.
Sir And. I'll stay a montli longer. I am a fellow
o' the strangest mind i' the world; I delight in
masques and revels sometimes altogether.
Sir To. Art thou good at these kick-shaws, knight?
Sir And. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he
be, under the degree of my betters ; and yet I will
not compare with an old man.
Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard,
knight ?
Sir And. I can cut a caper.
Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to't.
Sir And. Shall we set about some revels ?
Sir To. What s'nall we do else? — Let me see
thee caper : ha ! higher : ha, ha ! — excellent !
{^Exeunt.
SCENE IV A Room in the Duke'5 Palace.
Enter Valentine, and Viola in mans attire.
Vol. If the duke continue these favours towards
you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced; I
he hath known you but three days, and already you
are no stranger.
Vio. You either fear his humour, or my negli-
gence, that you call in question the continuance of
his love : Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours?
Vol. No, believe me.
Enter Duke, Cuaio, and Attendants.
Vio. I thank you. Here comes the count.
Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho ?
Vio. On your attendance, my lord ; here.
Duke. Stand you awhile aloof. — Cesario,
Thou know'st no less but all ; I have unclasp'd
To thee the book even of my secret soul :
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her ;
Be not deny'd access, stand at her doors.
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow.
Till thou have audience.
Vio. Sure, my noble lord,
If she be so abandon'd to her sorrow
As it is spoke, she never will admit me.
Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds,
Rather than make unprofited return.
Vio. Say, I do speak with her, my lord : What
then?
Duke. O, then unfold the passion of my love,
Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith :
It shall become thee well to act my woes ;
She will attend it better in thy youth.
Than in a nuncio of grave aspect.
Vio. I think not so, my lord.
Duke. Dear lad, believe it ;
For they shall yet belie thy happy years
That say, thou art a man : Diana's lip
Is not more smooth and rubious ; thy small pipe
Is as the maiden's organ, shrill, and sound,
And all its semblative a woman's part.
I know, thy constellation is right apt
For this affair : — Some four, or five, attend him ;
All, if you will ; for I myself am best.
When least in company : — Prosper well in this,
And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord.
To call his fortunes thine.
Via. I'll do my best,
To woo your lady : yet, [Aside.] a barful « strife !
Whoe'er I woo, myself would be his wife. [Exeunt.
SCENE V A Room in Olivia'5 House.
Enter Maria, and Clown.
Mar. Nay, either tell me where thou hast beim,
or I will not open my lips, so wide as a bristle may
enter, in way of thy excuse: my lady will hang
thee for thy absence.
Clo. Let her hang me : he, that is well hanged in
this world, needs to fear no colours.
Mar. Make that good.
Clo. He shall see none to fear.
Mar. A good lenten 3 answer : I can tell thee
where that saying was born, of, I fear no colours.
Clo. Where, good mistress Mary ?
Mar. In the wars ; and that may you be bold to
say in your foolery.
Clo. Well, Heaven give them wisdom, that have
it; and those that are fools, let them use their
talents.
Mar. Yet you will be hanged, for being so long
absent : or, to be turned away ; is not that as good
as a hanging to you ?
2 Full of impediments. 3 Short and spare.
Scene V.
OR, WHAT YOU WILL.
67
Go. Many a good hanging prevents a bad mar-
riage; and, for turning away, let summer bear it out.
Mar. You are resolute then ?
Clo. Not so neither ; but I am resolved on two
points.
Mar. That, if one break, the other will hold.
do. Apt, in good faith ; very apt ! Well, go thy
way ; if sir Toby would leave drinking, thou wert
as witty a piece of Eve's flesh as any in lUyria.
Mar. Peace, you rogue, no more o' that ; here
comes my lady : make your excuse wisely, you were
best. [ExU.
Enter Olivia, and Malvolio.
Clo. Wit, and't be thy will, put me into good
fooling ! Those wits, that think they have thee, do
very oft prove fools ; and I, that am sure I lack
thee, may pass for a wise man : For what says
Quinapalus? Better a witty fool, than a foolish
wit, God bless thee, lady !
Oli. Take the fool away.
Clo. Do you not hear, fellows ? Take away the
lady.
OIL Go to, you're a dry fool : I'll no more of
you : besides, you grow dishonest.
Clo. Two faults, madonna 4, that drink and good
counsel will am.end : for give the dry fool drink, then
is the fool not dry ; bid the dishonest man mend
himself; if he mend, he is no longer dishonest ; if
he cannot, let the botcher mend him. — The lady
bade take away the fool; therefore, I say again, take
her away.
Olu Sir, I bade them take away you.
Clo- Misprision in the highest degree ! — Lady,
Cucullus nonfacit monachum ; that's as much as to
say, I wear not motley in my brain.
Oil What think you of this fool, Malvolio? doth
he not mend ?
Mai- Yes : and shall do, till the pangs of death
shake him . Infirmity, that decays the wise, doth
ever make the better fool.
Clo. Heaven send you, sir, a speedy infirmity,
for the better increasing your folly ! sir Toby will
be sworn, that I am no fox ; but he will not pass
his word for two- pence that you are no fool.
Oli. How say you to that, Malvolio ?
Mai. I marvel your ladysliip takes delight in such
a barren rascal ; I saw him put down the other day
with an ordinary fool, that has no more brain than
a stone. Look you now, he's out of his guard
already ; unless you laugh and minister occasion to
him, he is gagged, I protest, I take these wise
men, tliat crow so at these set kind of fools, no
better than the fools' zanies.*
Oli. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and
taste with a distempered appetite. To be generous,
guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take tliose
things for bird-bofts ^, that you deem cannon-bul-
lets : There is no slander in an allowed fool, though
he do nothing but rail ; nor no railing in a known
discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove.
Clo. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing 7, for
thou speakest well of fools.
Itc'enter Maria.
Mar. Madam, there is at the gate a young gen-
tleman, mucli desires to speak with you.
Oli. From the count Orsino, is it ?
* Ualiim, mistress, dama
* Short arrow*.
s FooU* baubleti.
7 Lying.
Mar. I know not, madam; 'tis a fair young man
and well attended.
OH. Who of my people hold him in delay ?
Mar. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman.
Oli. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks nothing
but madman: Fye on him ! {Exit Maria.J Go
you, Malvolio ; if it be a suit from the count, I am
sick, or not at home ; what you will, to dismiss it.
{^Exit Malvolio.] Now you see, sir, how your
fooling grows old, and people dislike it.
Clo. Thou hast spoke for us, madonna, as if thy
eldest son should be a fool : whose skull Jove cram
with brains, for here comes one of thy kin, has a
most weak pia mater. 8
Enter Sir Toby Belch.
Oli. By mine honour, half drunk. — Wliat is he
at the gate, cousin ?
Sir 2'f). A gentleman.
Oli. A gentleman ! What gentleman ?
Sir To. * Tis a gentleman here — A plague o' these
pickle-herrings ! — How now, sot ?
Clo. Good sir Toby,
Sir To. There's one at the gate,
OIL Ay, marry ; what is he ?
Sir To. Let him be the devil, an he will, I care
not: give me faith, say I. Well, it's all one. \_Exii.
OH. What's a drunken man like, fool ?
Clo. Like a drown'd man, a fool, and a madman :
one draught above heat makes him a fool ; the se-
cond mads him : and a third drowns him.
OIL Go thou and seek the coroner, and let him
sit o' my coz ; for he's in the third degree of drink,
he's drown'd : go, look after him.
Clo. He is but mad yet, madonna ; and the fool
shall look to the madman. \^Exit Clown.
Re-enter Malvolio.
Mai. Madam, yond' young fellow swears he will
speak with you. I told liim you were sick ; he
takes on him to understand so much, and therefore
comes to speak with you ; I told him you were
asleep ; he seems to have a fore-knowledge of that
too, and therefore comes to speak with you. What
is to be said to him, lady ? he's fortified against any
denial.
OU. Tell him, he shall not speak with me.
Mai. He has been told so ; and he says, he'll
stand at your door like a sherifl[''s post, and be the
supporter of a bench, but he'll speak with you.
Oli. What kind of man is he ?
Mai. Why, of man kind.
OIL What manner of man ?
Mai. Of very ill manner ; he'll speak with you,
will you, or no.
OIL Of what personage, and years, is he ?
Mai. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young
enough for a boy, between boy and man. He is
very well favoured, and he speaks very shrewishly ;
one would think, his mother's milk were scarce out
of him.
OIL Let him approach : Call in my gentlewoman.
Mai. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. [Exit.
Re-enter Maria.
OIL Give mc my veil : come, throw it o'er my
face;
We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy.
* The cover of the brain.
- F 2
68
TWELFTH NIGHT:
Act I. Scene V.
she
Enter Viola.
Vio. The honourable lady of the house, which is
Your
OH. Speak to me, I shall answer for her.
will?
Vio. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable
beauty, — I pray you, tell me, if this be the lady
of the house, for I never saw her : I would be loth
to cast away my speech ; for, besides that it is ex-
cellently well penn'd, I have taken great pains to
con it. Good beauties, let me sustain no scorn : I
am very comptible % even to the least sinister
usage.
Oli. Whence came you, sir ?
Vio. I can say little more than I have studied,
and that question's out of my part. Good gentle
one, give me modest assurance, if you be the lady
of the house, that I may proceed in my speech.
Oli. Are you a comedian ?
Vio. No, my profound heart : and yet, by the
very fangs of malice, I swear, I am not that I play.
Are you the lady of the house ?
Oli. If I do not usurp myself, T am.
Vio. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp
yourself; for what is yours to bestow, is not yours
to reserve. But this is from my commission : I will
on with my speech in your praise, and then show
you the heart of my message.
Oli. Come to what is important in't ; I forgive
you the praise.
Vio. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and 'tis
poetical.
Oli. It is the more like to be feigned ; I pray
you, keep it in. I heard, you were saucy at my
gates ; and allowed your approach, rather to won-
der at you than to hear you. If you be not mad,
be gone ; if you have reason, be brief : 'tis not that
time of moon with me, to make one in so skipping
a dialogue.
Mar. Will you hoist sail, sir ? here lies your way.
Vio. No, good swabber; I am to hull here a
little longer. — Some mollification for your giant ',
sweet lady.
Oli. Tell me your mind.
Vio. I am a messenger.
Oli. Sure, you have some hideous matter to de-
liver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. Speak
your office.
Vio. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no
overture of war, no taxation of homage ; I hold the
olive in my hand : my words are as full of peace as
matter.
Oli. Yet you began rudely. What are you ?
what would you?
Vio. The rudeness, that hath appeared in me,
have I learn'd from my entertainment. What I
am, and what I would, are to your ears, divinity ;
to any other's profanation.
OH. Give us the place alone : we will hear this
divinity. [^a^ Maria.] Now, sir, what is your
text?
Vio. Most sweet lady, — —
OH. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be
said of it. Where lies your text?
Vio. In Orsino's bosom.
OH. In his bosom? In what chapter of his bosom?
" Accountable.
' It appears from several parts of this play that the original
actress of Maria was very short
Vio. To answer by the method, in the first of his
heart.
OH. O, T have read it ; it is heresy. Have you
no more to say ?
Vio. Good madam, let me see your face.
OH. Have you any commission from your lord to
negotiate with my face ? you are now out of your
text ; but we will draw the curtain, and show you
the picture. Look you, sir, such a one as I was
this present " : Is't not well done ? [ Unveiling.
Vio. Excellently done, if nature did all.
Oli. 'Tis in grain, sir; 'twill endure wind and
weather.
Via. 'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on :
Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive.
If you will lead these graces to the grave.
And leave the world no copy.
Oli. O, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted ; I will
give out divers schedules of my beauty : It shall be
inventoried ; and every particle, and utensil, la-
belled to my will ; as, item, two lips indifferent
red ; item, two grey eyes, with lids to them ; item,
one neck, one chin, and so forth. Were you sent
hither to 'praise me ?
Vio. I see you what you are : you are too proud ;
But, if you were the devil, you are fair.
My lord and master loves you ; O, such love
Could be but recompens'd, though you were crown'd
The nonpareil of beauty !
Oli. How does he love me ?
Vio. With adorations, with fertile tears.
With groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire.
Oli. Your lord does know my mind, I cannot
love him :
Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,
Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youtli ;
In voices well divulg'd ^, free, learn'd, and valiant.
And, in dimension, and the shape of nature,
A gracious person : but yet I cannot love him ;
He might have took his answer long ago.
Vio. If I did love you in my master's flame,
With such a suffering, such a deadly life,
In your denial I would find no sense,
I would not understand it.
OH. Wliy, what would you ?
Vio. Make me a willow cabin at your gate,
And call upon my soul within the house ;
Write loyal cantons ^ of contemned love.
And sing them loud even in the dead of night
Holla your name to the reverberate liills.
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out, Olivia ! O, you should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth,
But you should pity me.
OH. You might do much : Whatisyour parentage?
Vio. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well :
I am a gentleman.
Oli. Get you to your lord ;
I cannot love him : let him send no more ;
Unless, perchance, you come to me again,
To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well :
1 thank you for your pains : spend this for me.
Vio. I am no fee'd post, lady ; keep your purse ;
My master, not myself, lacks recompense.
Love make his heart of flint, that you shall love ;
And let your fervour, like my master's, be
Plac'd in contempt ! Farewell, fair cruelty. [Eiit.
2 Presents. 3 Well spoken of by the world.
4 Cantos, verses.
Act 11. Scene 1.
OR, WHAT YOU WILL.
09r
Oli. What is your parentage ?
Above my fortunes, yet my state is well :
I am a gentleman. I'll be sworn thou art ;
Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and spirit.
Do give thee five-fold blazon : — Not too fast : —
soft! soft!
Unless the master were the man. — How now ?
Even so quickly may one catch the plague ?
Methinks, I feel this youtli's perfections,
With an invisible and subtle stealth,
To creep in at mine eyes. Well, let it be. —
What, ho, Malvolio ! —
Re-enter Malvolio.
Mai. Here, madam, at your service.
I OIL Run after that same peevish messenger.
The county's man : he left this ring behind him.
Would I, or not ; tell him, I'll none of it.
Desire him not to flatter with his lord.
Nor hold him up with hopes ; I am not for him •
If that the youth will come this way to-morrow,
I'll give him reasons for't. Hie thee, Malvolio.
Mai. Madam, I will. [ExU.
Oli. I do I know not what : and fear to find
Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind.
Fate, show thy force : Ourselves we do not
owe ^ ;
What is decreed, must be ; and be this so !
[ExU.
ACT 11.
SCENE I. — The Sea-coast.
Enter Antonio and Sebastian.
Ant. Will you stay no longer ? nor will you not,
that I go with you ?
Scb. By your patience, no : my stars sliine darkly
over me ; the malignancy of my fate might, per-
haps, distemper yours ; therefore 1 shall crave of
you your leave, that 1 may bear my evils alone :
It were a bad recompense for your love, to lay any
of them on you.
Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are bound.
Seb. No, 'sooth, sir ; my determinate voyage is
mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so ex-
cellent a touch of modesty, that you will not extort
from me what I am willing to keep in ; therefore it
charges me in manners the rather to express myself.
You must know of me then, Antonio, my name is
Sebastian, which I called Rodorigo : my father was
tliat Sebastian of Messaline, whom, I know, you
have heard of: he left behind him, myself, and a
sister, both born in an hour. If the heavens had
been pleas'd, would we had so ended ! but you, sir,
alter'd that ; for, some hour before you took me
from the breach of the sea, was my sister drowned.
Ant. Alas, the day !
Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much re-
sembled me, was yet of many accounted beautiful :
but, tliough I could not, with such estimable won-
der, overfar believe that, yet thus far I will boldly
publish her, she bore a mind that envy could not
but call fair : she is drowned already, sir, with salt
water, though I seem to drown her remembrance
again with more.
Ant. Pardon me, sir, your bad entertainment
Seb. O, good Antonio, forgive me your trouble.
Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, let
me be your servant.
Seb. If you will not undo what you have done,
that is, kill him whom you have recovered, desire
it not. Fare ye well at once : my bosom is full of
kindness ; and I am yet so near the manners of my
mother, that upon tlie least occasion more, mine
eyes w ill tell tales of me. I am bound to the count
Orsino's court : farewell. \^ExU.
Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with tliee :
I have many enemies in Orsino's court.
Else would I very shortly see tlice there :
But come what may, I do adore thee so,
That danger ^all seem sport, and I will go. \^Exit.
SCENE U.— A Street.
Enter Viola j Mai^volio following.
Mai. Were not you even now with the counttss
Olivia?
Via. Even now, sir ; on a moderate pace I liave
since arrived but hither.
Mai. She returns this ring to you, sir ; you
might have saved me my pains, to have taken it
away yourself. She adds, moreover, that you should
put your lord into a desperate assurance she will
none of him : And one tiling more ; that you be
never so hardy to come again in his affairs, unless it
be to report your lord's taking of this. Receive it so.
Via. She took the ring of me ; I'll none of it.
Mai. Come, sir, you peevislily threw it to her ;
and her will is, it should be so returned : if it be
worth stooping for, tliere it lies in your eye ; if not,
be it his that finds it. [Exit.
Vio. I left no ring with her: Wliat means this lady ?
Fortune forbid, my outside have not charm 'd her !
She made good view of me ; indeed, so much.
That sure, methought her eyes had lost her tongue,
For she did speak in starts distractedly.
She loves me, sure ; the cunning of her pa.ssion
Invites me in this churlish messenger.
None of my lord's ring ! why, he sent her none.
I am the man ; — If it be so as 'tis).
Poor lady, she were better love a dream.
Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness.
Wherein the pregnant ^ enemy does much.
How easy is it, for the proper-false
In women's waxen hearts to set their forms !
Alas, our frailty is the cause, not we ;
For, such as we are made of, such we be.
How will this fadge ? 7 My master loves her dearly;
And I, poor monster, fond as much on him ;
And she, mistaken, seems to dote on me :
What will become of this ! As I am man,
My state is desperate for my master's love ;
As I am woman, now alas the day !
Wliat thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia breathe !
O time, thou must untangle Uiis, not I ;
It is too hard a knot for me to untie. [Exit.
SCENE III. — ^ Boom in Olivia'* House.
Enter SirTovvBzLCH, and Sir AavKKw Acvz-cHr.r.K.
Sir To. Approach, sir Andrew : not to be a-bcd
^ Own, pwten. * Dexterous, ready. f Suit
F 3
70
TWELFTH NIGHT:
Act II.
after midnight, is to be up betimes ; and diluculo
surgere, thou know'st,
Sir And. Nay, by my troth, I know not : but I
know, to be up late, is to be up late.
Sir To. A false conclusion : I hate it as an un-
filled can : To be up after midnight, and to go to
bed then, is early ; so that, to go to bed after mid-
night, is to go to bed betimes. Do not our lives
consist of the four elements ?
Sir And. 'Faith, so they say ; but, I think, it
rather consists of eating and drinking.
Sir To. Tliou art a scholar ; let us therefore eat
and drink. — Marian, I say ! a stoop of wine !
Enter Clown.
Sir And. Here comes the fool.
Clo. How now, my hearts ? Did you never see
the picture of we three ? 8
Sir To. Welcome ass. Now let's have a catch.
Sir And. By my troth, the fool has an excellent
breast. 9 I had rather than forty shillings I had
such a leg ; and so sweet a breath to sing, as the
fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very gracious
fooling last night, when thou spokest of Pigrogro-
mitus, of the Vapians passing the equinoctial of
Queubus ; 'twas very good, i'faith.
Clo. My lady has a white hand, and the Myrmi-
dons are no boltle-ale houses.
Sir And. Excellent ! Why, this is the best fool-
ing, when all is done. Now, a song.
Sir To. Come on ; there is a sixpence for you :
let's have a song.
Sir And. There's a testril of me too : if one
knight give a
Clo. Would you have a love-song, or a song of
good life ?
Sir To. A love-song, a love-song.
Sir And. Ay, ay ; I care not for good life.
SONG.
Clo, 0 mistress mine, where are you roaming 9
0 stay and hear ; your true love's coming,
That can sing both high and low :
Trip no further, pretty sweeting ;
Journeys end in lovers' meetings
Every wise man's son doth know.
Sir And. Excellent good, i'faith !
Sir To. Good, good.
Clo. What is love ? 'tis not hereafter ;
Present mirth hath present laughter ;
What's to come, is still unsure :
In delay there lies no plenty ;
Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.
Sir And. A mellifluous voice, as I am true knight.
Sir To. A contagious breath.
iSiV And. Very sweet and contagious, i'faith.
Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in
contagion. But shall we make the welkin dance
indeed ? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a catch,
that will draw three souls out of one weaver?
Shall we do that ?
Sir And. An you love me, let's do't ; I am dog
at a catch.
Clo. By'r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch well.
Sir And. Most certain ; let our catch be, Thou
knave.
Loggerheads be.
9 Voice.
Clo. Hold thy peace, thou knave, knight ! I shall
be constrain'd in't to call thee knave, knight.
Sir And. 'Tis not tlie first time I have constrain'd
one to call me knave. Begin, fool ; it begins. Hold
thy peace.
Clo. I shall never begin, if I hold my peace.
Sir And. Good, i'faith ! Come, begin.
[ They sing a catch.
Enter Maria.
Mar. What a catterwauling do you keep here !
If my lady have not called up her steward, Mal-
volio, and bid liim turn you out of doors, never
trust me.
Sir To. My lady's a Catalan ', we are politicians :
Malvolio's a Peg- a- Ramsey -, and Three merry men
we be. Am not I consanguineous ? am I not of her
blood ? Tilly-valley 3, lady ! There dwelt a man in
liabylon, lady, lady! [Singing.
Clo. Beshrew me, the knight's in admirable fooling.
Sir And. Ay, he does well enough, if he be dis-
posed, and so do I too ; he does it with a better
grace, but I do it more natural.
Sir To. 0 the twelfth day of December, — [Si7iging.
Mar. Peace.
Enter Malvolio.
Mai. My masters, are you mad? or what are
you ? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but
to gabble like tinkers at this time of night ? Do ye
make an alehouse of my lady's house, that ye squeak
out your coziers'^ catches without any mitigation
or remorse of voice ? Is there no respect of place,
persons, nor time, in you ?
Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches.
Sneck up ! ^
Mai. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My
lady bade me tell you, that, though she harbours
you as her kinsman, she's nothing allied to your
disorders. If you can separate yourself and your
misdemeanors, you are welcome to the house ; if
not, an it would please you to take leave of her, she
is very willing to bid you farewell.
Sir To. Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs
be gone.
Mar. Nay, good sir Toby.
Clo. His eyes do show his days are almost done.
Mai. Is't even so ?
Sir To. But I will never die.
Clo. Sir Toby, there you lie.
Mai. This is much credit to you.
Sir To. Shall I bid him go ? [^Singing.
Clo. What an if you do 9
Sir To. Shall I bid him go, and spare not 9
Clo. 0 no, no, no, no, you dare not.
Sir To. Out o'time ? sir, ye lie. — Art any more
than a steward ? Dost thou think, because thou art
virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale ?
Clo. Yes, by saint Anne ; and ginger shall be 'm
hot i'the mouth too. "
Sir To. Thou'rt i'the right. — Go, sir, rub your
chain with crums : — A stoop of wine, Maria !
Mai. Mistress Mary, if you prized my lady's
favour at any thing more than contempt, you would
not give means for this uncivil rule; she shall know
of it, by this hand. [Exit,
Mar. Go shake your ears.
1 Romancer. 2 Name of an old song.
3 Equivalent to filly-fally, shilly-shaUy.
'» Cobblers. s Hang yourself.
Scene III.
OR, WHAT YOU WILL.
71
Sir And. 'Twere as good a deed as to drink when
a man's a hungry, to challenge him to the field ; and
tlien to break promise with him, and make a fool of
him.
Sir To. Do't, knight; I'll write thee a chal-
lenge : or I'll deliver thy indignation to him by
word of mouth.
Mar. Sweet sir Toby, be patient for to-night :
since the youth of the count's was to-day with my
lady, she is much out of quiet. For monsieur
Malvolio, let me alone with him : if I do not gull
him into a nay-word^, and make him a common
recreation, do not I think I have wit enough to lie
straight in my bed : I know, I can do it.
Sir To. Possess us ', possess us ; tell us some-
thing of him.
Mar. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan.
Sir And. O, if I thought that, I'd beat him like
a dog.
Sir To. What, for being a Puritan ? thy exqui-
site reason, dear knight ?
Sir And. I have no exquisite reason for't, but I
have reason good enough.
Mar. The devil a Puritan that he is, or any thing
constantly but a time-pleaser ; an affectioned ass,
that cons state without book, and utters it by great
swartlis ^ : the best persuaded of himself, so cram-
med, as he thinks, with excellencies, that it is his
ground of faith, that all, that look on him, love
him ; and on that vice in him will my revenge find
notable cause to work.
Sir To. What wilt thou do ?
Mar. I will drop in his way some obscure epistles
of love ; wherein, by tlie colour of his beard, the
shape of his leg, the manner of his gait, the expres-
sure of his eye, forehead, and complexion, he shall
find himself most feelingly personated : I can write
very like my lady, your niece ; on a forgotten matter
we can hardly make distinction of our hands.
Sir To. Excellent ! I smell a device.
Sir And. I have't in my nose too.
Sir To. He shall think, by the letters that thou
wilt drop, that they come from my niece, and that
she is in love with him.
Mar. My purpose is, indeed, a horse of that colour.
Sir And. And your horse now would make him
an ass.
Mar. Ass, I doubt not.
Sir And. O, 'twill be admirable.
Mar. Sport royal, I warrant you. I will plant
you two, and let tlie fool make a third, where he
shall find the letter ; observe his construction of it.
For this night, to bed, and dream on the event.
Farewell. {Exit.
Sir To. Good night, Penthesilea, 9
Sir And. Before me, she's a good wench.
Sir To. She's a beagle, true bred, and one that
adores me : What o'that ?
Sir And. I was adored once too.
Sir To. Let's to bed, knight. — Thou hadst need
send for more money.
Sir And. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a
foul way out.
Sir To. Send for money, knight ; if thou hast
her not i'the end, call me Cut. >
Sir And. If I do not, never trust me, take it
liow you will.
• Bvc-word.
'• The row of grass left by a mower.
' Amazon.
7 Inform u«.
FooL
Sir To, Come, come; I'll go bum some sack,
'tis too late to go to bed now : come, knight ; come,
knight. \_Exexint.
SCENE lY.—A Room in Vie Duke'« Palace.
Viola, Curio, and others.
musick : — Now, good
Enter Dui
Duke. Give me some
morrow, friends : —
Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song.
That old and antique song we heard last night ;
Methought, it did relieve my passion much ;
More than light airs, and recollected terms
Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times : — —
Come, but one verse.
Cur. He is not here, so please your lordship, that
should sing it.
Duke. Who was it?
Cur. Feste, the jester, my lord ; a fool, that the
lady Olivia's father took much delight in : he is
about the house.
Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while.
[Exit Curio. — Musick.
Come hither, boy : If ever thou shalt love.
In the sweet pangs of it, remember me :
For, such as I am, all true lovers are ;
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else,
Save, in that constant image of the creature
That is belov'd. — How dost thou like this tune ?
Via. It gives a very echo to the seat
Where Love is thron'd.
DuJce. Thou dost speak masterly :
My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye
Hath stay'd upon some favour that it loves j
Hath it not, boy ?
Vio. A little, by your favour.
Duke. What kind of woman is't ?
Via. Of your complexion.
Duke. She is not worth thee, then. What years,
i'faith ?
Vio. About your years, my lord.
Duke. Too old, by heaven ; Let still the woman take
An elder than herself; so wears she to him.
So sways she level in her husband's heart.
For, boy, however we do praise ourselves.
Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm.
More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn.
Than women's are.
Vio. I think it well, my lord.
Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself.
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent :
For women are as roses ; whose fair flower.
Being once display'd, doth fall that very hour.
Via. And so they are : alas, that they are so ;
To die, even when they to perfection grow !
Re-enter Cuaio, and Clown.
Duke. O fellow, come, the song we had last
night : —
Mark it, Cesario ; it is old, and plain :
The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,
And the free maids that weave their tliread with
bones.
Do use to chaunt it ; it is silly sooth %
And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age.
Clo. Are you ready, sir?
Duke. Ay ; pr'ythee, sing. {Muack,
4 Simple truth.
F 4
72
TWELFTH NIGHT:
Act n,
SONG.
Clo. Come away, come away, death,
And in sad cypress let me be laid ;
Fly away,jiy away, breath;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yewy
0, "prepare it ;
My part of death, no one so true
Did share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
On my black coffin let there be strown ;
N^ot a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown :
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, 0, where
Sad true lover ne'er find my grave,
2'o weep there.
Duke. There's for thy pains.
Clo. No pains, sir ; I take pleasure in singing, sir.
Duke. I'll pay thy pleasure, then.
Clo. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one
time or another.
Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee.
Clo. Now, the melancholy god protect thee ; and
the tailor make thy doublet of changeable taffata,
for thy mind is a very opal. — I would have men of
such constancy put to sea, that their business might
be every thing, and their intent every where ; for
that's it, that always makes a good voyage of no-
thing Farewell. [Exit Clown.
Duke. Let all the rest give place. — —
[Exeunt Curio and Attendants.
Once more, Cesario,
Get thee to yon' same sovereign cruelty :
Tell her, my love, more noble than the world.
Prizes not quantity of dirty lands ;
The parts that fortune hath bestow'd upon her,
Tell her, I hold as giddily as fortune ;
But 'tis that miracle, and queen of gems,
That nature pranks 3 her in, attracts my soul.
Vio. But, if she cannot love you, sir ?
Duke. I cannot be so answer'd.
Vio. 'Sooth, but you must.
Say, that some lady, as, perhaps, there is,
Hath for your love as great a pang of heart
As you have for Olivia : you cannot love her ;
You tell her so ; Must she not then be answer'd ?
Duke. There is no woman's sides.
Can bide the beating of so strong a passion
As love doth give my heart : no woman's heart
So big, to hold so much ; they lack retention.
But mine is all as hungry as the sea.
And can digest as much : make no compare
Between that love a woman can bear me.
And that I owe Olivia.
Vio. Ay, but I know, —
Duke. What dost thou know ?
Via. Too well what love women to men may owe :
In faith, they are as true of heart as we.
My father had a daughter lov'd a man.
As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman,
I should your lordship.
Duke. And what's her history ?
Vio. A blank, my lord : She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i'the bud.
Feed on her damask cheek : she pin'd in thought :
And, with a green and yellow melancholy,
3 Decks.
She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief. Was not this love, indeed ?
We men may say more, swear more : but, indeed,
Our shows are more than will ; for still we prove
Much in our vows, but little in our love.
Duke. But died tliy sister of her love, my boy?
Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's house,
And all the brothers too ; — and yet I know not : —
Sir, shall I to this lady ?
Duke. Ay, that's the theme.
To her in haste ; give her this jewel ; say,
My love can give no place, bide no denay. *
[Exeunt,
SCENE V. — OHvia'5 Garden.
Enter Sir Toby Belch, Sir Akdrew Ague-cheek,
and Fabian.
Sir To. Come thy ways, signior Fabian.
Fab. Nay, I'll come ; if I lose a scruple of this
sport, let me be boiled to death with melancholy.
Sir To. Would'st thou not be glad to have the
niggardly rascally sheep-biter come by some notable
shame ?
Fab. I would exult, man : you know, he brought
me out of favour with my lady, about a bear-baiting
here.
Sir To. To anger him, we'll have the bear again ;
and we will fool him black and blue : — Shall we
not, sir Andrew?
Sir And. An we do not, it is pity of our lives.
Enter Maria.
Sir To. Here comes the little villain : — How
now, my nettle of India ?
Mar. Get ye all three into the box-tree : Mal-
volio's coming down this walk ; he has been yonder
i'the sun, practising behaviour to his own shadow
this half hour : observe him, for the love of mockery •
for, I know, this letter will make a contemplative
idiot of him. Close, in the name of jesting ! [The
men hide themselves.] Lie thou there; [Throws
down a letter,'] for here comes the trout that must
be caught with tickling. [Exit Maria.
Enter Malvolio.
Mai. 'Tis but fortune ; all is fortune. Maria
once told me, she did affect me : and I have heard
herself come thus near, that, should she fancy, it
should be one of my complexion. Besides, she uses
me with a more exalted respect than any one else
that follows her. What should I think on't ?
Sir To. Here's an overweening rogue !
Fab. O, peace ! Contemplation makes a rare
turkey-cock of him ; how he jets ^ under his ad-
vanced plumes !
Sir And. 'Slight, I could so beat the rogue : —
Sir To. Peace, I say.
Mai. To be count Malvolio ; —
Sir To. Ah, rogue !
Sir And. Pistol him, pistol him.
Sir To. Peace, peace !
Mai. There is example for't ; the lady of the
strachy married the yeoiifian of the wardrobe.
Sir And. Fie on him, Jezebel !
Fab. O, peace ! now he's deeply in, look, how
imagination blows him.
Mai. Having been three months married to her,
sitting in my state, —
4 Denial. * Struts
Scene V.
OR, WHAT YOU WILL.
73
iSiV To. O, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye !
Mai. Calling my officers about me, in my branched
velvet gown ; having come from a day-bed, where I
left Olivia sleeping.
Sir To. Fire and brimstone !
Fab. O, peace, peace !
Med. And then to have the humour of state : and
after a demure travel of regard, — telling them, I
know my place, as I would they should do theirs, —
to ask for my kinsman Toby :
Sir To. Bolts and shackles !
Fab. O, peace, peace, peace ! now, now.
Mai. Seven of my people, with an obedient start,
make out for him : I frown the while ; and, per-
chance, wind up my watch, or play with some rich
jewel. Toby approaches ; court 'sies there to me :
Sir To. Shall this fellow live ?
Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us with
cars, yet peace.
Mai. 1 extend my hand to him thus, quenching
my familiar smile with an austere regard of control :
Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o'the
lips then ?
Mai. Saying, Cousin Toby, my fortunes having cast
me on your niece, give me this prerogative of speech : —
Sir To. What, what?
Mai. You must amend your drunkenness.
Sir To. Out, scab !
Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of
our plot.
Mai. Besides, you waste the treasure of your time
with a foolish knight ;
Sir And. That's me, I warrant you.
Mai. One Sir Andrew :
Sir And. I knew, 'twas I ; for many do call me fool.
Mai. What employment have we here ?
^Taking up the letter.
Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin.
Sir To. O, peace ! and the spirit of humours in-
timate reading aloud to him !
Mai. By my life, this is my lady's hand : these
be her very P's her C7"s and her T's, and thus makes
she her great C's. It is, in contempt of question,
her hand.
Sir And. Her P's, her U% and her Ts : Why that?
Mai. [^Reads.j To the unknoum beloved, this, and
my good u'ishes : her very phrases ! — By your leave,
wax. — Soft ! — and the impressure her Lucrece,
with which she uses to seal : 'tis my lady : To whom
should this be ?
Fab. This wins him, liver and all.
Mai. \Reads.^ Jove knows, I love :
But who?
Lips do not move.
No man must know.
No man must know. — What follows ? the numbers
altered ! — No man mu^ know : — If this should be
thee, Malvolio ?
Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock ! ^
Mai. / may command, where I adore :
But silence, like a Lucrece knife.
With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore ;
M, O, A, I, doth sivay my life.
Fab. A fustian riddle !
Sir To. Excellent wench, say I.
Mai. M, O, A, I, doth sivay my life. — Nay, but
first, let me see, — let me see, — let me see.
Fab. What a dish of poison has she d essed him !
* Badger.
Sir To. And wdth what wing the stannyel 7 checks
at it ! 8
Mai. I may command where I adore. Why, she
may command me ; I serve her, she is my Jady.
Why, this is evident to any formal capacity. There
is no obstruction in this ; — And the end, — What
should that alphabetical position portend ? If I
could make that resemble something in me, —
Softly \ — M,0, A, L —
Sir To. O, ay ! make up that : — he is now at a
cold scent.
Fab. Sowter ^ will cry upon't for all this, though
it be as rank as a fox.
Mai. M, — Malvolio ; — M, — why, that begins
my name.
Fab. Did not I say, he would work it out ? the
cur is excellent at faults.
Mai. M, — But then there is no consonancy in
the sequel : that suffers under probation : A should
follow, but 0 does.
Fab. And 0 shall end, I hope.
Sir To. Ay, or I'll cudgel him, and make him
cry, 0.
Mai. And then / comes behind ; —
Fab. Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you
might see more detraction at yoiu- heels, than for-
tunes before you.
Mai. M, 0, A, I; — This simulation is not as the
former : — and yet, to crush this a little, it would
bow to me, for every one of these letters are in my
name. Soft ; here follows prose. — If this fall into
thy hand, revolve. In my stars I am above thee;
but be not afraid of greatness : Some are bom great,
some achieve greatness, and some have greatness
thrust upon them. Thy fates open their hands; let
thy blood and spirit embrace t/iem. And, to inure
thyself to what thou art like to be, cast thy hximble
slough ', and appear fresh. Be opposite with a
kinsman, surly with servants : let thy tongue tang
argumeiUs of state ; put thyself into the trick of
singularity : she thus advises thee, that sighs for
thee. Remember who commended thy yellow stock-
ings; and unshed to see thee ever cross- gartered : I
say, remember. Go to; thou art made, if thou
desirest to be so ; if not, let me see thee a steward
still, the fellow <f servants, and not worthy to touch
fortune's fngtrs. Farewell. S/ie that would alter
services with thee. The fortunate-unhappy.
Day-light and champian « discovers not more : this
is open. I will be proud, I will read politick
authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross
acquaintance, I will be point-de-vice 3, the very
man. I do not now fool myself, to let imagination
jade me ; for every reason excites to this, that my
lady loves me. She did commend my yellow
stockings of late, she did praise my leg being cross-
gartered ; and in this she manifests herself to my
love, and, with a kind of injunction, drives me to
these habits of her liking. I thank my stars, I am
happy. I will be strange, stout, in yellow stock-
ings, and cross-gartered, even with the swiftness of
putting on. Jove, and my stars be praised ! —
Here is yet a postscript. Thou canst not choose but
know who lam. If thou erUertainest my loi^, let it
appear in thy smiling; thy smiles become thee well:
therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet,
Ipr'ythee. Jove, I thank thee. — I will smile ; I
will do every tiling that thou wilt have me. [Exit.
1 Hawk. ' Flyi at it » Name of a hound.
» SkiD of » anake. • Open country. 3 Utmost exactness.
74.
TWELFTH NIGHT:
Act ni
Fab. I will not give my part of this sport for a
pension of thousands to be paid from the Sophy.
Sir To. I could marry this wench for this device.
Sir And. So could I too.
Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her, but
such another jest.
Enter Maria.
Sir And. Nor I neither.
Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher.
Sir To. Wilt thou set thy foot o'my neck ?
Sir And. Or o'mine either ?
Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip 4,
and become thy bond slave ?
Sir And. Ffaith, or I either.
Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a dream,
that, when the image of it leaves him, he must run
mad.
Mar. Nay, but say true ; does it work upon him ?
Sir To. Like aqua vitae.
Mar. If you will then see the fruits of the sport,
mark his first approach before my lady : he will
come to her in yellow stockings, and 'tis a colour
she abhors ; and cross-gartered, a fashion she de-
tests ; and he will smile upon her, which will now
be so unsuitable to her disposition, being addicted
to a melancholy as she is, that it cannot but turn
him into a notable contempt : if you will see it,
follow me.
iSir To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most excel-
lent devil of wit !
Sir And. I'll make one too. [ExeunU
ACT III.
SCENE I Olivia's Garden.
Enter Viola, and Clown with a tabor.
Vio. Save thee, friend, and thy musick : Dost
tliou live by thy tabor ?
Clo. No, sir, I live by the church.
Vio. Art thou a churchman ?
Clo. No such matter, sir ; I do live by the church :
for I do live at my house, and my house doth stand
by the church.
Vio. So thou may'st say, the king lies* by a
beggar, if a beggar dwell near him : or, the church
stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor stand by the church.
Clo. You have said, sir. — To see this age ! — A
sentence is but a cheveril ^ glove to a good wit ;
How quickly the wrong side may be turned out-
ward!
Vio. I warrant thou art a merry fellow, and carest
for nothing.
Clo. Not so, sir, I do care for something : but in
my conscience, sir, I do not care for you ; if that be
to care for nothing, sir, I would it would make you
invisible.
Vio. Art not thou the lady Olivia's fool ?
Clo. No, indeed, sir ; the lady Olivia has no folly :
she wall keep no fool, sir, till she be married ; and
fools are as like husbands as pilchards are to herrings,
the husband's the bigger; I am, indeed, not her
fool, but her corrupter of words.
Vio. I saw thee late at the count Orsino's.
Clo. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb, like
tlie sun ; it shines every where. I would be sorry,
sir, but the fool should be as oft with your master, as
with my mistress : I think, I saw your wisdom there.
Via. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I'll no more
with thee. Hold, there's expences for thee. Is thy
lady within ?
Clo. My lady is within, sir. I will construe to
her whence you come : who you are, and what you
would, are out of my welkin : I might say, element ;
but the word is over-worn. \_Eodt.
Vio. This fellow's wise enough to play the fool ;
And, to do that well, craves a kind of wit.
He must observe their mood on whom he jests,
The quality of persons, and the time ;
A boy's diversion, three and trip.
Dwells.
6 Kid.
And, like the haggard ', check at every feather
That comes before his eye. This is a practice,
As full of labour as a wise man's art :
For folly, that he wisely shows, is fit ;
But wise men, folly-fallen, quite taint their wit.
Enter Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Aoue-
CHEEK.
Sir To. Save you, gentleman.
Vio. And you, sir.
Sir And. Dieu vous garde, monsieur.
Vio. Et vous aussi ; voire serviteur.
Sir And. 1 hope, sir, you are ; and I am yours.
Sir To. Will you encounter the house ? my niece
is desirous you should enter, if your trade be to her.
Vio. I am bound to your niece, sir ; I mean, she
is the list 8 of my voyage.
Sir To. Taste your legs, sir, put them to motion.
Vio. My legs do better understand me, sir, than
I understand what you mean by bidding me taste
my legs.
Sir To. I mean, to go, sir, to enter.
Vio. I will answer you with gait and entrance :
But we are prevented.
Enter Olivia and Maria.
Most excellent accomplished lady, the heavens rain
odours on you !
Sir And. That youth's a rare courtier! Rain
odours ! well.
Via. My matter hath no voice, lady, but to your
own most pregnant 9 and vouchsafed ear.
Sir And. Odours, pregnant, and vouchsafed : —
I'll get 'em all three ready.
OH. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me
to my hearing.
[Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Maria. HI
Give me your hand, sir. ^ j
Vio. My duty, madam, and most humble service.
on. What is your name ?
Vio. Cesario is your servant's name, fair princess.
OH. My servant, sir ! 'Twas never merry world.
Since lowly feigning was call'd compliment :
You are servant to the count Orsino, youth;
Vio. And he is yours, and his must needs be yours :
Your servant's servant is your servant, madam.
I
A hawk not well trained.
Ready.
8 Bound, limit
Scene I.
OR, WHAT YOU WILL.
75
OH. For him, I think not on him : for his thoughts,
'Would they were blanks, rather than fill'd with me !
Vio. Madam, I come to whet your gentle thoughts
On his behalf :
Oli, O, by your leave, I pray you ;
I bade you never speak again of him :
But, would you undertake another suit,
I had rather hear you to solicit that,
Than musick from the spheres.
rU). I^ear lady,
OH. Give me leave, I beseech you : I did send.
After the last enchantment you did here,
A ring in chase of you : so did 1 abuse
Myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you :
Under your hard construction must I sit,
To force that on you, in a shameful cunning.
Which you knew none of yours : What might you
tliink?
Have you not set mine honour at the stake,
And baited it with all the unmuzzled thoughts
That tyrannous heart can think ? To one of your
receiving •
Enough is shown ; a Cyprus, not a bosom,
Hides my poor heart : So let me hear you speak.
Vio. I pity you.
Oli. That's a degree to love.
Vio. No, not a grise '2 ; for 'tis a vulgar proof.
That very oft we pity enemies.
Oli. Why, then, methinks, 'tis time to smile again ;
O, world, how apt the poor are to be proud !
If one should be a prey, how much the better
To fall before the lion, than the wolf? iClock strikes.
The clock upbraids me with the waste of time, —
Be not afraid, good youth, I will not have you :
And yet, when wit and youth is come to harvest.
Your wife is like to reap a proper man :
There lies your way, due west.
yio. Then westward-hoe :
Grace, and good disposition 'tend your ladyship !
You'll nothing, madam, to my lord by me ?
Oli. Stay:
I pr'ythee, tell me, what thou think'st of me.
Vio. That you do think, you are not what you are.
Oli. If I think so, I think the same of you.
Vio. Then think you right ; I am not what I am.
Oli. I would you were as I would have you be !
Vio. Would it be better, madam, than I am,
I wish it might ; for now I am your fool.
OU. O, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful
In the contempt and anger of his lip !
A murd'rous guilt shows not itself more soon
Than love that would seem hid : love's night is noon.
Cesario, by the roses of the spring,
By maidhood, honour, truth, and every thing,
I love thee so, that, maujgre all thy pride.
Nor wit, nor reason, can my passion hide.
Do not extort thy reasons from this clause.
For, that I woo, thou therefore hast no cause :
But, rather, reason thus with reason fetter :
Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.
Vio. By innocence I swear, and by my youth,
I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth.
And that no woman has ; nor never none
Shall mistress be of it, save I alone.
And so adieu, good madam ; never more
Will I my master's tears to you deplore.
Oli. Yet come again : for thou, perhaps, may'st move
That heart, which now abhors, to like his love.
\^Exeunt.
' Ready apprehencion. ' Step.
SCENE II. — ui Room in Olivia's House.
Enter Sir Toby Belch, Sir Andrew Ague-cheek,
and Fabian.
Sir And. No, faith, I'll not stay a jot longer.
Sir To. Thy reason, dear venom, give thy reason.
Fab. You must needs yield your reason, sir An-
drew.
Sir And. Marry, I saw your niece do more favours
to the count's serving man, than ever she bestowed
upon me : I saw't i'the orchard.
Sir To. Did she see thee the while, old boy ? tell
me that.
Sir And. As plain as I see you now.
Fab. This was a great argument of love in her
toward you.
Sir And. 'Slight! will you make an ass o' me?
Fab. I will prove it legitimate, sir, upon the oaths
of judgment and reason.
Sir To. And they have been grand jury-men,
since before Noah was a sailor.
Fai. She did show favour to the youth in your
sight, only to exasperate you, to awake your dor-
mouse valour, to put fire in your heart, and brim-
stone in your liver : You should then have accosted
her ; and with some excellent jests, fire-new from
the mint, you should have banged the youth into
dumbness. This was looked for at your hand, and
this was baulked: the double gilt of this oppor-
tunity you let time wash off, and you are now
sailed into the north of my lady's opinion ; where
you will hang like an icicle on a Dutchman's beard,
unless you do redeem it by some laudable attempt,
either of valour, or policy.
Sir And. And't be any way, it must be with
valour; for policy I hate; I had as lief be a
Brownist 3, as a politician.
Sir To. Why then, build me thy fortunes upon
the basis of valour. Challenge me the count's youth
to fight with him ; hurt him in eleven places ; my
niece shall take note of it : and assure thyself, there
is no love-broker in the world can more prevail in
man's commendation with woman, than report of
valour.
Fab. There is no way but this. Sir Andrew.
Sir And. Will either of you bear me a challenge
to him ?
Sir To. Go, vmte it in a martial hand ; be curst *
and brief; it is no matter how witty, so it be elo-
quent, and full of invention : taunt him with the
licence of ink : if thou thou'st him some thrice, it
shall not be amiss ; and as many lies as will lie in
thy sheet of paper, although the sheet were big
enough for the bed of Ware ^ in England, set 'em
down ; go, about it. Let tlicre be gall enough in
thy ink : though thou write with a goose-pen, no
matter : About it.
Sir And. Where shall I find you ?
Sir To. We'll call tliee at the cubictilo 6 .• Go.
[Exit Sir Andrew.
Fab. Tliis is a dear manakin to you. Sir Toby.
Sir To. 1 have been dear to him, lad ; some two
thousand strong, or so.
Fab. We shall have a rare letter from him : but
you'll not deliver it ?
Sir To. Never trust me then ; and by all means
3 ScparatitU in Queen Elizabeth's reign. * Crabbed.
» In Hertfordshire, which held forty persons. 6 chamber.
76
TWELFTH NIGHT:
Act hi.
stir on the youth to an answer. I think, oxen and
wainropes cannot hale them together. For Andrew,
if he were opened, and you find so much blood in
his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I'll eat the
rest of the anatomy.
Fab. And his opposite, the youth, bears in his
visage no great presage of cruelty.
Enter Maria.
Sir To. Look, wherp the youngest wren of nine
comes.
Mar. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh
yourselves into stitches, follow me : yon' gull Mal-
voHo is in yellow stockings.
Sir To. And cross-gartered ?
Mar. Most villainously ; like a pedant that keeps
a school i'the church. — I have dogged him, like
his murderer: He does obey every point of the
letter that I dropped to betray him. He does
smile his face into more lines, than are in the new
map, with the augmentation of the Indies: you
have not seen such a thing as 'tis ; I can hardly
forbear hurling things at him. I know, my lady
will strike him ; if she do, he'll smile, and take't
for a great favour.
Sir To. Come, bring us, bring us where he is.
\_Exeunt.
SCENE III. — A Street.
Enter Antonio and Sebastian.
Seb. I would not, by my will, have troubled you ;
But, since you make your pleasure of your pains,
1 will no further chide you.
Ant. I could not stay behind you ; my desire,
More sharp than filed steel, did spur me forth :
And not all love to see you, (though so much,
As might have drawn one to a longer voyage,)
But jealousy what might befall your travel,
Being skilless in these parts ; which to a stranger,
Unguided, and unfriended, often prove
Rough and unhospitable : My willing love.
The rather by these arguments of fear,
Set forth in your pursuit.
Seb. My kind Antonio,
I can no other answer make, but, thanks.
And thanks, and ever thanks : Often good turns
Are shuffled off with such uncurrent pay :
But, were my worth, as is my conscience, firm,
You should find better dealing. What's to do ?
Shall we go see the reliques of this town ?
Ant. To-morrow, sir ; best, first, go see your
lodging.
Seb. I am not weary, and 'tis long to night ;
I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes
With the memorials, and the things of fame.
That do renown this city.
Ant. 'Would you'd pardon me ;
I do not without danger walk these streets :
Once, in a sea-fight, 'gainst the Count his gallies,
I did some service ; of such note, indeed.
That, were I ta'en here, it would scarce be answer'd.
Seb. Belike, you slew great number of his people.
Ant. The oflfence is not of such a bloody nature ;
Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel.
Might well have given us bloody argument.
It might have since been answer'd in repaying
What we took from them ; which for traffick's sake
Most of our city did : only myself stood out :
For which, if I be lapsed 7 in this place,
I shall pay dear.
Seb. Do not then walk too open.
Ant. It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here's my
purse ;
In the south suburbs, at the Elephant,
Is best to lodge : I will bespeak our diet.
Whiles you beguile the time, and feed your know-
ledge,
With viewing of the town ; there shall you have me.
Seb. Why I your purse ?
Ant. Haply, your eye shall light upon some toy
You have desire to purchase ; and your store,
I think, is not for idle markets, sir.
Seb. I'll be your purse-bearer, and leave you for
An hour.
Ant. To the Elephant. —
Seb. I do remember.
\^Exeunt»
SCENE IV. — Olivia'5 Garden.
Enter Olivia and Maria.
OH. I have sent after him : He says, he'll come ;
How shall I feast him ? what bestow on him ?
For youth is bought more oft, than begg'd, or bor-
row'd.
I speak too loud. ■
Where is Malvolio ? — he is sad, and civil.
And suits well for a servant with my fortunes ; —
TVhere is Malvolio ?
Mar. He's coming, madam ;
But in strange manner. He is sure possess'd.
Oil. Why, what's the matter ? does he rave ?
Mar. No, madam.
He does nothing but smile ; your ladyship
Were best have guard about you if he come ;
For, sure, the man is tainted in his wits.
Oil. Go call him hither. I'm as mad as he,
If sad and merry madness equal be. —
Enter Malvolio.
How now, Malvolio ?
Mai. Sweet lady, ho, ho. [Smiles fantasticalli/.
Oli. Smil'st thou ?
I sent for thee upon a sad 8 occasion.
Mai. Sad, lady ? I could be sad : This does
make some obstruction in the blood, this cross-gar-
tering : But what of that, if it please the eye of
one, it is with me as the very true sonnet is : Please
one, and please aU.
Oli. Why, how dost thou, man ? what is the
matter with thee ?
Mai. Not black in my mind, though yellow in
my legs : It did come to his hands, and commands
shall be executed. I think, we do know the sweet
Roman hand.
Oli. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio ?
Mai. To bed? ay, sweet-heart; and I'll come
to thee.
Oli. God comfort thee ! Why dost thou smile so,
and kiss thy hand so oft ?
Mar. How do you, Malvolio ?
Mai. At your request ? Yes ; Nightingales an-
swer daws.
Mar. Why appear you with this ridiculous bold-
ness before my lady ?
Mai. Be not afraid of greatness : 'Twas well writ.
Oli. What meanest thou by that, Malvolio ?
7 Caught.
8 Grave.
Scene IV.
OR, WHAT YOU WILL.
77
Mai.
OIL
Mai.
OIL
Mai.
OIL
Mai.
ings ; —
on.
Mai.
OIL
Mai.
SOS —
OIL
Mai.
0/t.
Sonic are born great, —
Ha?
Some ac/iieve greatness, —
What say'st thou ?
j47id some have greatness thrust upon them.
Heaven restore thee !
lieniember who commended thy yeUow stock-
Thy yellow stockings ?
And wished to see thee cross-gartered.
Cross-gartered ?
Go to : thou art made, if thou desirest to be
Am I made ?
If not, let me see thee a servant still.
hy, this is very midsummer madness.
Enter Servant.
Wh
Serv. Madam, the young gentleman of the count
Orsino's is returned ; I could hardly entreat him
back : he attends your ladyship's pleasure.
OIL I'll come to him. [Exit Servant.] Good
Maria, let this fellow be looked to. Where's my
cousin Toby ? Let some of my people have a special
care of him ; I would not have him miscarry for the
half of my dowry. [Exeunt Olivia and Maria.
Mai. Oh, ho ! do you come near me now ? no
worse man than sir Toby to look to me ? This con-
curs directly witli the letter : she sends him on
purpose, that I may appear stubborn to him ; for
she incites me to that in the letter. Cast thy hum-
ble sloughy says she : be opposite with a kinsman,
surly unth servants, — let thy tongue tang with ar-
guments of state, — put thyself into the trick of
singularity ; and, consequently, sets down the
manner how ; as, a sad face, a reverend carriage, a
slow tongue, in the habit of some sir of note, and
so forth. I have limed her ; but it is Jove's doing,
and Jove make me thankful ! And, when she went
away now. Let this fellow be looked to : Fellow ! 9
not Malvolio, nor after my degree, but fellow.
Why, every thing adheres together ; that no dram
of a scruple, no scruple of a scruple, no obstacle,
no incredulous or unsafe circumstance, — What
can be said ? Nothing, that can be, can come be-
tween me and the full prospect of my hopes. Well,
Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to be thanked.
Re-enter Maria, with Sir Toby Belch, and
Fabian.
Sir To. Which way is he, in the name of sanctity ?
I'll speak to him.
Fab. Here he is, here he is : — How is't with you,
sir ? how is't with you, man ?
MaL Go off; I discard you, let me enjoy my
private ; go off.
Mar. Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within
him ! did not I tell you ? — Sir Toby, my lady prays
you to have a care of him.
Mai. Ah, ha ! does she so ?
Sir To. Go to, go to ; peace, peace, we must
deal gently with him ; let me alone. How do you,
Malvolio ? how is't with you ? What, man ! defy the
devil : consider he's an enemy to mankind.
Mai. Do you know what you say ?
Mar. La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how
he takes it at heart ! Pray heaven, he be not be-
witched ! My lady would not lose him for more
than I'll say.
• Companion.
Mai. How now, mistress?
Mar. O lord !
Sir To. Pr'ythee, hold tihy peace : this is not the
way : Do you not see, you move him ? let me alone
■with him.
Fab. No way but gentleness ; gently, gently : the
fiend is rough, and will not be roughly used.
Sir To. Why how now, my bawcock ? ' how dost
thou, chuck?
Mai. Sir?
Sir To. Ay, Biddy, come with me. What, man !
'tis not for gravity to play at cherry-pit « with Satan ;
Hang him, foul collier !
Mai. Go hang yourselves all ! you are idle shal-
low things : I am not of your element ; you shall
know more hereafter. [Exit.
Sir To. Is't possible ?
Fab. If this were played upon a stage now, I
could condemn it as an improbable fiction.
Sir To. His very genius hath taken the infection
. of the device, man.
Mar. Nay, pursue him now j lest the device take
air, and taint.
Fab. Why, we shall make him mad, indeed.
Mar. The house will be the quieter.
Sir To. Come, we'll have him in a dark room,
and bound. My niece is already in the belief that
he is mad ; we may carry it thus, for our pleasure,
and his penance, till our very pastime, tired out of
breath, prompt us to have mercy on him : at which
time, we will bring the device to the bar, and crown
thee for a finder of madmen. But see, but see.
En^er Sir Andrew Aooe-cheek.
Fab. More matter for a May morning.
Sir And. Here's the challenge, read it ; I warrant,
there's vinegar and pepper in't.
Fab. Is't so sawcy ?
Sir And. Ay, is it, I warrant him ; do but read.
Sir To. Give me. [Reads.] Youtli, whatsoever
thou art, thou art but a scurvy fellow.
Fab. Good and valiant.
Sir To. Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind,
why I do call thee so, for I will show thee no reason
fort.
Fab. A good note : that keeps you from the blow
of the law.
Sir To.- Thou comest to the lady Olivia, and in my
sight she uses thee kindly : but thou liest in thy throat,
that is not the matter I challenge thee for.
Fab. Very brief, and exceeding good sense-less.
Sir To. / will way-lay t/iee going home ; where if it
be thy chance to kill me,
Fab. Good.
Sir To. Thou killest me Wee a roguf and a tnllain.
Fab. Still you keep o'the windy side of the law :
Good.
Sir To. Fare thee u^U : And God have mercy
upon one of our souls/ He may have mercy upon
mine ; bui my hope is better, and so look to thyself.
Thy friend, as thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy.
Andrew Ague-cheek.
Sir To. If this letter move him not, his legs can-
not : I'll giv't him.
Mar. You may have very fit occasion for't ; he
is now in some commerce with my lady, and will
by and by depart.
Sir To. Go, sir Andrew; scout me for him at
the comer of the orchard, like a bailiff: so soon as
» Jolly cock, beau and eoq. ' A play among boys.
78
TWELFTH NIGHT
ActHI. Scene IV.
over tliou seest him, draw ; and, as thou drawest,
swear liorrible ; for it comes to pass oft, that a ter-
rible oath, with a swaggering accent sharply twanged
off, gives manhood more approbation than ever proof
itself would have earned him. Away.
Sir And. Nay, let me alone for swearing. [ErU.
Sir To. Now will not I deliver his letter : for the
behaviour of the young gentleman gives him out to
be of good capacity and breeding ; liis employment
between his lord and my niece confirms no less ;
therefore this letter, being so excellently ignorant,
will breed no terror in the youth ; he will find it
comes from a clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver his
challenge by word of mouth ; set upon Ague-cheek
a notable report of valour ; and drive the gentle-
man, (as, I know his youth will aptly receive it,)
into a most hideous opinion of his rage, skill, fury,
and impetuosity. This will so frighten them both,
that tliey will kill one another by the look, like
cockatrices.
Unter Olivia and Viola.
Fab. Here he comes with your niece : give them
way, till he take leave, and presently after him.
Sir To. I will meditate the while upon some
horrid message for a challenge.
[Exeunt Sir Toby, Fabian, and Maria.
OH. I have said too much unto a heart of stone,
And laid mine honour too unchary out :
There's something in me, that reproves my fault ;
But such a headstrong potent fault it is,
That it but mocks reproof.
Vio. With the same 'haviour that your passion bears.
Go on my master's griefs.
Oli. Here, wear this jewel for me, 'tis my picture;
Refuse it not, it hath no tongue to vex you :
And, I beseech you, come again to-morrow.
What shall you ask of me, that I'll deny ;
That honour, sav'd, may upon asking give ?
Via. Nothing but this, your true love for my master.
Oli. How with mine honour may I give him that
Which I have given to you ?
Vio. I will acquit you.
OIL Well, come again to-morrow : Fare thee well.
[ExU.
Re-enter Sir Toby Belch, and Fabian.
Sir To. Gentleman, heaven save thee.
Vio. And you, sir.
Sir To. That defence thou hast, betake thee to't :
of what nature the wrongs are thou hast done him,
I know not ; but thy intercepter, full of despight,
bloody as the hunter, attends thee at the orchard
end : dismount thy tuck 3, be yare ^ in thy prepar-
ation, for thy assailant is quick, skilful, and deadly.
Vio. You mistake, sir; I am sure, no man Jiath
any quarrel to me ; my remembrance is very free
and clear from any image of offence done to any
man.
Sir To. You'll find it otherwise, I assure you :
therefore, if you hold your life at any price, betake
you to your guard; for your opposite hath in him
what youth, strength, skill and wrath, can furnish
man withal.
Vio. I pray you, sir, what is he?
Sir To. He is knight, dubbed with unbacked
rapier, and on carpet consideration ; but he is a
devil in private brawl : souls and bodies hath he
divorced three : and his incensement at this moment
Rapier
Ready.
is so implacable, that satisfaction can be none but
by pangs of death and sepulchre : hob, nob, is his
word ; give't or tak't.
Vio. I will return again into the house, and de-
sire some conduct of the lady. I am no fighter. I
have heard of some kind of men, that put quarrels
purposely on others, to taste tlieir valour : belike,
this is a man of that quirk.
Sir To. Sir, no ; his indignation derives itself out
of a very competent injury ; therefore get you on,
and give him his desire. Back you shall not to the
house, unless you undertake that with me, which
with as much safety you might answer him : there-
fore, on, or strip your sword stark naked : for meddle
you must, that's certain, or forswear to wear iron
about you.
Vio. This is as uncivil, as strange. I beseech
you, do me this courteous office, as to know of the
knight what my offence to him is : it is something
of my negligence, nothing of my purpose.
Sir To. I will do so. Signior Fabian, stay you
by this gentleman till my return. lExit Sir Toby.
Vio. Pray you, sir, do you know of this matter ?
Eab. I know the knight is incensed against you,
even to a mortal arbitrement ; but nothing of the
circumstance more.
Vio. I beseech you, what manner of man is he ?
Fab. Nothing of that wonderful promise, to read
him by his form, as you are like to find him in the
proof of his valour. He is, indeed, sir, the most
skilful, bloody, and fatal opposite that you could
possibly have found in any part of lUyria: Will
you walk towards him ? I will make your peace
with him, if I can.
Vio. I shall be much bound to you for't : I am
one, that would rather go with sir priest, than sir
knight : I care not who knows so much of my
mettle. [Exeunt.
Re-enter Sir Toby, with Sir Andrew.
Sir To. Why, man, he's a very devil ; I have not
seen such a virago. I had a pass with him, rapier,
scabbard, and all, and he gives me the stuck-in 5,
with such a mortal motion, that it is inevitable;
and on the answer, he pays you as surely as your
feet hit the ground they step on : They say he has
been fencer to the Sophy.
Sir And. I'll not meddle with him.
Sir To. Ay, but he will not now be pacified :
Fabian can scarce hold him yonder.
Sir And. Plague on't ; an I thought he had been
valiant, and so cunning in fence, I'd have seen him
hanged ere I'd have challenged him. Let him let
the matter slip, and I'll give him my horse, grey
Capilet.
Sir To. I'll make the motion : Stand here, make
a good show on't ; this shall end without the per-
dition of souls. Marry, I'll ride your horse as well
as I ride you. [Aside.
Re-enter Fabian and Viola.
I have his horse [To Fab.] to take up the quarrel ;
I have persuaded liim, the youth's a devil.
Fab. He is as horribly conceited of him; and
pants, and looks pale, as if a bear were at his heels.
Sir To. There's no remedy, sir ; he will fight with
you for his oath's sake : marry, he hath better be-
thought him of his quarrel, and he finds that now-
scarce to be worth talking of: therefore draw, for
5 Stoccato, an Italian term in fencing.
Act IV. Scene I.
OR, WHAT YOU WILL.
79
the supportance of his vow; he protests, he will
not hurt you.
Vio. Pray heaven defend me ! A little thing
would make me tell them how much I lack of a
man. \_Aside.
Fab. Give ground, if you see him furious..
Sir To. Come, sir Andrew, there's no remedy ;
the gentleman will, for his honour's sake, have one
bout with you : he cannot by the duello ^ avoid it :
but he has promised me, as he is a gentleman and
a soldier, he will not hurt you. Come on ; to't.
Sir And. Pray heaven, he keep his oath ! [Draws.
Enter Antonio.
Vio. I do assure you, 'tis against my will. {Draws.
Ant. Put up your sword; — if this young gentleman
Have done offence, I take the fault on me ;
If you offend him, I for him defy you. [Drawing.
Sir To. You, sir ? why, what are you ?
Ant. One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more
Than you have heard him brag to you he will.
Sir To. Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for
you. \_Draws.
Enter two Officers.
Fab. O good sir Toby, hold ; here come the officers.
Sir To. I'll be with you anon. [To Antonio.
Vio. Pray, sir, put up your sword if you please.
[To Sir Andrew.
Sir And. Marry, vrill I, sir ; — and, for that I
promised you, I'll be as good as my word : He will
bear you easily, and reins well.
1 Off. ITiis is the man, do thy office.
2 Off. Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit
Of Count Orsino.
Ant. You do mistake me, sir.
1 Off. No, sir, no jot ; 1 know your favour well.
Though now you have no sea-cap on your head. —
Take liim away ; he knows, I know him well.
Ant. I must obey. — This comes with seeking you;
But there's no remedy ; I shall answer it.
"What will you do ? Now my necessity
""^.lakes me to ask you for my purse : It grieves me
Much more, for what I cannot do for you,
ITian what befalls myself. You stand amaz'd ;
But be of comfort.
2 Off. Come, sir, away.
Ant. I must entreat of you some of that money.
Via. What money, sir ?
For the fair kindness you have show'd me here,
And, part, being prompted by your present trouble,
Out of my lean and low ability
I'll lend you something : my having is not much ;
1*11 make division of my present with you :
Hold, there is half my coffer.
Ant. Will you deny me now ?
Is't possible, that my deserts to you
Can lack persuasion ? Do not tempt my misery,
Lest that it make me so unsound a man,
As to upbraid you with those kindnesses
That I have done for you.
Vio. I know of none ;
Nor know I you by voice, or any feature :
I hate ingratitude more in a man.
Than lying, vainness, babbling, drunkenness.
Or any taint of vice, whose strong corruption
Inhabits our frail blood.
Ant. O heavens themselves !
2 Off. Come, sir, I pray you, go.
Ant. Let me speak a little. This youth that you
see here,
I snatch'd one half out of the jaws of death ;
Reliev'd him with such sanctity of love,
And to his image, which, methought, did promise
Most venerable worth, did I devotion.
1 Off. "What's that to us? The time goes by; away.
Ant. But, O, how vile an idol proves this god ! —
Thou hast, Sebastian, done good feature shame. —
In nature there's no blemish, but the mind ;
None can be call'd deform'd, but the unkind :
"Virtue is beauty ; but the beauteous evil
Are empty trunks, o'erflourish'd by the devil.
1 Off. The man grows mad ; away with him.
Come, come, sir.
Ant. Lead me on. [Exeunt Officers, unth Antonio.
Vio. Methinks, his words do from such passions fly,
That he believes himself; so do not I.
Prove true, imagination, O, prove true,
That I, dear brother, be now ta'en for you !
Sir To. Come hither, knight ; come hither,
Fabian ; we'll whisper o'er a couplet or two of most
sage saws.
Vio. He nam'd Sebastian ; I my brother know
Yet living in my glass ; even such, and so.
In favour was my brother ; and he went
Still in this fashion, colour, ornament,
For him I imitate : O, if it prove.
Tempests are kind, and salt waves fresh in love ! [Exit.
Sir To. A very dishonest paltry boy, and more
a coward than a hare : his dishonesty appears in
leaving his friend here in necessity, and denying
him ; and for his cowardship, ask Fabian.
Fab. A coward, a most devout coward, religious
in it.
Sir And. 'Slid, I'll after him again, and beat him.
Sir To. Do, cuff him soundly, but never draw
thy sword.
Sir And. An I do not, — [Exit,
Fab. Come, let's see the event.
Sir To. I dare lay any money, 'twill be nothing
yet. [Exeunt*
ACT IV.
SCENE I. — Tlie Street before Olivia's House.
Enter Sebastian and Clown.
Clo. "Will you make me believe, that I am not
sent for you ?
Seb. Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow ;
Let me be clear of thee.
6 Law3 of duel
Clo. Well held out, i 'faith ! No, I do not know
you ; nor 1 am not sent to you by my lady, to bid
you come speak with her; nor your name is not
master Cesario ; nor this is not my nose neither. —
Nothing, that is so, is so.
Seb. 1 pr'ythee, vent thy folly somewhere else j
Tliou know'st not me.
Clo. "Vent my folly ! He has heard that word of
80
TWELFTH NIGHT
Act IV.
some great man, and now applies it to a fool. Vent
iny folly ! I am afraid this great lubber, the world,
will prove a cockney. — I pr'ythee now ungird thy
strangeness, and tell me what I shall vent to my
lady : Shall I vent to her, that thou art coming ?
Seb. I pr'ythee, foolish Greek, depart from me ;
There's money for thee ; if you tarry longer,
1 shall give worse payment.
Clo. By my troth, thou hast an open hand : —
These wise men, that give fools money, get them-
selves a good report after fourteen years' purchase.
Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby, and Fabian.
Sir And. Now, sir, have I met you again? there's
for you. [Striking Sebastian.
Seb. Why, there's for thee, and there, and there :
Are all the people mad ? [Beating Sir Andrew.
Sir To. Hold, sir, or I'll throw your dagger o'er
the house.
Clo. This will I tell my lady straight : I would
not be in some of your coats for two-pence.
[Exit Clown.
Sir To. Come on, sir ; hold. [Holding Sebastian.
Sir And. Nay, let him alone, I'll go another way
to work with him; I'll have an action of battery
against him, if there be any law in lUyria : though
I struck him first, yet it's no matter for that.
Seb. Let go thy hand.
Sir To. Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come,
my young soldier, put up your iron : you are well
fleshed ; come on.
Seb. I will be free from thee. What wouldst thou
know?
If thou dar'st tempt me further, draw thy sword.
[Draws.
Sir To. What, what ? Nay, then I must have an
ounce or two of this malapert blood from you. [Draws.
Enter Olivia.
OH. Hold, Toby ; on thy life, I charge thee hold.
Sir To. Madam?
Oli. Will it be ever thus ? Ungracious wretch.
Fit for the mountains, and the barbarous caves.
Where manners ne'er were preach'd ! out of my sight.
Be not offended, dear Cesario :
Rudesby 7, be gone ! — I pr'ythee, gentle friend,
[Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian.
Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway
In this uncivil and unjust extent 8
Against thy peace. Go with me to my house ;
And hear thou there how many fruitless pranks
Tliis ruffian hath botch'd up, that thou thereby
May'st smile at this : thou shalt not choose but go ;
Do not deny : Beshrew his soul for me.
He started one poor heart of mine in thee.
Seb. What relish is in this ? how runs the stream ?
Or I am mad, or else this is a dream : —
Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep ;
If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep !
Oli. Nay, come, I pr'ythee : 'Would thou'dst be
rul'd by me !
Seb. Madam, I will.
OIL O, say so, and so be !
[Exeunt.
SCENE II A Room in Olivia's House.
Enter Maria and Clown.
Mar. Nay, I pr'ythee, put on this gown, and this
beard ; make him believe, thou art sir Topas, the
7 Rude fellow. 8 Violence.
curate ; do it quickly : I'll call sir Toby the
whilst. [Exit Maria.
Clo. Well, I'll put it on, and I will dissemble
myself in't ; I am not tall enough to become the
function well : nor lean enough to be thought a
good student : but to be said, an honest man, and
a good housekeeper, goes as fairly, as to say, a
careful man, and a great scholar. The competitors »
enter.
Enter Sir Toby Belch a7id Maria.
Sir To. Jove bless thee, master parson.
Clo. Bonos dies, sir Toby : for as the old hermit
of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, very wittily
said to a niece of king Gorboduc, That, that is, is ;
so I, being master parson, am master parson ; For
what is that, but that ? and is, but is ?
Sir To. To him, sir Topas.
Clo. What, hoa, I say, — Peace in this prison !
Sir To. The knave counterfeits well ; a good knave.
Mai. [In an inner chamber.'] Who calls there ?
Clo. Sir Topas, the curate, who comes to visit
Malvolio the lunatick.
Mai. Sir Topas, sir Topas, good sir Topas, go
to my lady.
Clo. Out, hyperbolical fiend ! how vexest thou
this man ? talkest thou nothing but of ladies ?
Sir To. Well said, master parson.
Mai. Sir Topas, never was a man thus wronged :
good sir Topas, do not think I am mad ; they have
laid me here in hideous darkness.
Clo. Fie, thou dishonest Sathan ! I call thee by
the most modest terms; for I am one of those
gentle ones, that will use the devil himself with
courtesy : Say'st thou, that house is dark ?
Mai. As hell, sir Topas.
Clo. Why, it hath bay-windows transparent as
barricadoes, and the clear stones towards the south-
north are as lustrous as ebony ; and yet complainest
thou of obstruction ?
Mai. I am not mad, sir Topas ; I say to you, this
house is dark.
Clo. Madman, thou errest : I say, there is no
darkness, but ignorance ; in which thou art more
puzzled than the Egyptians in their fog.
Mai. I say, this house is as dark as ignorance,
though ignorance were as dark as hell ; and I say,
there was never man thus abused : I am no more
mad than you are ; make the trial of it in any con-
stant question. '
Clo. What is the opinion of Pythagoras, con-
cerning wild-fowl ?
Mai. That the soul of our grandam might haply
inhabit a bird.
Clo. What think est thou of his opinion ?
Mai. I think nobly of the soul, and no way
approve his opinion ?
Clo. Fare thee well : Remain thou still in dark-
ness : thou shalt hold the opinion of Pythagoras,
ere I will allow of thy wits ; and fear to kill a wood-
cock, lest thou dispossess the soul of thy grandam.
Fare thee well.
Mai. Sir Topas, sir Topas, —
Sir To. My most exquisite sir Topas !
Clo. Nay, I am for all .waters. 2
Mar. Thou might'st have done this without thy
beard, and gown ; he sees thee not.
Sir To. To him in thine own voice, and bring me
9 Confederates. ' Regular conversation.
2 Any other Gem as well ai a Topaz.
Scene II.
OR, WHAT YOU WILL.
81
word how thou findest him : I would, we were well
rid of this knavery. If he may be conveniently
delivered, I would he were ; for I am now so far in
offence with my niece, that I cannot pursue with
any safety this sport to the upshot Come by and
by to my chamber. [Exeunt Sir Toby and Maria.
Clo. Hei/ Robin, jolly Jiobin.
Tell me how thy lady does. [Singing.
Mai. Fool. — .
Clo. My lady is unkind, perdy.
Mai. Fool. —
Clo. j4las, why is she so ?
Mai. Fool, I say ; —
Clo. She loves another — Who calls, ha ?
Mai. Good fool, as ever thou wait deserve well at
my hand, help me to a candle, and pen, ink, and
paper ; as I am a gentleman, I will live to be thank-
ful to thee for't.
Clo. Master Malvolio !
Mai. Ay, good fool.
Clo. Alas, sir, how fell you besides your five wits?
Mai. Fool, there was never man so notoriously
{U}used : I am as well in my wits, fool, as thou art.
Clo. But as well ? then you are mad, indeed, if
you be no better in your wits than a fool.
Mai. They have here propertied me ; keep me
in darkness, send ministers to me, asses, and do all
they can to face me out of my wits.
Clo. Advise you what you say ; the minister is
here. — Malvolio, Malvolio, thy vvdts the heavens
rt^tore ! endeavour thyself to sleep, and leave thy
vain bibble babble.
Mai. Sir Topas
Clo. Maintain no words with him, good fellow. —
Who, I, sir? not I, sir. God b'wi'you, good sir
Topas. — Marry, amen. — I will, sir, I will.
Mai. Fool, fool, fool, I say, —
Clo. Alas, sir, be patient. What say you, sir? I
am shent 3 for speaking to you.
Mai. Good fool, help me to some light, and some
paper; I tell thee, I am as well in my wits, as any
man in Illyria.
Clo. Well-a-day, — that you were, sir !
Mai. By this hand I am : Good fool, some ink,
paper, and light, and convey what I will set down
to my lady ; it shall advantage thee more than ever
the bearing of letter did.
Clo. I will help you to't. But tell me true, are
you not mad indeed ? or do you but counterfeit ?
Mai. Believe me, I am not ; I tell thee true.
Clo. Nay, I'll ne'er believe a madman, till I see
his brains. I will fetch you light, and paper, and ink.
Mai. Fool, I'll requite it in the highest degree :
I pr'ythee, be gone.
Clo. / am gone, sir,
.And ancnh sir,
[ExU.
rU be with you again.
In a trice ;
Like to the old vice ^
Your need to sustain.
Who with dagger of lath.
In his rage and his wrath.
Cries, ah, ha ! to the devil :
Like a mad lad.
Pare thy nails, dad.
Adieu, goodman drival.
SCENE HI. — OUvia'« Garden.
Enter Sebastian.
Seb. Thfs'is the air ; that is the glorious sun ;
This pearl she gave me, 1 do feel't and see't :
And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus.
Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Antonio then ?
I could not find him at the Elephant :
Yet there he was ; and there I found this credit ',
That he did range the town to seek me out.
His counsel now might do me golden service :
For though my soul disputes well with my sense,
That this may be some error, but no madness.
Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune
So far exceed all instance, all discourse.
That I am ready to distrust mine eyes,
And wrangle with my reason, that persuades me
To any other trust, but that I am mad.
Or else the lady's mad ; yet, if 'twere so.
She could not sway her house, command her fol-
lowers.
Take, and give back, affairs and their despatch.
With such a smooth, discreet, and stable l)earing,
As, I perceive, she does : there's something in't.
That is deceivable. But here comes the lady.
E7iter Olivia ajid a Priest.
Oli. Blame not this haste of mine : If you mean
well, '
Now go with me, and with this holy man,
Into the chantry by : there, before him.
And underneath that consecrated roof,
Plight me the full assurance of your faith ;
That my most jealous and too doubtful soul
May live at peace : He shall conceal it,
Wliiles 6 you are willing it shall come to note ;
What time we will our celebration keep
According to my birth. — What do you say ?
Seb. I'll follow this good man, and go with you ;
And, having sworn truth, ever will be true.
Oli. Then lead the way, good father ; And
heaven to shine.
That they may fairly note this act of mine !
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I. — The Street before OUvia's House.
Enter Clown and Fabian.
Fab. Now, as thou lovest me, let me see his letter.
Clo. Good master Fabian, grant me another re-
quest.
FeUf. Any thing.
3 Scolded, reprimanded.
Clo. Do not desire to see this letter.
Fab. That is, to give a dog, and, in recompense,
desire my dog again.
Enter Duke, Viola, and Attendants.
Duke. Belong you to the lady Olivia, friends?
* A buflbon character in the old plajg, and father of the
modem harlequin. * Account 6 Until
G
82
TWELFTH NIGHT
Act V.
Clo. Ay, sir ; we are some of her trappings.
Duke. I know thee well ; How dost thou, my
good fellow ?
Clo. Truly, sir, the better for my foes, and the
worse for my friends.
Duke. Just the contrary j the better for thy
friends.
Clo. No, sir, the worse.
Duke. How can that be ?
Clo. Marry, sir, they praise me, and make an ass
of me ; now my foes tell me plainly I am an ass : so
that by my foes, sir, I profit in the knowledge of
myself; and by my friends I am abused: so tliat,
conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives
make your two affirmatives, why, then the worse for
my friends, and the better for my foes.
Duke. Why, this is excellent.
Clo. By my troth, sir, no ; though it please you
to be one of my friends.
Duke. Thou shalt not be the worse for me ; there's
gold.
Clo. But that it would be double-dealing, sir, I
would you could make it another.
Duke. O, you give me ill counsel.
Clo. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for this
once, and let your flesh and blood obey it.
Duke. Well, I will be so much a sinner to be a
double-dealer ; there's another.
Clo. Primo, secundo, terlio, is a good play ; and
the old saying is, the third pays for all : the triplex,
sir, is a good tripping measure ; or the bells of
St. Bennet, sir, may put you in mind : One, two,
three.
Duke. You can fool no more money out of me at
this throw : if you will let your lady know, I am
here to speak with her, and bring her along with
you, it may awake my bounty further.
Clo. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I come
again. I go, sir ; but I would not have you to
think, that my desire of having is the sin of covetous-
ness : but, as you say, sir, let your bounty take a
nap, I will awake it anon. \_ExU Clown.
Enter Antonio and Officers.
Vio. Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue me.
Duke. That face of his I do remember well ;
Yet, when I saw it last, it was besmear'd
As black as Vulcan, in the smoke of war :
A bawbling vessel was he captain of.
For shallow draught, and bulk, unprizable ;
AVith which such scathful grapple did he make
With the most noble bottom of our fleet.
That very envy, and the tongue of loss,
Cry'd fame and honour on him. — What's the matter?
1 Off. Orsino, this is that Antonio,
That took the Phoenix, and her fraught? from
Candy ;
And this is he, that did the Tiger board.
When your young nephew Titus lost his leg :
Here in the streets, desperate of shame, and state.
In private brabble did we apprehend him.
Vio. He did me kindness, sir ; drew on my side ;
But, in conclusion, put strange speech upon me,
I know not what 'twas, but distraction.
Duke. Notable pirate ! thou salt-water thief !
What foolish boldness brought thee to their mercies,
Whom thou, in terms so bloody, and so dear,
Hast made thine enemies ?
Ant. Orsino, noble sir,
7 Freight.
Be pleas'd that I shake off these names you give me ;
Antonio never yet was thief, or pirate.
Though, I confess, on base and ground enough,
Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither :
That most ingrateful boy there, by your side.
From the rude sea's enrag'd and foamy mouth
Did I redeem ; a wreck past hope he was :
His life I gave him, and did thereto add •
My love, without retention, or restraint,
All his in dedication : for his sake.
Did I expose myself, pure for his love.
Into the danger of this adverse town j
Drew to defend him, when he was beset ;
Where being apprehended, his false cunning,
(Not meaning to partake with me in danger,)
Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance,
And grew a twenty-years-removed thing.
While one would wink ; denied me mine own purse.
Which I had recommended to his use
Not half an hour before.
Vio. * How can this be ?
Duke. When came he to this town ?
Ant. To-day, my lord; and for three months
before,
(No interim, not a minute's vacancy,)
Both day and night did we keep company.
Enter Olivia and Attendants.
Duke. Here comes the countess ; now heaven
walks on earth.
But for thee, fellow, fellow, thy words are madness :
Three months this youth hath tended upon me ;
But more of that anon. Take him aside.
on. What would my lord, but that he may not
have,
Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable ? —
Cesario, you do not keep promise with me.
Via.. Madam ?
Duke. Gracious Olivia, — —
OH. What do you say, Cesario ? Good my
lord,
Vio. My lord would speak, my duty hushes me.
Oli. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord.
It is as fat 8 and fulsome to mine ear,
As howling after musick.
Duke. Still so cruel?
Oli. Still so constant, lord.
Duke. What ! to perverseness ? you uncivil lady.
To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars
My soul the faithfull'st offiirings hath breath 'd out.
That e'er devotion tender'd ! What shall I do ?
Oli. Even what it please my lord, that shall be-
come him.
Dxike. Why should I not, had I the heart to do it,
Like to the Egyptian thief, at point of death.
Kill what I love ; a savage jealousy,
That sometime savours nobly? — But hear me this :
Since you to non-regardance cast my faitli.
And that I partly know the instrument
That screws me from my true place in your favour.
Live you, the marble-breasted tyrant, still ;
But this your minion, whom, I know, you love.
And whom, by heaven, I swear, I tender dearly.
Him will I tear out of that cruel eye.
Where he sits crowned in his master's spite. —
Come boy, with me ; my thoughts are ripe in mis-
chief :
I'll sacrifice the lamb that I do love.
To spite a raven's heart within a dove. [Going.
^ Dull, gross.
Scene 1.
OR, WHAT YOU WILL.
83
Vio. And I, most jocund, apt, and willingly,
To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die.
[Follotving,
OIL Wliere goes Cesario ?
;7o. After him I love,
More than I love these eyes, more than my life,
More, by all mores, than e'er I shall love wife :
If I do feign, you witnesses above.
Punish my life, for tainting of my love !
OH. Ah me, detested ! how am I beguil'd !
Vio. Who does beguile you ? who does do you
wrong ?
Oti. Hast thou forgot thyself ! Is it so long ! -^
Call forth the holy father. [Exit an Attendant.
Duke. Come away. [To Viola.
OH. Wliither, my lord ? — Cesario, husband, stay.
Duke. Husband ?
OH. Ay, husband ; Can he that deny ?
Duke. Her husband, sirrah ?
Vio. No, my lord, not I.
OH. Alas, it is tlie baseness of thy fear,
Tliat makes thee strangle thy propriety :
Fear not, Cesario, take thy fortunes up ;
Be that thou know'st thou art, and then thou art
As great as that thou fcar'st. — O, welcome, father !■
Re-enter Attendant and Priest.
Father, I charge thee, by tliy reverence.
Here to unfold (though lately we intended
To keep in darkness, what occasion now
Reveals before 'tis ripe,) what thou dost know
Hath newly past between this youth and me.
Priest. A contract of eternal bond of love.
Confirm 'd by mutual joinder of your hands.
Attested by the holy close of lips,
Strengthen'd by interchangement of your rings ;
And all the ceremony of this compact
Seal'd in my function, by my testimony :
Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my
grave,
I have travell'd but two hours.
Duke. O, thou dissembling cub ! what wilt thou be.
When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case ?
Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow.
That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow ?
Farewell, and take her ; but direct thy feet.
Where thou and I henceforth may never meet.
Vio. My lord, I do protest, —
OH. O, do not swear ;
Hold little faith, though thou hast too much fear.
Enter Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, vMh his head
broke.
Sir And. For the love of heaven, a surgeon ;
send one presently to sir Toby.
OH. What's the matter ?
Sir And. He has broke my head across, and has
given sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too : for the love
of heaven, your help : I had rather than forty
pound, I were at home.
OH. Who has done this, sir Andrew ?
Sir And. The count's gentleman, one Cesario :
we took him for a coward, but he's the very devil
incardinate.
Dtike. INfy gentleman, Cesario !
Sir And. Od's lifelings, here he is : — You broke
my hcatl for nothing ; and that that I did, I was set
on to do't by sir Toby,
Vio. Why do you speak to me ? I never hurt you :
You drew your sword upon me, without cause ;
But I bespake you fair, and hurt you noU
Sir And. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you
have hurt me j I think, you set notliing by a bloody
coxcomb.
Enter Sir Toby Belch, drunk, led by the Clown.
Here comes sir Toby halting, you shall hear more :
but if he had not been in drink, he would have
tickled you othergates 9 than he did.
Duke. How now, gentleman ? how is't with you ?
Sir 7'o. Tliat's all one; he has hurt me, and
there's the end on't. — Sot, did'st see Dick surgeon,
sot?
Clo. O he's drunk, sir Toby, an hour agone ; his
eyes were set at eight i'the morning.
Sir To. Then he's a rogue, and a passy-measures
pavin ' ; I hate a drunken rogue.
Olu Away with him : Who hath made tliis havock
with them?
Sir And. I'll help you, sir Toby, because we'll
be dressed together.
Sir To. Will you help an ass-head, and a cox-
comb, and a knave? a thin-faced knave, a gull?
OH. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be look'd to.
[Exeunt Clown, Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew.
Ejiter Sebastian.
Seb. I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kins-
man ;
But had it been the brother of my blood,
I must have done no less, with wit, and safety.
You throw a strange regard upon me, and
By that I do perceive it hath offended you ;
Pardon me, sweet one, even for the vows
We made each other but so late ago.
Duke. One face, one voice, one habit, and two
persons ;
A natural perspective, that is, and is not.
Seb. Antonio, O my dear Antonio !
How have the hours rack'd and tortur'd me,
Since 1 have lost thee !
Ant. Sebastian are you ?
Seb. Fcar'st thou that, Antonio ?
Ant. How have you made division of yourself ? —
An apple, cleft in two, is not more twin
Than these two creatures. Which is Sebastian ?
OH. Most wonderful !
Seb. Do I stand there ? I never had a brother :
Nor can there be that deity in my nature,
Of here and every where. I had a sister.
Whom the blind waves and surges have devour'd : —
Of charity, what kin are you to me? [To Viola.
What countryman ? what name ? what iiarentagc ?
Vio. Of Messaline : Sebastian was my father ;
Such a Sebastian was my brother too.
So went he suited to his watery tomb :
If spirits can assume both fonn and suit.
You come to fright us.
Seb. A spirit I am, indeed ;
But am in that dimension grossly clad.
Which from the womb I did particijjate.
Were you a woman, as the rest goes even,
I should my teai-s let foil upon your check,
And say — Tlirice welcome, diown'd Viola!
Ho. My father had a mole upon his brow.
Seb. And so had mine.
Vio. And died that day when Viola from her birth
Had namber'd thirteen years.
Seb. O, that record is lively in my soul !
9 Otherways.
Serious dances.
G 2
84
TWELFTH NIGHT:
Act \
He finished, indeed, his mortal act.
That day that made my sister thirteen years.
Vio. If nothing lets to make us happy both,
But this my masculine usurp'd attire.
Do not embrace me, till each circumstance
Of place, time, fortune, do cohere, and jump.
That I am Viola : which to confirm,
I'll bring you to a captain in this town,
Where lie my maiden weeds ; by whose gentle help
I was preserv'd, to serve this noble count :
All the occurrence of my fortune since
Hath been between this lady and this lord.
Sel)> So comes it, lady, you have been mistook :
[To Olivia.
But nature to her bias drew in that.
You would have been contracted to a maid ;
Nor are you therein, by my life, deceived.
You are betroth'd both to a maid and man.
Duke. Be not amaz'd ; right noble is his blood
If tliis be so, as yet the glass seems true,
I shall have share in this most happy wreck :
Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times,
[To Viola.
Thou never should'st love woman like to me.
Vio. And all those sayings will I over-swear ;
And all those swearings keep as true in soul.
As doth tliat orbed continent the fire
That severs day from night.
Duke. Give me thy hand ;
And let me see thee in thy woman's weeds.
Vio. The captain, that did bring me first on shore.
Hath my maid's garments : he, upon some action.
Is now in durance ; at Malvolio's suit,
A gentleman, and follower of my lady's.
on. He shall enlarge him ; — Fetch Malvolio
hither : —
And yet, alas, now I remember me,
They say, poor gentleman, he's much distract.
Re-enter Clown, with a Letter.
A most extracting frenzy of mine own
From my remembrance clearly banish'd his. —
How does he, sirrah ?
Clo. Truly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the
stave's end, as well as a man in his case may do : he
lias here writ a letter to you ; I should have given
it to you to-day morning ; but as a madman's epis-
tles are no gospels, so it skills not much, when they
are delivered.
Oli. Open it, and read it.
Clo. Look then to be well edified, when the fool
delivers the madman : — By the Lord, madam, —
Oli. How now ! art thou mad ?
Clo. No, madam, I do but read madness : an your
ladyship will have it as it ought to be, you must
allow vox.'^
Oli. Pr'ythee, read i'thy right wits.
Clo. So I do, madonna ; but to read his right
wits, is to read thus : therefore perpend % my prin-
cess, and give ear.
Oli. Read it you, sirrah. [To Fabian.
Fab. [Reads,] By the Lord, madam, you wrong
me, and the world shall know it : thotigh you have
put me into darkness, and given your drunkeri cousin
rule over me, yet have I the benefit of m-y senses as
ivell as your ladyship. I have your oxvn letter that
induced me to the semblance I put on ; with the
which I doubt not but to do myself much right, or
* Voice.
3 Attend.
you much shame. Think of me as you please. I
leave my duty a little unthought of, and speak out of
my injury. The madly used Malvolio.
Oli. Did he write this ?
Clo. Ay, madam.
Duke. This savours not much of distraction.
OIL See him deliver'd, Fabian ; bring him hither.
{Exit Fabian.
My lord, so please you, these things further thought
on.
To think me as well a sister as a wife.
One day shall crown the alliance on't, so please you,
Here at my house, and at my proper cost.
Duke. Madam, I am most apt to embrace your
offer. —
Your master quits you : [ To Viola] and, for your
service done him.
So much against the mettle ^ of your sex,
So far beneath your soft and tender breeding,
And since you call'd me master for so long,
Here is my hand ; you shall from this time be
Your master's mistress.
Oli. A sister ? — you are she.
Re-enter Fabian, with Malvolio.
Duke. Is this the madman ?
Oli. Ay, my lord, the same :
How now, Malvolio?
Mai. Madam, you have done me wrong,
Notorious wrong.
Oli. Have I Malvolio ? no.
Mai. Lady, you have. Pray you peruse that letter :
You must not now deny it is your hand.
Write from it, if you can, in hand, or phrase ;
Or say, 'tis not your seal, nor your invention :
You can say none of this : Well, grant it then.
And tell me, in the modesty of honour.
Why you have given me such clear lights of favour ;
Bade me come smiling, and cross-garter'd to you.
To put on yellow stockings, and to frown
Upon sir Toby, and the lighter people :
And, acting this in an obedient hope.
Why have you suffer'd me to be imprison'd,
Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest.
And made the most notorious geek ^, and gull.
That e'er invention play'd on ? tell me why.
Oli. Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing.
Though I confess much like the character :
But out of question, 'tis Maria's hand.
And now I do bethink me, it was she
First told me, thou wast mad ; then cam'st in smiling.
And in such foratis which here were presuppos'd
Upon thee in the letter. Pr'ythee, be content :
This practice hath most shrewdly pass'd upon thee ;
But when we know the grounds and authors of it.
Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge
Of thine own cause.
Fab. Good madam, hear me speak j
And let no quarrel, nor no brawl to come.
Taint the condition of this present hour.
Which I have wonder'd at. In hope it shall not.
Most freely I confess, myself, and Toby,
Set this device against Malvolio here,
Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts
We had conceived against him : Maria writ
The letter, at sir Toby's great importance ^ ;
In recompense whereof, he hath married her.
How with a sportful malice it was follow'd.
4 Frame and constitution.
6 Importunity.
* Fool.
Scene I.
OR, WHAT YOU WILL.
85
May ratlier pluck on lauglitur than revenge ;
If that the hijuries be justly weigh'd,
That have on both sides past.
OIL Alas, poor fool ! how have tiiey baffled thee .'
Clo. Why, some are born great, some achieve great-
ness, and some have greatness thrown upon thern. I
was one, sir, in tliis interlude; one sir Topas, sirj
but that's all one : — By the Lord, fool, I am not
mud ; — But do you remember ? Madam, why laugh
you at such a barren rascal f an you smile not, he's
gaggd: And thus the whirligig of time brings in
his revenges.
Mat, I'll be revenged on the whole pack of you.
[ExU.
OIL He hath been most notoriously abus'd.
D ike. Pursue him, and entreat him to a peace ; —
He hath not told us of the captain yet ;
When that is known and golden time convents,'
A solemn conibinatix)n shall be made
Of our dear souls — Mean time, sweet sister.
We w ill not part from hence. — Cesario, come,
1 Shall serve.
For so you shall be, while you are a man :
But, when in other habits you are seen,
Orsino's mistress, and his fancy's queen. \^Exeunt.
SONG.
Clo. When that I was and a little tiny boy,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
A foolish thing was but a toy,
For the rain it raitwth every day.
But when I come to mans estate.
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
* Gainst knave and thief men shut their gate,
For tlie rain it raineth every day.
But when I caine, alas I to wive.
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain.
By swaggering could I never thrive.
For the rain it raineth every day.
A great while ago the world begun.
With hey, ho, the unnd and the rain,
But that's all one, our jAay is done.
And xue'U strive to please you every day.
[Exit.
G3
i
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
ViNCENTio, Duke o/* Vienna.
Angelo, Lord Deputy in the Duke'5 absence.
EscALus, an ancient Lordt joined with Angelo in llie
deputation.
Claudio, a young Gentleman.
Lucio, a Fantastic.
Two other like Gentlemen.
Varrius, a Gentleman^ Servant to tfie Onke.
Provost.
Thomas, ] y^ ^^,,.
Pkter, J
Elbow, a simple ComtatfUi.
SCENE,
Clown, Servant to Mrs. Overdone.
Abhorson, an Executioner.
Barnardine, a dissolute Prisoner.
Isabella, Sister to Claudio.
Mariana, betrotlied to Angelo.
Juliet, beloved by Claudio.
Francisca, a Nun.
Mistress Overdone.
Lords, Gentlemen, Guards, OJJicers, and other
Attendants.
— Vienna.
iSUOB, O ROYAL UDKE !
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
'RE FACE TO MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
L
This comedy contains scenes which are truly
worthy of the first of dramatic poets. Isabella
pleading with Angelo in behalf of mercy to her
brother, and afterwards insisting that his life must
not be purchased by the sacrifice of her chastity,
is an object of such interest, as to make the reader
desirous of overlooking the many great defects
which are to be found in other parts of this play.
The story is little suited to a comedy. The wicked-
ness of Angelo is so atrocious, that I recollect only
one instance of a similar kind being recorded in
history * ; and that is considered by many persons
;is of doubtful authority. His crimes, indeed, are
not completed, but lie supposes them to be so ;
and his guilt is as great as it would have been, if
the person of Isabella had been violated, and the
head of Ragozine had been Claudio's This mon-
ster of iniquity appears before the Duke, defending
his cause with unblushing boldness ; and after the
detection of his crimes, he can scarcely be said to
receive any punishment. A hope is even expressed
that he will prove a good husband, but for no good
reason — namely, because he has been a little bad.
Angelo abandoned his contracted wife for the most
despicable of all reasons, the loss of her fortune.
He added to his guilt not only insensibility to her
afliiction, but the detestable aggravation of injuring
her reputation by an unfounded slander ; ascribing
his desertion of Mariana to levity in her conduct,
of which she never was guilty. He afterwards
betrayed the trust reposed in him by the Duke.
He threatened Isabella that if she would not sur-
render her virtue, he would not merely put her
brother to death, but make
' His death draw out to lingering suttcrancc. "
• Kirk.
And, finally, when he thought his object accom-
plished, he ordered Claudio to be murdered, in
violation of his most solemn engagements.
These are the crimes, which, in the language ot
Mariana, are expressed by the words a little bad;
and with a perfect knowledge of Angelo's having
committed them, she
Craves no other, nor no better man.'
(^audio's life having been preserved by the Pr
vost, it would not, perhaps, have been lawful
have put Angelo to death ; but the Duke might
with great propriety have addressed him in the
words of Bolingbroke to Exton : —
•• Go, wander through the shades of night,
" And never show thj- head by day nor light'
Other parts of the play are not without faults.]
The best characters act too much upon a system
duplicity and falsehood ; and the Duke, in the firsi
act, trifles cruelly with the feelings of Isabella/
allowing her to suppose her brother to be dead
much longer than the story of the play required.
Lucio is inconsistent as well as profligate. He
appears, in the first act, as the friend of Claudio,
and in the fifth he assists the cause of Angelo,
whom he supposes to be his murderer. Lastly,
the indecent expressions with which many of the
scenes abound are so interwoven with the story,
that it is extremely difficult to separate the one
from the other.
I trust, however, that I have succeeded in doing
it, and I should not be sorry if the merit or demerit
of the whole work were to be decided by the exa-
mination of this very extraordinary Play, as it is
now printed in the Family Shakspeare.
Jl
Act I. Scene I.
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
87
ACT I.
SCENE I. — Ati Apartment in tlie Duke's Palace.
Enter Duke, Escalus, and Lords.
DvJce. Escalus, —
Esc. My lord.
Duke. Of government the properties to unfold,
Would seem in me t'affect speech and discourse,
Since I am put to know, that your own science
Exceeds in that the lists of all advice
My strength can give you : Then no more remains
But that to your sufficiency, as your worth is able,
And let them work. The nature of our people,
Our city's institutions, and the terms
For common justice, y'are as pregnant in
As art and practice hath enriched any
That we remember : There is our commission,
From which we would not have you warp. Call hither,
I say, bid come before us Angelo. —
What figure of us tliink you he will bear?
For you must know, we have with special soul
Elected him our absence to supply ;
Lent him our terror, drest him with our love,
And given his deputations all tlie organs
Of our own power : What think you of it ?
Esc. If any in Vienna be of worth
To undergo such ample grace and honour.
It is lord Angelo.
Enter Angelo.
Duke. Look, where he comes.
Ang. Always obedient to your grace's will,
I come to know your pleasure.
Duke. Angelo,
There is a kind of character in thy life,
That, to th' observer, doth thy history
Fully unfold : — Thyself, and thy belongings.
Are not tliine own so proper, as to waste
Tliyself upon thy virtues, them on thee.
Heaven doth with us, as we with torches do.
Not light tliem for themselves : for if our virtues
Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike
As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touch'd
But to fine issues : nor nature never lends
The smallest scruple of her excellence.
But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines
Herself the glory of a creditor.
Both tlianks and use ; but I do bend my speech
To one that can my part in him advertise ;
Hold, therefore, Angelo :
In our remove, be thou at full ourself ;
Mortality and mercy in Vienna
Live in thy tongue and heart: Old Escalus,
Though first in question, is thy secondary.
Take thy commission.
Aiifi,. Now, good my lord,
Let there be some more test made of my mettle,
Before so noble and so great a figure
Be stamp'd upon it.
Duke. No more evasion :
We h.ive with a leavcn'd and prepared choice
Proceeded to you ; therefore take your honours.
Our haste from "hence is of so quick condition,
Tliat it prefers itself, and leaves unquestion'd
Matters of needful value. We sliall write to you.
As time and our couccmings sliall importune,
How it goes with us, and do look to know
What dotli befall you here. So, fare you wel! :
To th' hopeful execution do I leave you
Of your commissions.
Ang. Yet, give leave, my lord,
That we may bring you something on the way.
Duke. My haste may not admit it ;
Nor need you, on mine honour, have to do
With any scruple : your scope is as mine own,
So to enforce or qualify the laws
As to your soul seems good : — Give me your hand ;
I'll privily away : I love the people,
But do not like to stage me to their eyes :
Though it do well, I do not relish well
Their loud applause, and aves vehement :
Nor do I think the man of safe discretion
That does affect it. Once more, fare you well.
Ang. The heavens give safety to your jjurposos !
Esc. Lead forth, and bring you back in happiness !
Duke. I thank you. — Fare you well. [Exit.
Esc. I shall desire you, sir, to give me leave
To have free speech with you ; and it concerns me
To look into the bottom of my place :
A power I have, but of what strength and nature,
I am not yet instructed.
Ang. 'Tis so with me : — Let us withdraw together.
And we may soon our satisfaction have
Touching that point
Esc. I'll wait upon your honour.
{Exeunt.
SCENE U.— A Street.
Enter Lucio, and two Gentlemen.
Lucio. If the duke, with the other dukes, come
not to composition with the king of Hungary, why
then all the dukes fall upon the kiflg.
1st Gent. Heaven grant us its peace j but not the
king of Hungary's !
2d Gent. Amen.
Lucio. Thou concludest like the sanctimonious
pirate, that went to sea with the ten command-
ments, but scraped one out of the table.
2d Gent. Thou shalt not steal ?
Lucio. Ay, that he razed.
1st Gent. Why, 'twas a commandment to com-
mand the captain and all the rest from tlieir func-
tions ; they put forth to steal : there's not a soldier
of us all, that, in the thanksgiving before meat,
doth relish the petition well that prays for peace.
2d Gent. I never heard any soldFer dislike it.
Lncio. i believe thee ; for, I tliink, thou never
wast where grace was said. But see, where j^adam
Mitigation comes.
Enter Mrs. Overdone.
Overdone. There's one yonder, arrested and car-
ried to prison, was worth five thousand of you all.
Is/. Gent. Who's that, I pray tliee?
Overd, Marry sir, that's Claudio, Signior Claudio.
\st Gent. Claudio to prison ! 'tis not so.
Overd. Nay, but I know 'tis so : I saw him ar-
rested ; saw him carried away ; and, which is more,
witliin these three days his head's to be chopped oiV.
Lucio. But, after all tin's fooling, I would not
liave it so : art thou sure of this ?
G 4
1
88
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
Act I.
Overd. I am too sure of it ; and it is on account
of Madam JuHetta.
Lucio. Believe me, this may be : he promised
to meet me two hours since ; and he was ever pre-
cise in promise-keeping.
2d Gent. Besides, you know, it draws something
near to the speech we had to such a purpose.
1st Gent. But most of all, agreeing with the
proclamation.
Lucio. Away ; let's go learn the truth of it.
[Exeunt Lucio and Gentlemen.
Overd. Thus, what witli the war, what with the
gallows, and what with poverty, I am custom-
shrunk. How now ! what's the news with you ?
Enter Clown.
Cloivn. You have not heard of the proclamation,
have you ?
Overd. What proclamation, man ?
Clown. All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must
be pluck'd down.
Overd. And what shall become of those in the
city?
Clown. They had gone down too, but that a wise
burgher put in for them.
Overd. But, shall all^our houses of resort in the
suburbs be pulled down ?
Clown. To the ground, mistress.
Overd. Why, here's a change indeed in tlie com-
monwealth : what shall become of me ?
Clown. Come, fear not you ; good counsellors
lack no clients. Though you change your place ;
you need not change your trade ; I'll be your
tapster still.
Overd. What's to do here ? Thomas Tapster let's
withdraw.
Clown. Here comes Signior Claudio, led by the
provost to prison : and there's Madam Juliet.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. — The same.
Enter Provost, Claudio, Juliet, and Officers.
Claud. Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to
; the world. Bear me to prison, where I am com-
mitted.
1 Prov. I do it not in evil disposition,
} But from lord Angelo by special charge.
I Claud. Thus can the demigod. Authority,
j Make us pay down for our offence by weight. —
I The words of heaven ; on whom it will, it will j
On whom it will not, so ; yet still 'tis just.
Enter Lucio.
Lucio. Why, how now, Claudio ? whence comes
I this restraint ?
Claud. From too much liberty, my Lucio,
\ liberty :
As surfeit is the father of much fast.
So every scope by the immoderate use
Turns to restraint : Our natures do pursue,
(Like rats that ravin down their proper bane,)
A thirsty evil ; and when we drink, we die.
Lucio. If I could speak so wisely under an arrest,
1 would send for certain of my creditors : And yet,
to say the truth, I had as lief have the foppery of
freedom, as the morality of imprisonment. — What's
thy offence, Claudio ?
Claud. What, but to speak of would offend again.
Lucio. What is il ? murder?
Gaud. No.
Prov. Away, sir ; you must go.
Claud. One word, good friend : — Lucio, a word
with you. [ Takes him aside.
Lticio. A hundred, if they'll do you any good.
Claud. Thus stands it with me : — Upon a true
contract,
I got possession of Julietta's bed ;
You know the lady ; she is fast my wife,
Save that we do the denunciation lack
Of outward order : this we came not to,
Only for propagation of a dower
Remaining in the coffer of her friends ;
From whom we thought it meet to hide our love.
Till time had made them for us. But it chances,
The stealth of our most taift^ial intercourse.
With character too gross, is writ on Juliet.
Lucio. With child, perhaps?
Claud. IJnhappilyJ eieiL^o.
And^the new deputy now for the duke, —
Whether it be the fault and glimpse of newness ;
Or whether that the body public be
A horse whereon the governor d6th ride.
Who, newly in the seat, that it may know
He can command, let's it straight feel the spur :
Whether the tyranny be in his place,
Or in his eminence that fills it up,
I stagger in : — But this new governor
Awakes me all the enrolled penalties.
Which have, like unscour'd armour, hung by the wall
So long, that nineteen zodiacs have gone round.
And none of them been worn ; and, for a name,
Now puts the drowsy and neglected act
Freshly on me : — 'tis surely, for a name.
Lucio. I warrant, it is : and thy head stands so
tickle on thy shoulders, that a milk-maid, if she be
in love, may sigh it off. Send after the duke, and
appeal to him.
Claud. I have done so, but he's not to be found.
I pr'ythee, Lucio, do me this kind service :
This day my sister should the cloister enter,
And there receive her approbation :
Acquaint her with the danger of my state ;
Implore her, in my voice, that she make friends
To the strict deputy : bid herself assay him ;
I have great hope in that : for in her youth
There is a prone and speechless dialect.
Such as moves men : beside, she hath prosperous art
When she will play with reason and discourse.
And well she can persuade.
Lucio. I pray, she may : as well for the encou-
ragement of the like, which else would stand under
grievous imposition ; as for the enjoying of thy life,
who I would be sorry should be thus foolishly lost.
I'll to her.
Claud. I thank you, good friend Lucio.
Lucio. Within two hours, —
Claud. Come, oflficer, away. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — A Monastery.
Enter Duke and Friar Thomas.
Duke. No ; holy father ; throw away that thought ;
Believe not that the dribbling dart of love
Can pierce a complete bosom : why I desire thee
To give me secret harbour, hath a purpose
More grave and wrinkled than the aims and ends
Of burning youth.
Fri. May your grace speak of it.
Duke. My holy sir, none better knows than you
Scene V.
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
89
How I have ever lov'd the life remov'd ;
And held in idle price to haunt assemblies,
Where youth and cost, and witless bravery keeps.
I have deliver'd to lord Angelo
(A man of stricture and firm abstinence)
My absolute power and place here in Vienna,
And he supposes me travell'd to Poland ;
For so I have strew'd it in the common ear,
And so it is receiv'd : Now, pious sir.
You will demand of me, why I do this ?
Fri. Gladly, my lord.
Duke. We have strict statutes, and most biting
laws,
(The needful bits and curbs for head-strong steeds,)
Which for these fourteen years we have let sleep ;
Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave,
That goes not out to prey : Now, as fond fathers
Having bound up the threat'ning twigs of birch.
Only to stick it in their children's sight.
For terror, not to use ; in time the rod
Becomes more mock'd than fear'd : so our decrees,
Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead ;
And liberty plucks justice by the nose ;
The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart
Goes all decorum.
Fri. It rested in your grace
To unloose tliis tied-up justice, when you pleas'd :
And it in you more dreadful would have seem'd.
Than in lord Angelo.
Duke. I do fear, too dreadful :
Sith 'twas my fault, to give the people scope,
'Twould be my tyranny to strike, and gall them
For what I bid them do : For we bid this be done.
When evil deeds have their permissive pass,
And not the punishment. Therefore, indeed, my
father,
I have on Angelo impos'd the office ;
Who may, in the ambush of my name, strike home,
And yet my nature never in the sight.
To do it slander : And to behold his sway,
I will, as 'twere a brother of your order,
Visit both prince and people : therefore, I pr'ythee,
Supply me with the habit, and instruct me
How I may formally in person bear me
Like a true friar. More reasons for this action.
At our more leisure shall I render you ;
Only, this one : — Lord Angelo is precise ;
Stands at a guard with envy ; scarce confesses
Tliat his blood flows, or that his appetite
Is more to bread than stone : Hence shall we see,
If power change purpose, what our scemers be.
[Exeunt,
SCENE y.—A Nunnery.
Enter Isabella and Francisca.
Itab. And have you nuns no further privileges ?
jPron. Are not these large enough ?
Iiab. Yes, truly : I speak not as desiring more ;
But ratlier wishing a more strict restraint
Upon the sistertiood, the votarists of saint Clare.
Lucio. Ho ! Peace be in this place ! [Within.
Ifob. WTio's that which calls ?
Fran. It is a man's voice : Gentle Isabella,
Turn you the key, and know his business of him ;
You may, I may not ; you are yet unsworn :
When you have vow'd, you must not speak with
But in the presence of the prioress :
Tlicn, if you speak, you must not show your face ;
Or if you show your face, you must not speak.
He caJls again ; I pray you answer him.
[Exit Francisca.
Isab. Peace and prosperity ! Who is't that calls?
Enter Lucio.
Lucio. Hail, virgin, if you be ; as those cheek-roses
Proclaim you are no less ! Can you so stead me,
As bring me to the sight of Isabella,
A novice of this place, and the fair sister
To her unhappy brother Claudio?
Isab. Why her unhappy brother ? let me ask ;
The rather, for I now must make you know
I am that Isabella, and his sister.
Lucio. Gentle and fair, your brother kindly greets
you :
Not to be weary with you, he's in prison.
Isab. Woe me ! For what ?
Lucio. For that which if myself might be his
judge.
He should receive his punishment in thanks :
Isab. Sir, make me not your story. ^
Lucio. It is truei "
I hold you as a thing ensky'd, and sainted ;
By your renouncement an immortal spirit ;
And to be talk'd with in sincerity.
As with a saint.
7506. You do blaspheme the good, in mocking me
Lucio. Do not believe it. Fewness and truth *,
'tis thus :
Your brother and his lover have embrac'd :
~i?c(ftr My cousin Juhety ~ "*
Lucio. Is she your cousin ?
Isab. Adoptedly: as school-maids change their
names.
By vain though apt affection.
Lucio. She it is.
Isab. O, let him marry her !
Lucio. This is the point.
The duke is very strangely gone from hence ;
Bore many gentlemen, myself being one.
In hand, and hope of action : but we do learn
By those that know the very nerves of state.
His givings out were of an infinite distance
From his true-meant design. Upon his place,
And with full line of his authority,
Governs lord Angelo ; a man, whose blood
Is very snow-broth ; one who never feels
The wanton stings and motions of the sense ;
But doth rebate and blunt his natural edge
With profits of the mind, study and fast.
He (to give fear to use and liberty.
Which have, for long, run by the hideous law.
As mice by lions,) hath pick'd out an act.
Under whose heavy sense your brother's life
Falls into forfeit ! he arrests him on it ;
And follows close the rigour of the statute.
To make him an example : all hope is gone,
Unless you have the grace by your fair prayer
To soften Angelo : And that's my pith
Of business 'twixt you and your poor brother.
Isab. Doth he so seek liis life ?
Lucio. Has censur'ds him
Already ; and, as I hear, the provost hath
A warrant for his execution.
Isab. Alas ! what poor ability's in me
To do liim good ?
> Do not make a Jest of me.
2 In few and true words.
» Sentenced.
90
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
Lucio. Assay the power you have.
Isab. My power ! Alas ! I doubt, —
Lueio. Our doubts are traitors,
And make us lose the good we oft might win,
By fearing to attempt : Go to lord Angelo,
And let him learn to know, when maidens sue,
Men give like gods ; but when they weep and kneel.
All their petitions are as freely theirs
As they themselves would owe "* them.
Isab. I'll see what I can do.
Act II.
But speedily.
Lucio.
Isab. I will about it straight ;
No longer staying but to give the mother
Notice of my affair. I humbly thank you :
Commend me to my brother : soon at night
I'll send him certain word of my success.
Lucio. I take my leave of you.
Isab. Good sir, adieu.
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I.— A Hall in Angela's House.
Enter Angelo, Escalus, Provost, Officers, and
other Attendants.
Ang. We must not make a scare-crow of the
law,
Setting it up to fear the birds of prey,
And let it keep one shape, till custom make it
Their perch and not their terror.
Escal. Ay, but yet
Let us be keen, and rather cut a little,
Than fall, and bruise to death : Alas ! this gentle-
man.
Whom I would save, had a most noble father.
Let but your honour know,
(Whom I believe to be most straight in virtue,)
That, in the working of your own affections.
Had time coher'd with place, or place with wishing,
Or that the resolute acting of your blood
Could have attain'd the effect of your own purpose,
Whether you had not some time in your life
Err'd in tliis point which now you censure him,
And pull'd the law upon you.
Ang. 'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus,
Another thing to fall. I not deny,
The jury, passing on the prisoner's life,
May, in the sworn twelve, have a thief or two
Guiltier than him they try : What's open made to
justice.
That justice seizes. What know the laws.
That thieves do pass on tliieves ? 'Tis very pregnant,
The jewel that we find, we stoop and take it, .
Because we see it ; but what we do not see.
We tread upon, and never think of it.
You may not so extenuate his offence,
For ^ I have had such faults ; but rather tell me,
When I that censure him, do so offend,
Let mine own judgment pattern out my death.
And nothing come in partial. Sir, he must die.
Escal. Be it as your wisdom will.
j4ng. Where is the provost ?
Prov. Here, if it like your honour.
Ang. See that Claudio
Be executed by nine to-morrow morning :
Bring him his confessor, let him be prepared :.
For that's the utmost of his pilgrimage.
[Exeunt Angelo and Provost.
Escal Well, heaven forgive him ; and forgive
us all !
]Mcrcy is not itself that oft looks so,
Pardon is still the nurse of second woe.
But yet, poor Claudio ! — there's no remedy.
[Exit.
* Have. 5 Because.
SCENE II. — Another Room in the same.
Enter Provost and a Servant.
Serv. He's hearing of a cause j he will come
straight.
I'll tell him of you.
Prov. Pray you, do. [Edt Servant.] I'll kupwl
his pleasure ; may be, he will relent :
Enter Angelo.
Ang. Now, what's the matter. Provost ?
Prov. Is it your will Claudio shall die to-j
morrow ?
Ang. Did I not tell thee, yea ? hadst thou not ■■
order ?
Why dost thou ask again ?
Prov. Lest I might be too rash ; '
Under your good correction, I have seen.
When, after execution, judgment hath
Repented o'er his doom.
Ang. Go to ; let that be mine ;
Do you your office, or give up your place.
And you shall well be spar'd.
Prov. I crave your honour's pardon. —
What shall be done, sir, witjijhegroamng Juliet ?
Shft's vpfy ppf^r l]pr hour.
Atig. Dispose of her
To some more fitter place ; and that with speed.
Re-enter Servant.
Serv. Here is the sister of the man condemn'd
Desires access to you.
Ang. Hath he a sister ?
Prov. Ay, my good lord ; a very virtuous maid,
And to be shortly of a sisterhood,
If not already.
Ang. Well, let her be admitted.
[Exit Servant.
See you, that Julietta be remov'd ;
Let her have needful, but not lavish, means ;
There shall be order for it.
Enter Lucio and Isabella.
Prov. Save your honour ! [Offering to retire.
Ang. Stay a little wliile. — [To Isab.] You are
welcome : What's your will ?
Isab. I am a woeful suitor to your honour :
Please but your honour hear me.
Ang. Well ; what's your suit ?
Isab. There is a vice that most I do abhor.
And most desire should meet the blow of justice ;
For which I would not plead, but that I must j
For which I must not plead, but that I opx
At war, 'twixt will, and will not.
Scene II.
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
91
Ang. Well; the matter?
fsab. I have a brother is condemn'd to die :
I do beseech you, let it be his fault,
And not my brother.
Prov. Heaven give tliee moving graces !
Ang. Condemn the fault and not the actor of it !
Why, every fault's condemn'd, ere it be done :
Mine were the very cipher of a function,
To find the faults, vjrhose fine stands in record,
And let go by the actor.
IscA. O just, but severe law !
I had a brother then. — Heaven keep your honour !
[Retiring-
Lucio. [To IsAB.] Give't not o'er so: to him
again, intreat him ;
Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown ;
You are too cold : if you should need a pin,
You could not with more tame a tongue desire it :
To him, I say.
Isab. Must he needs die ?
A7ig. Maiden, no remedy,
Isab. Yes ; I do tliink that you might pardon him.
And neither heaven, nor man, grieve at the mercy.
Aug. 1 will not do't.
Isab. But can you, if you would ?
Ang. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do.
Isab. But might you do't, and do the world no
wrong ?
If so, your heart were touch'd with that remorse
As mine is to him.
ying. He's, sentenc'd : 'tis too late.
Lucio. You are too cold. [To Isabella.
Isab. Too late ? why, no ; I, that do speak a word.
May call it back again : Well believe this.
No ceremony that to great ones 'longs,
Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword,
The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe,
Become them with one half so good a grace.
As mercy does. If he had been as you.
And you as he, you would have slipt like him ;
But he like you, would not have been so stem.
Ang. Pray you, begone.
Isab. I would to heaven I had your potency,
And you were Isabel ! should it then be thus ?
No ; I would tell what 'twere to be a judge.
And what a prisoner.
Lucio. Ay, touch him : there's the vein. [Aside.
Aiig. Your brother is a forfeit of the law,
And you but waste your words.
Isdb. Alas ! alas !
Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once ;
And He that might the vantage best have took.
Found out the remedy : How would you be,
If He, which is the top of judgment, should
But judg«? you as you are ? O, think on that ;
And mercy then will breathe within your lips.
Like man new made.
Ang. Be you content, fair moid ;
It is the law, not I condemns your brother :
Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son,
It should be thus with him; — he must die to-morrow.
IstU). To-morrow ? O, that's sudden ! Spare him,
spare him :
He's not prepar'd for death !
Gootl, good my lord, bethink you :
Who is it tlrnt hath die<l for this ofl'ence ?
There's many have committed it.
Lucio. Ay, well said.
^ng. The law hath not been dead, though it
hath slept :
Those many had not dar'd to do that evil.
If the first man that did the edict infringe,
Had answer'd for his deed : now, 'tis awake ;
Takes note of what is done ; and, like a prophet.
Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils,
(Either now, or by remissness new-conceiv'd,
And so in progress to be hatch'd and bom,)
Are now to have no successive degrees,
But, where they live, to end.
Isab. Yet show some pity.
Ang. I show it most of all, when I show justice;
For then I pity those I do not know.
Which a dismiss'd offence would after gall ;
And do him right, that answering one foul wrong,
Lives not to act another. Be satisfied ;
Your brother dies to-morrow : be content.
Isab. So you must be the first that gives this sen-
tence ;
And he, that suffers : O, it is excellent
To have a giant's strength ; but it is tyrannous
To use it like a giant.
Lucio. That's well said.
Isab. Could great men thunder
As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet.
For every pelting 6, petty oflScer,
Would use his heaven for thunder ; nothing but
thunder. —
Merciful heaven !
Thou rather, with tliy sharp and sulphurous bolt,
Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled ^ oak.
Than the soft myrtle ; — O, but man, proud man !
Drest in a little brief authority ;
Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd,
His glassy essence, — like an angry ape,
Plays such fantastic tricks betore high heaven.
As make the angels weep;
Luc. O, to him, to him, wench : he will relent ;
He's coming, I perceive't.
Prov. Pray heaven she win him !
Isab. We cannot weigh our brother with yourself:
Great men may jest with saints : 'tis wit in them ;
But, in the less, foul profanation.
Lucio. Thou'rt in the right, girl ; more o' that.
Isab. That in the captain's but a choleric word.
Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.
Lucio. Art advis'd o'that? more on't.
Ang. Why do you put these sayings upon me ?
Isab. Because authority, though it err like others,
Hath yet a kind of medicine in itself.
That skins the vice o' the top : Go to your bosom ;
Knock there ; and ask your heart, what it doth know
That's like my brother's fault : if it confess
A natural guiltiness, such as is his.
Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue
Against my brother's life.
Ang. Slie speaks, and 'tis
Such sense, that my sense breeds witli it. — Fare
you well.
Isab. Gentle my lord, turn back.
Ang. I will bethink me : — Come again to-
morrow.
Isab. Hark, how I'll bribe you : Good my lord,
turn back.
Ang. How, bribe me ?
Isab. Ay, with such gifU, tliat heaven shall share
with you.
Lucio. You had marr'd all else.
Isab, Not with fond shekels of tlie tested 8 gold.
Paltry.
Knotted.
»* Stamped,
92
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
Act II.
Or stones, whose rates are either rich or poor.
As fancy values them : but with true prayers,
That shall be up at heaven, and enter there,
Ere sun-rise ; prayers from preserved 9 souls.
From fasting maids, whose minds are dedicate
To nothing temporal.
A7ig. Well : come to me
To-morrow.
Lucio. Go to ; it is well ; away. [Aside to Isab.
Isab. Heaven keep your honour safe !
Ang. Amen : for I
Am that way going to temptation, [Aside.
Where prayers cross.
Isab. At what hour to-morrow
Shall I attend your lordship ?
Ang. At any time 'fore-noon.
Isab. Save your honour !
[Exeunt Lucio, Isabella, and Provost.
Ang. From thee ; even from thy virtue ! —
What's this ? what's this ? Is this her fault or mine ?
The tempter, or the tempted, who sins most ? ha !
Not she ; nor doth she tempt : but it is I,
That lying by the violet, in the sun.
Do, as the carrion does, not as the flower.
Corrupt with virtuous season. Can it be.
That modesty may more betray our sense
Than woman's lightness? Having waste ground
enough.
Shall we desire to raze the sanctuary.
And pitch our evils there ? O, fye, fye, fye !
What dost thou ? or what art thou, Angelo ?
O, let her brother live :
Thieves for their robbery have authority.
When judges steal themselves. What? do I love her.
That I desire to hear her speak again,
And feast upon her eyes ? What is't I dream on ?
0 cunning enemy, that, to catch a saint.
With saints dost bait thy hook ! Most dangerous
Is that temptation, that doth goad us on
To sin in loving virtue ; never could the strumpet
Once stir my temper ; but this virtuous maid
Subdues me quite ; — Ever, till now.
When men were fond, I smil'd, and wonder'd how.
[Exit.
SCENE III A Room in a Prison.
Enter Duke, habited like a Friar, and Provost.
Duke. Hail to you, provost ! so I think you are.
Prov. I am the provost : What's your will, good
friar ?
Duke. Bound by my charity, and my bless'd order,
1 come to visit the afflicted spirits
Here in the prison : do me the common right
To let me see them ; and to make me know
The nature of their crimes, that I may minister
To them accordingly.
Prov. I would do more than that, if more were
needful.
Enter Juliet.
Look, here comes one ; a gentlewoman of mine.
Who, falling in the flames of her own youth,
Hath blister'd her report : Shejsjxjthlchild ;
^nd he that owns it sentencMT
Duke. " When must he die ?
Prov. As I do think, to-morrow. —
I have provided for you; stay awhile, [To Juliet.
And you shall be conducted.
3 Preserved from the corruption of the world.
Duke. Repent you, fair one, of the sin you carry ?
Jtdiet. I do ; and bear the shame most patiently.
Duke. I'll teach you how you shall arraign your
conscience.
And try your penitence, if it be sound.
Or hollowly put on.
Juliet. I'll gladly learn.
Duke. Love you the man tliat wrong'd you ?
Juliet. Yes, as I love the woman that wrong'd him.
Duke. So then, it seems, your most offenceful act
Was mutually committed ?
Juliet. Mutually.
Duke. Then was your sin of heavier kind than his.
Juliet. I do confess it, and repent it, father.
Duke. 'Tis meet so, daughter : But lest you do
repent,
As that the sin hath brought you to this shame, —
Which sorrow is always toward ourselves, not
heaven ;
Showing, we'd not spare heaven, as we love it.
But as we stand in fear.
Juliet. I do repent me, as it is an evil ;
And take the shame with joy.
Duke. There rest.
Your partner, as I hear, must die to-morrow,
And I am going with instruction to him. —
Grace go with you ! Benedicite ! [Exit.
Juliet. Must die to-morrow ! O, injurious love.
That respites me a life, whose very comfort
Is still a dying horror !
Prov. 'Tis pity of him. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV. ~-A Room in Angelo's House.
Enter Angelo.
Ang. When I would pray and think, I think and
pray
To several subjects : heaven hath my empty words ;
Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue.
Anchors on Isabel : Heaven in my mouth.
As if I did but only chew his name ;
And in my heart, the strong and swelling evil
Of my conception : The state, whereon I studied.
Is like a good thing, being often read,
Grown fear'd and tedious ; yea, my gravity.
Wherein (let no man hear me) I take pride.
Could I, with boot ', change for an idle plume.
Which the air beats for vain. O place ! O form !
How often dost thou with thy case, thy habit.
Wrench awe from fools, and tie the wiser souls
To thy false seeming ?
Enter Servant.
How now, who's there ?
Serv. One Isabel, a sister,
Desires access to you.
Ang. Teach her the way. [Exit Serv.
O heavens !
Why does my blood thus muster to my heart ;
Making both it unable for itself, y
A nd dispossessing all the other parts
Of necessary fitness ?
So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons ;|
Come all to help him, and so stop the air
By which he should revive : and even so
The general 2, subject to a well-wish'd king,
Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness
Crowd to his presence, where their untaught love
Must needs appear offence.
1
Profit.
'■ The people.
Scene IV.
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
93
Entei' Isabella.
How now, fair maid ?
Isab. I am come to know your pleasure.
Jtng. That you might know it, would much
better please me,
Tlian to demand what 'tis. Your brotlier cannot live.
Isab. Even so ? — Heaven keep your honour !
[Retiring.
^ng. Yet may he live a while ; and, it may be
As long as you or I : Yet he must die.
Isab. Under your sentence ?
Ang. Yea.
Isab. When, I beseech you ? that in his reprieve.
Longer, or shorter, he may be so fitted.
This his soul sicken not.
y{jig. Ha ! fye, these filthy vices ! It were as good
To pardon him, that hath from nature stolen
A man already made, as to remit
Their saucy sweetness, that do coin heaven's image,
In stamps that are forbid.
Isab. 'Tis set down so in heaven, but not in earth.
Aug. Say you so ? then I shall pose you quickly.
Which had you rather, that the most just law
Now took your brother's life ; or, to redeem him,
Give up your person U) s''^^* giy<^p» i]nr»1o^pppc^Cj
As shft that hp jmth ct^WrpH ?
^Jsab. Sir, believe this,
I had rather give my body than my soul.
Ang. I talk not of your soul ; our compell'd sins
Stand more for number than accompt.
Isab. How say you ?
Ayig. Nay, I'll not warrant that ; for I can speak
Against the tiling I say. Answer to this ; —
I, now the voice of the recorded law.
Pronounce a sentence on your brother's life :
Might there not be a charity in sin.
To save tliis brother's life ?
Isab. Please you to do't,
I'll take it as a peril to my soul.
It is no sin at all, but charity.
Ang. Pleas'd you to do't, at peril of your soul.
Were equal poise of sin and charity.
Isab. That I do beg his life, if it be sin.
Heaven, let me bear it ! you granting of my suit.
If that be sin, I'll make it my morn prayer
To have it added to the faults of mine,
And nothing of your answer.
Ang. Nay, but hear me :
Your sense pursues not mine : either you are igno-
rant.
Or seem so, craftily ; and that's not good.
Isab. Let me be ignorant, and in nothing good.
But graciously to know I am no better.
Ang. Thus wisdom wishes to appear most bright.
When it doth tax itself : as these black masks
Proclaim an enshield 3 Ixjauty ten times louder
Than beauty could displayed. — But mark me ;
To be received plain, I'll speak more gross :
Your brother is to die.
Isab. So.
ytng. And his offence is so, as it appears
Accountant to the law upon that pain.
Isab. True.
■Ang. Admit uo other way to save his life,
(As I subscribe not tnat, nor any other,
But in the loss of question,) that you, his sister,
Finding yourself desir'd of such a person,
' Covered.
Whose credit with the judge, or own great place,
Could fetch your brother from the manacles
Of t+ie all-binding law ; and that there were
No earthly mean to save him, but that either
Y9U must lay down tha traaeuran of jour pm-ua
'lo this supposed, or else let Iiim sufl'erj^
W hat would you do / ~
Isab. As much for my poor brother as myself:
That is, were I under the terms of death.
The impression of keen whips I'd wear as rubies,
And strip myself to death, as to a bed
That longing I have been sick for, ere I'd yield
My honour up to shame.
Ang. Then must your brother die
Isab. And 'twere the cheaper way :
Better it were, a brother died at once.
Than that a sister, by redeeming him.
Should die for ever.
Ang. Were not you then as cruel as the sentence
That you have slander'd so ?
Isab. Ignomy in ransom, and free pardon,
Are of two houses : lawful mercy is
Nothing akin to foul redemption.
■Ang. You seem'd of late to make the law a tyrant ;
And rather prov'd the sliding of your brother
A merriment than a vice.
Isab. O, pardon me, my lord ; it oft falls out,
To have what we'd have, we speak not what we mean :
I something do excuse the thing I hate,
For his advantage that I dearly love.
j4ng. We are all frail.
Isab. Else let my brother die.
If not a feodary *, but only he.
Owe ^, and succeed by weakness.
Aug. Nay, women are frail too.
Isab. Ay, as the glasses where they view themselves;
Which are as easy broke as tliey make forms.
Women ! — Help heaven ! men their creation mar
In profiting by them. Nay, call us ten times frail ;
For we are soft as our complexions are.
And credulous to false prints. 6
Ang. I tliink it well :
And from this testimony of your own sex,
(Since, I suppose, we are made to be no stronger
Than faults may shake our frames,) let me be bold ;
I do arrest your words ; be tliat you are.
That is, a woman ; if you be more, you're none ;
If you be one, (as you are well express'd
By all external wan-ants,) show it now.
By putting on the destin'd livery.
Isab. I have no tongue but one : gentle my lord.
Let me entreat you, speak the former language.
Ang. Plainly conceive, I love you.
Isab. My brother did love Juliet ; and you tell me.
That he shall die for it.
yl7}g. He shall not,. Isal)el, if you givejneJoga. -
Isab. I know your virtue TiaHrffTimice in't.
Which seems a little fouler than it is.
To pluck on otliers.
A fig. Believe me, on mine honour.
My words express my purpose.
Isab. Ha ! little honour to be much believ'd,
And most pernicious purpose ! — Seeming, seeming !
I will proclaim thee, Angelo ; look for't :
Sign me a present pardon for my brother.
Or, with an outstretch'd throat, I'll tell the world
Aloud, what man thou art.
j4ng. Who will believe tliee, Isabel ?
My unsoil'd name, the austereness of my life,
^ Own. s Impressiona.
94?
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
Act III.
My vouch against you, and my place i'the state
Will so your accusation overweigli,
That you shall stifle in your own report,
And smell of calumny. I have begun ;
And now I give my sensual race the rein :
Lay by all nicety ; redeem thy brother
By yielding up tliy perspjj 4o my will ;
Or else he musFltiot only die the death,
But thy unkindness shall his death draw out
To lingering sufferance : answer me to-morrow,
Or, by the affection that now guides me most,
I'll prove a tyrant to him : As for you.
Say what you can, my false o'erweighs your true.
[ExU.
Isab. To whom shall I complain ? Did I tell this,
Who would believe me ? O perilous mouths,
That bear in them one and the self-same tongue,
Either of condemnation or approof!
Bidding the law make court'sy to their will ;
Hooking both right and wrong to the appetite.
To follow as it draws ! I'll to my brother :
Though he hath fallen by prompture of the blood,
Yet hath he in him such a mind of honour,
That had he twenty heads to tender down
On twenty bloody blocks, he'd yield them up,
Before his sister should her person stoop
To such abhorr'd pollution.
Then, Isabel, live chaste, and, brother, die :
More than our brother is our chastity.
I'll tell him yet of Angelo's request,
And fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest.
[Exit.
ACT III.
SCENE I. — ^ Room in the Prison.
Enter Duke, Claudio, and Provost.
Duke. So, then you hope of pardon from lord
Angelo ?
Claud. The miserable have no other medicine.
But only hope :
I have hope to live, and am prepar'd to die.
Duke. Be absolute for death : either death, or life,
Shal 1 thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life,—
If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing
That none but fools would keep ; a breath thou art,
(Servile to all the skiey influences,)
That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st.
Hourly afflict : merely, thou art death's fool ;
For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun.
And yet run'st toward him still : Thou art not noble ;
For all the accommodations that thou bear'st,
A re nurs'd by baseness: Thou art by no means valiant;
For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork
Of a poor worm : Thy best of rest is sleep,
And that thou oft provok'st ; yet grossly fear'st
Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself;
For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains
That issue out of dust : Happy thou art not :
For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get ;
And what thou hast, forget'st : Thou art not certain ;
For thy complexion shifts to strange effects 7,
After the moon : If thou art rich, thou art poor ;
For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows,
Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey,
And death unloads thee : Friend hast thou none ;
For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire.
The mere efiusion of thy proper loins.
Do curse the gout, serpigo ?, and the rheum.
For ending thee no sooner : Thou hast nor youth,
nor age ;
But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep,
Dreaming on both : for all thy blessed youth
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms
Of palsied eld ; and when thou art old, and rich,
Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty,
To make tliy riches pleasant. What's yet in this.
That bears the name of life ? Yet in this life
Lie hid more thousand deaths : yet death we fear,
That makes these odds all even.
7 Affects, affections.
Leprous eruptions.
Claud. 1 humbly thank you.
To sue to live, I find, I seek to die ;
And seeking death, find life : Let it come on.
Enter Isabella.
Isab. What, ho ! Peace here ; grace and good
company
Prov. Who's there ? come in : the wish deserves
a welcome.
Duke. Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again.
Claud. Most holy sir, I thank you.
Isab. My business is a word or two with Claudio.
Prov. And very welcome. Look, signior, here's
your sister.
Duke. Provost, a word with you.
Prov. As many as you please.
Duke, Bring them to speak, where I may be
conceal'd.
Yet hear them. [Exeunt Duke and Provost.
Claud. Now, sister, what's the comfort?
Isab. Why, as all comforts are; most good in deed:
Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven.
Intends you for his swift embassador.
Where you shall be an everlasting lieger 9 :
Therefore your best appointment make with speed ;
To-morrow you set on.
Claud. Is there no remedy ?
Isab. None, but such remedy, as to save a head,
To cleave a heart in twain.
Claud. But is there any ?
Isab. Yes, brother, you may live ;
There is a devilish mercy in the judge.
If you'll implore it, that will free your life.
But fetter you till death.
Claud. Perpetual durance ?
Isab. Ay, just, perpetual durance; a restraint.
Though all the world's fastidity you had.
To a determined scope.
Claud. But in what nature ?
Isab. In such a one as (you consenting to't)
Would bark your honour from that trunk you beat
And leave you naked.
Claud. Let me know the point.
Isab. O, I do fear thee, Claudio ; and I quake,
Lest thou a feverous life should'st entertain.
And six or seven winters more respect
Scene I.
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
9^
Tlian a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die ?
The sense of death is most in apprehension ;
And tlie poor beetle that we treaid upon,
In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great
As when a giant dies.
Claud. Why give you me this shaine ?
Think you I can a resolution fetch
From flowery tenderness ? If I must die,
I will encounter darkness as a bride,
And hug it in mine arms.
hub. There spake my brother ; there my fatlier's
grave
Did utter forth a voice ! Yes, thou must die :
ITiou art too noble to conserve a life
In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy,—
Whose settled visage and deliberate word
Nips youth i'the head, and follies doth enmew,
As falcon doth the fowl. — is yet a devil ;
Claud. Ulie princely Angelo ?
Isab. O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell,
The vilest body to invest and cover
In princely guards ! Dost thou tliink, Claudio,
if I would yip)fl Hi'm my virginity,
Thou might'stjje freed?
"'XTatair O, heavens ! it cannot be.
Isab. Yes, he would give it thee, from this rank
offence.
So to offend him still : This night's the time,
That I should do what I abhor to name,
Or else thou diest to-morrow.
Claud. Thou shalt not do't.
Isab. O, were it but my life,
I'd throw it down for your deliverance
As frankly as a pin.
Claud. Thanks, dear Isabel.
Isab. lie ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow.
Claud. Yes. — Has he affections in him.
That thus can make him bite the law by tlie nose,
When he would force it ? Sure it is no sin ;
Or of tlie deadly seven it is the least.
Isab. Wliich is the least ?
Claud. If it were. dajnnable^^ he, being so wise,
Why, would he for the momentary trick
Be perdurably fin'd? — O Isabel !
Isab. What says my brother ?
Claud. Death is a fearful tiling.
Isab. And shamed life a hateful.
Claud. Ay, but to die. and go we know not where;
To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot :
This sensible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit
To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside
In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice;
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,
And blown with restless violence round about
The pendent world ; or to be worse than worst
Of those, that lawless and incertain thoughts
Imagine howling ! — 'tis too horrible !
I'he weariest and most loathed worldly life,
'ITiat age, ach, penury, and imprisonment
Can lay on nature, is a paradise
To what we fear of death.
Isab. Alas ! alas !
Clauil. Sweet sister, let me live :
What sin you do to save a brother's life,
Nature dispenses with the deed so far,
riiat it becomes a virtue.
Isab. O, faithless coward ! O, dishonest wretch !
^\ ilt thou be made a man out of my vice?
li^'t not a kind of incest, to take life
From thine own sister's shame ?
Take my defiance :
Die ; perish ! might but my bending down
Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed :
I'll pray a thousjind prayers for thy death.
No word to save thee.
Claud. Nay, hear me, Isabel.
Isab. O, fye, fye, fye ."
Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade :
'Tis best that thou diest quickly. {Going.
Claud. O hear me, Isabella.
Re-enter Duke.
Duke. Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one
word.
Isab. What is your will ?
Duke. Might you dispense with your leisure, I
would by and by have some speech with you : the
satisfaction I would require, is likewise your own
benefit.
Isab. I have no superfluous leisure; my stay
must be stolen out of other affairs; but I will
attend you awhile.
Duke. {To Claudio, aside.'\ Son, I have over-
heard what hath past between you and your sister.
Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; only
he hath made an essay of her virtue, to practise
his judgment with the disposition of natures; she,
having the truth of honour in her, hath made him
that gracious denial which he is most glad to receive:
I am confessor to Angelo, and I know this to be
true ; therefore prepare yourself to death : Do not
satisfy your resolution with hopes that are fallible :
to-morrow you must die; go to your knees, and
make ready.
Claud. Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so
out of love with life, that I will sue to be rid of it.
Duke. Hold you there : Farewell. [iJxff Claudio.
He-enter Provost.
Provost, a word with you.
Vrov. What's your will, father ?
Duke. That now you are come you will be gone -,
Leave me a while with tlie maid ; my mind pro-
mises with my habit, no loss shall touch her by my
company.
Prov. In good time. {Exit Provost.
Duke. The hand that hath made you fair, hath
made you good : the goodness that is cheap in
beauty, makes beauty brief in goodness : but grace,
being the soul of your complexion, should keep
the body of it ever fair. Tlie assault that Angelo
hath made to you, fortune hath convey'd to my
understanding ; and, but that frailty hath examples
for his falling, I should wonder at Angelo. How
would you do to content this substitute, and to
save your brother ?
Isab. I am now going to resolve him : I had
rather my brother die by the law, than my son
should be unlawfully born. But O, how much is
the good duke deceived in Angelo ! If ever he
return, and I can speak to him, I will open my
lips in vain, or discover his government.
Duke. That shall not be much amiss : Yet, as
the matter now stands, he will avoid your accus-
ation ; he made trial of you only. — Therefore,
fasten your ear on my advisings : to the love I
have in doing good, a remedy presents itself. I
do make myself believe, that you may most up-
righteously do a ytoor wronged lady a merited
96
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
Act III.
benefit ; redeem your brother from the angry law ;
do no stain to your own gracious person ; and
much please the absent duke, if, peradventure, he
shall ever return to have hearing of tills business.
Isab. Let me hear you speak further; I have
spirit to do any tiling that appears not foul in the
truth of my spirit.
Duke. Virtue is bold, and goodness never fear-
ful. Have you not heard speak of Mariana the
sister of Frederick, the great soldier, who miscar-
ried at sea ?
Isab. I have heard of the lady, and good words
went with her name.
Duke. Her should this Angelo have married ; was
affianced to her by oath, and the nuptial appointed :
between which time of the contract, and limit of
tlie solemnity, her brother Frederick was vrrecked
at sea, having in that perish'd vessel the dowry of
his sister. But mark, how heavily this befel to the
poor gentlewoman : there she lost a noble and re-
nowned brother, in his love toward her ever most
kind and natural ; with him the portion and sinew
of her fortune, her marriage-dowry ; v*dth both, her
combinate • husband, this well seeming Angelo.
Isab. Can this be so ? Did Angelo so leave her ?
Duke. Left her in her tears, and dry'd not one of
them with his comfort ; swallowed his vows whole,
pretending in her discoveries of dishonour : in few,
bestowed her on her own lamentation, which she
yet wears for his sake ; and he, a marble to her tears,
is washed with them, but relents not.
Isab. What a merit were it in death, to take this
poor maid from the world ! What corruption in this
life, that it will let this man live ! — but how out of
this can she avail ?
Duke. It is a rupture that you may easily heal :
and the cure of it not only saves your brother, but
keeps you from dishonour in doing it.
Isab. Show me how, good father.
Duke. This fore-named maid hath yet in her the
continuance of her first affection ; his unjust un-
kindness, that in all reason should have quenched
her love, hath, like an impediment in the current,
made it more violent and unruly. Go you to Angelo ;
answer his requiring with a plausible obedience;
agree with his demands to the point : only refer
yourself to tliis advantage, — first, that your stay
with him may not be long ; that the time may have
all shadow and silence in it ; and the place answer
to convenience : this being granted in course, now
follows all. We shall advise this wronged maid to
stead up your appointment, go in your place ; if the
encounter acknowledge itself hereafter, it may
compel him to her recompense : and here, by this,
is your brother saved, your honour untainted, the
poor Mariana advantaged, and the corrupt deputy
scaled. ^ The maid will I frame, and make fit for
his attempt. If you think well to carry this as you
may, the doubleness of the benefit defends the deceit
from reproof. What think you of it ?
Isab. The image of it gives me content already ; and
I trust it will grow to a most prosperous perfection.
Duke. It lies much in your holding up : Haste
you speedily to Angelo ; if for this night he entreat
you to his bed,, give him promise of satisfaction. I
will presently to St. Luke's ; there, at the moated
grange, resides this dejected Mariana: At that
place call upon me ; and despatch with Angelo, that
it may be quickly.
' Betrothed. 2 Over-reached.
Isab. I thank you for this comfort : Fare you well,
good father. [Exeunt severally.
SCENE II. — The Street before the Prison.
Enter Duke, as a Friar ; to him Elbow, Clown,
and Officers.
Elb. '^2iy, if there be no remedy of it, but that
you will needs buy and fiffll men nndwomen like
beasts, we shall have all the world drink^browiTahd""
"white bastard. 3
Duke. O, heavens ! what stuff is here ?
Clo. 'Twas never merry world, since, of two
usuries, the merriest was put down, and the worser
allow'd by order of law a furr'd gown to keep him
warm ; and furr'd with fox and lamb skins too, to
signify, that craft, being richer than innocency,
stands for the facing.
Elb. Come your way, sir ; — Bless you, good
father friar.
Duke. And you, good brother father : What
offence hath this man made you, sir ?
Elb. Marry, sir, he hath oflTended the law ; and,
sir, we take him to be a thief too, sir : for we have
found upon him, sir, a strange pick-lock, which we
have sent to the deputy.
Duke. Fye, sirrah.
Take him to prison, officer ;
Correction and instruction must both work.
Ere this rude beast will profit.
Elb. He must before the deputy, sir ; he has
given him warning.
Duke. That we were all, as some would seem to be.
Free from our faults, as faults from seeming free !
Enter Lucio.
Elb. His neck will come to your waist, a cord, sir.
Clo. I spy comfort ; I cry bail : Here's a gentle-
man, and a friend of mine.
Lucio. How, now, noble Pompey ? What, at the
heels of Caesar? Art thou led in triumph? Art
going to prison, Pompey ?
Clo. Yes, faith, sir.
Lucio. Why, 'tis not amiss, Pompey : Farewell :
Go; say, 'I sent thee thither.
Clo. I hope, sir, your good worship will be my bail.
Lucio. No, indeed, will I not, Pompey ; it is not
the wear. I will pray, Pompey, to increase your
bondage : if you take it not patiently, why your
mettle is the more : Adieu, trusty Pompey Bless
you, friar.
Duke. And you.
Lucio. Does Bridget paint still, Pompey ? Ha ?
Elb. Come your ways, sir ; come.
Clo. You will not bail me then, sir ?
Lucio. Then, Pompey ? nor now — What news
abroad, friar ? What news ?
Elb. Come your ways, sir; come.
Lucio. Go, — to kennel, Pompey, go :
[Exeunt Elbow, Clown, and Officers.
What news, friar, of the duke ?
Duke. I know none : Can you tell me of any ?
Lucio. Some say, he is vdth the emperor of
Russia ; other some, he is in Rome : But where is
he, think you ?
Duke. I know not where : But wheresoever, I
wish him well.
Lucio. It was a mad fantastical trick of him, to
3 A sweet wine.
SCEKE II.
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
97
steal from the state, and usurp the beggary he was
never born to. Lord Angelo dukes it well in his
absence ; he puts transgression to't.
Duke. He does well in't.
Ludo. A little more lenity to wenching would do
no harm in him : something too crabbed that way,
friar.
Duke. It is too general a vice, and severity must
cure it.
Ludo. Yes, in good sooth, the vice is of a great
kindred ; it is well ally'd.
Duke. You are pleasant, sir ; and speak apace.
Lucio. Why, what a ruthless thing is it in
Angelo to take away the life of a man thus ? Would
the duke that is absent have done this ? He knew
the service, and tliat instructed him to mercy.
Duke. I never heard the absent duke much
detected for women ; he was not inclined that way.
Lucio. O, sir, you are deceived.
Duke. 'Tis not possible.
f Lricb. Who? not the duke? yes, your beggar
jcf fifty ; — and his use was, to put a ducat in her
/clack-dish ^ : the duke had crotchets in him : He
' would be drunk too ; that let me inform you.
Duke. You do him wrong, surely.
Ludo. Sir, I was an inward of his : a shy fellow
was the duke : and I believe I know the cause of
his withdrawing.
Duke. What, I pr'ythee, might be the cause ?
Lucio. No, — pardon ; — 'tis a secret must be
lock'd within the teeth and the lips : but this I can
let you understand, — The greater file of the sub-
ject held the duke to be wise.
Duke. Wise ? why, no question but he was.
Ludo. A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing
fellow.
Duke. Either this is envy in you, folly, or mis-
taking ; the very stream of his life, and the business
he hath helmed *, must, upon a warranted need, give
him a better proclamation. Let him be but testi-
monied in his own bringings forth, and he shall
appear to the envious, a scholar, a statesman, and a
soldier : Therefore, you speak unskilfully ; or, if
your knowledge be more, it is much darken'd in
your malice.
Lucio. Sir, I know him, and I love him.
Duke. Love talks with better knowledge, and
knowledge with dearer love.
Lucio. Come, sir, I know what I know.
Duke. I can hardly believe that, since you know
not what you speak. But, if ever the duke return,
(as our prayers are he may,) let me desire you to
make your answer before him : If it be honest you
have spoke, you have courage to maintain it : I am
bound to call upon you; and, I pray you, your name ?
Lucio. Sir, my name is Lucio, well known to
the duke.
Duke. He shall know you better, sir, if I may
live to report you.
Lucio. I fear you not.
Duke. O, you hope the duke will return no more ;
or you imagine me too unhurtful an opposite. But,
indeed, I can do you little harm : you'll forswear
this again.
Ludo. I'll be hanged first : thou art deceived in
mc, friar. But no more of this : 1 would the duke
* Clack.di$h : ThebegRars, two or three centuries ago,use<l
to pr<Hi;um their want bv a wooden dish with a moveable
cover, which they clacked, to show that their vessel was
empty.
"" Ouided.
we talk of were retum'd again : tliis agent will
unpeople the province. Farewell, good friar : I
pr'ythee pray for me. The duke, I say to thee
again, would. eatmulioUL-iMi Fridays: say, that I
said so. Farewelir [Exit.
Duke. No^ittight nor greatness in mortality
Can censure 'scape ; back-wounding calumny
The whitest virtue strikes : What king so strong,
Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue ?
But who comes here ?
Enter Escalus, Provost, Overdone, and Officers.
Escal. Go, away with her to prison.
Over. Good my lord, be good to me ; your honour
is accounted a merciful man : good my lord.
Escal. Double and ti^le admonition, and still
forfeit^ in the same kind ! This would make mercy
swear, and play the tyrant Away with her to
prison : Go to ; no more words. [Exeunt Overdone
and Officers.'\ Provost, my brother Angelo will not
be altered ; Claudio must die to-morrow : let him
be furnished with divines, and have all charitable
preparation : if my brother wrought by my pity, it
should not be so with him.
Prov. So please you, this friar hath been with him,
and advised him for the entertainment of death.
Escal. Good even, good father.
Duke. Bliss and goodness on you !
Escal. Of whence are you ?
Duke. Notof this country, though my chance is now
To use it for my time : I am a brother
Of gracious order, late come from the see,
In special business from his holiness.
Escal. What news abroad i' the world ?
Duke. None, but that there is so great a fever on
goodness that the dissolution of it must cure it :
novelty is only in request; and it is as dangerous
to be aged in any kind of course, as it is virtuous to
be constant in any undertaking. There is scarce
truth enough alive, to make societies secure ; but
security enough, to make fellowships accurs'd: much
upon this riddle runs the wisdom of the world.
This news is old enough, yet it is every day's news.
I pray you, sir, of what disposition was the duke ?
Escal. One, that, above all other strifes, con-
tended especially to know himself.
Duke. What pleasure was he given to ?
Escal. Rather rejoicing to see another merry,
than merry at any thing which profess'd to make
him rejoice : a gentleman of all temperance. But
leave we him to his events, with a prayer they may
prove prosperous : and let me desire to know how
you find Claudio prepared. I am made to under-
stand, that you have lent him visitation.
Duke. He professes to have received no sinister
measure from his judge, but most willingly humbles
himself to the determination of justice : yet hati he
framed to himself, by the instruction of his frailty,
many deceiving promises of life ; which I, by my
good leisure, have discredited to him, and now is he
resolved to die.
Escal. You have paid the heavens your function,
and the prisoner the very debt of your calling. I
have labour'd for the poor gentleman, to the
extremest shore of my modesty ; but my brother
justice have I found so severe, that he hath forced
me to tell him, he is indeed —justice.
Duke. If his own life answer the straitness of his
TransgreM.
H
98
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
Act IV.
proceeding, it shall become him well ; wherein, if
he chance to fail, he liath sentenced himself.
Escal. I am going to visit the prisoner : Fare
you well.
Duke. Peace be with you !
[Exeunt Escalus and Provost.
He, who the sword of heaven would bear,
Sliould be as holy as severe ;
Pattern in himself to know,
Grace to stand, and virtue go ;
More nor less to others paying,
Than by self-offences weighing.
Shame to him, whose cruel striking
Kills for faults of his own liking !
Twice treble shame on Angelo,
To weed my vice, and let his grow !
O, what may man within him hide.
Though angel on the outward side !
How may likeness, made in crimes,
Making practice on the times.
Draw with idle spiders' strings
Most pond'rous and substantial things
Craft against vice 1 must apply :
With Angelo to-night shall lie
His old betrothed, but despis'd ;
So disguise shall, by the disguis'd.
Pay with falsehood false exacting.
And perform an old contracting.
[Rvit.
ACT IV.
SCENE I. — A Room in Mariana's House.
Mariana discovered sitting ; a Boy singing-
SONG.
Take, oh take those lips away,
That so sweetly were forsworn ;
And those eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn :
But my kisses bring again,
bring again,
Seals of love, but seaVd in vain,
seaVd in vain.
Mari. Break off thy song, and haste thee quick
away ;
Here comes a man of comfort, whose advice
Hath often still'd my brawling discontent
[Exit Boy.
Enter Duke.
I cry you mercy, sir ; and well could wish
You had not found me here so musical :
Let me excuse me, and believe me so, —
IVIy mirth it much displeas'd, but pleas'd my woe.
Duke. 'Tis good : though music oft hath such a
charm,
To make bad good, and good provoke to harm.
I pray^you, tell me, hath any body enquired for me
here to-day ? much \ipon this time have I promis'd
here to meet.
Mari. You have not been inquired after : I have
sat here all day.
Enter Isabella.
Duke. I do constantly believe you : — The time
is come, even now. I shall crave your forbearance
a little : may be, I will call upon you anon, for
some advantage to yourself.
Mari. I am always bound to you. [Exit.
Duke. Very well met, and welcome.
What is the news from this good deputy ?
Isab. He hath a garden circummur'd? with brick,
Whose western side is with a vineyard back'd ;
And to that vineyard is a planched 8 gate,
That makes his opening with this bigger key :
This other doth command a little door,
Which from the vineyard to the garden leads :
There have I made my promise to call on him,
Upon the heavy middle of the night.
Walled round.
Planked, wooden.
Duke. But shall you on your knowledge find this
way?
Isab. I have ta'en a due and wary note upon't ;
With whispering and most guilty diligence,
In action all of precept, he did show me
The way twice o'er.
Duke. Are there no other tokens
Between you 'greed, concerning her observance ?
Isab. No, none, but only a repair i' the dark ;
And that I have possess'd him, my most stay
Can be but brief : for I have made him know,
I have a servant comes with me along,
That stays upon me ; whose persuasion is,
I come about my brother.
Duke. 'Tis well borne up.
I have not yet made known to Mariana
A word of this : — What ho ! within ! come forth !
Re-enter Mariana.
I pray you, be acquainted with this maid j
She comes to do you good.
Isdb. I do desire the like.
Duke. Do you persuade yourself that I respect you ?
Mai-i. Good friar, I know you do ; and have
found it.
Duke. Take then this your companion by the hand.
Who hath a story ready for your ear :
I shall attend your leisure ; but make haste ;
The vaporous night approaches.
Mari. Will't please you walk aside ?
[Exeunt Mariana and Isabella.
Duke. O place and greatness, millions of false eyes
Are stuck upon thee ! volumes of report
Run with these false and most contrarious quests 9
Upon thy doings ! thousand 'scapes ' of wit
Make thee the father of their idle dream,
And rack thee in tlieir fancies ! — Welcome ! Ho\^
agreed?
Re-enter Mariana, and Isabella.
Isab. She'll take the enterprise upon her, father,
If you advise it.
Duke. It is not my consent.
But my intreaty too. _
Isab. Little have you to say,
When you depart from him, but, soft and low.
Remember now my brother. .
Mari. Fear me not.
Inquisitions, inquiries.
1 SalUes.
Scene II.
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
99
Duke. Nor, gentle daughter, fear you not at all :
He is your husband on a pre-contract :
To bring you thus together, 'tis no sin ;
Sith tliat the justice of your title to him
IDoth flourish- the deceit. Coine, let us go ;
Oiu" corn's to reap, for yet our tithe's 3 to sow.
\^Exeunt.
SCENE II. — A Room in the Prison.
Enter Provost and Clown.
Prov. Come hither, sirrah : Can you cut off a
man's head ?
Clo. If the man be a batchelor, sir, I can : but if
he be a married man, he is his wife's head, and I can
never cut off a woman's head.
Prov. Coirte, sir, leave me your snatches, and
yield me a direct answer. To-morrow morning are
to die Claudio and Bamardine : here is in our pri-
son a common executioner, who in his office lacks
a helper : if you will take it on you to assist him,
it shall redeem you from your gyves ** ; if not, you
shall have your full time of imprisonment, and your
deliverance with an unpitied whipping.
Clo. Sir, I will be content to be a lawful hangman.
I would l)e glad to receive some instruction from my
fellow-partner.
Prov. What ho, Abhorson ! Where's Abhorson,
there?
Enter Abhorsok.
Abhor. Do you call, sir?
Prov. Sirrah, here's a fellow will help you to-
morrow in your execution : If you think it meet,
compound with him by the year, and let him abide
here with you ? if not, use him for the present, and
dismiss him.
Abhor. Fye upon him, he will discredit our mys-
tery. 5
Prov. Go to, sir j you weigh equally ; a feather
will turn the scale. [Erit.
Clo. Pray, sir, by your good favour, (for, surely,
sir, a good favour you have, but that you have a
hanging look,) do you call, sir, your occupation a
mystery ?
Abhor. Ay, sir ; a mystery.
Clo. Painting, sir, I have heard say, is a mystery,
but what mystery there should be in hanging, if I
should be hanged, I cannot imagine.
Abhor. Sir, it is a mystery.
C7o. Proof.
Abhor. Every true man's apparel fits your thief :
if it be too little for your thief, your true man thinks
it big enough ; if it be too big for your thief, your
tliief thinks it little enough: so every true man's
apparel fits your thief.
Re-enter Provost.
Prov. Arc you agreed?
Clo. Sir, I will serve him ; for I do find, your
hangman is a penitent trade ; he doth often ask for-
giveness.
Prov. You, sirrah, provide your block and your
axe, to-morrow, four o'clock.
Abhor. Come on ; I will instruct thee in my
trade; follow.
Clo. I do desire to learn, sir ; and, I hope, if you
have occasion to use me for your own turn, you
' Oild, or varnish over.
' Tilth, land prepared for sowing.
* Fetters.
> Trade.
shall find me yare C : for truly, sir, for your kindness,
I owe you a good turn.
Prov. Call hither Barnardine and Claudio :
[ExeuTit Clown and Abhorson.
One has my pity ; not a jot the other,
Being a murderer, tliough he were my brother.
Enter Claudio.
Look, here's the warrant, Claudio, for thy death :
'Tis now dead midnigiit, and by eight to-morrow
Thou must be made immortal. Where's Barnardine?
Claud. As fast lock'd up in sleep, as guiltless
labour
When it lies starkly in the traveller's bones :
He will not wake.
Prov. Who can do good on him ?
Well, go, prepare youi-self. But liark, \\'hat noise ?
[^Knocking within.
Heaven give your spirits comfort ! [Exit Claudio.
By and by : —
I hope it is some pardon or reprieve.
For the most gentle Claudio Welcome, father.
Enter Duke.
Duke. The best and wholsomest spirits of the night
Envelope you, good provost! Who call'd here of
late?
Prov. None, since the curfew rung.
Duke. Not Isabel?
Prov. No.
Duke. They will then, ere't be long.
Prov. What comfort is for Claudio ?
Duke. There's some in hope.
Prov. It is a bitter deputy.
Duke. Not so, not so ; his life is parallel'd
Even with the stroke and line of his great justice ;
He doth with holy abstinence subdue
That in himself, which he spurs on his power
To qualify in others : were he meal'd 7
With that which he corrects, then were he tyrannous ;
But this being so, he's just, — Now are they come.
{^Knocking within. — Provost goes out*
This is a gentle provost : Seldom, when
The steel'd gaoler is the friend of men. —
How now ? what noise ? That spirit's possess'd with
haste.
That wounds the unsisting postern with these strokes.
Provost returns, speaking to one at the door.
Prov. Tliere he must stay until the officer
Arise to let him in ; he is call'd up.
Duke. Have you no countermand for Claudio yet,
But he must die to-morrow ?
Prov. None, sir, none.
Duke. As near the dawning, provost, as it is,
You shall hear more ere morning.
Prov. Happily",
You something know ; yet, I believe, there comes
No countermand ; no such example have we :
Besides, upon the very siege 9 of justice.
Lord Angelo hath to the public ear
Profess'd the contrary.
Enter a Messenger.
Duke. Tliis is his lordship's man.
l*rov. And here comes Claudio's pardon.
Mess. My lord hath sent you this note ; and by
me tliis further charge, tliat you swerve not from
' Ready.
" Perhapc
H 2
7 Defiled.
"Soat
100
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
Act IV.
the smallest article of it, neither in time, matter, or
other circumstance. Good morrow j for, as 1 take
it, it is almost day.
Prov. I shall obey him. [Exit Messenger.
Duke. This is his pardon ; purchas'd by such sin,
[^ Aside.
For which the pardoner himself is in :
Hence hath offence his quick celerity,
When it is borne in high authority :
When vice makes mercy, mercy's so extended.
That for the fault's love, is the offender friended. —
Now, sir, wliat news ?
Prov. I told you : Lord Angelo, belike, thinking
me remiss in mine office, awakens me with this un-
wonted putting on : methinks, strangely ; for he
hath not used it before.
Duke. Pray you, let's hear.
Prov. [Reads.] Whatsoever you may hear to the
contrary, let Claudia be executed by four of the clock :
and, in the afternoon, Barnardine : for my belter
salisfdclion, let me have Clatidiu's head sent me by five.
Let this be duly performed : uith a thought, that more
depends on it than we must yet deliver. Thus fail not
to do your office, as you will answer it at your jieril.
What say you to this, sir ?
Duke. What is that Barnardine, who is to be
executed in the afternoon ?
Prov. A Bohemian born ; but here nursed up
and bred : one that is a prisoner nine years old. •
Duke. How came it, that the absent duke had
not either delivered him to his liberty, or executed
him ? I have heard, it was ever his manner to do so.
Prov. His friends still wrought reprieves for him :
And, indeed, his fact, till now in the government
of lord Angelo, came not to an undoubtful proof.
Duke. Is it now apparent ?
Prov. Most manifest, and not denied by himself.
Duke. Hath he borne himself penitently in prison?
How seems he to be touch'd ?
Prov. A man that apprehends death no more,
dreadfully, but as a drunken sleep ; careless, reck-
less, and fearless of what's past, present, or to come ;
insensible of mortality, and desperately mortal.
Duke. He wants advice.
Prov. He will hear none : he hath evermore had
the liberty of the prison ; give him leave to escape
hence, he would not : drunk many times a day, if
not many days entirely drunk. We have very
often awaked him, as if to carry him to execution,
and showed him a seeming warrant for it : it hath
not moved him at all.
Duke. More of him anon. There is written in
your brow, provost, honesty and constancy : if I
read it not truly, my ancient skill beguiles me ; but
in the boldness of my cunning, I will lay myself in
hazard. Claudio, whom here you have a warrant
to execute, is no greater forfeit to the law than
Angelo who hath sentenc'd him : To make you
imderstand this in a manifested effect, I crave but
four days' respite ; for the which you are to do me
both a present and a dangerous courtesy.
Prov. Pray, sir, in what?
Duke. In the delaying death.
Prov. Alack ! how may I do it ? having the hour
limited ; and an express command, under penalty,
to deliver his head in the view of Angelo ? I may
make my case as Claudio's, to cross this in the
smallest.
Duke. By the vow of mine order, I warrant you,
1 Nine years in prison.
if my instructions may be your guide. I/Ct this
Barnardine be this morning executed, and his head
borne to Angelo.
Prov. Angelo hath seen them both, and will dis-
cover the favour.*
Duke. O, death's a great disguiser: and you
may add to it. Shave the head, and tie the beard ;
and say, it was tlie desire of the penitent to be so
bared before his death : you know, the course is
common. If any thing fall to you upon this, more
than thanks and good fortune, by the saint whom I
profess, I will plead against it with my life,
Prov. Pardon me, good father j it is against my
oatli.
Duke. Were you sworn to the duke, or to the
deputy ?
Prov. To him, and to his substitutes.
Duke. You will think you have made no offence,
if the duke avouch the justice of your dealing ?
Prov. But what likelihood is in that?
Duke. Not a resemblance, but a certainty. Yet
since I see you fearful, that neither my coat, in-
tegrity, nor my persuasion, can with ease attempt
you, I will go further than I meant, to pluck all
fears out of you. Look you, sir, here is the hand
and seal of the duke. You know the character, I
doubt not ; and the signet is not strange to you.
Prov. I know them both.
Duke. The contents of this is the return of the
duke ; you shall anon over-read it at your pleasure ;
where you shall find, within these two days he will
be here. This is a thing that Angelo knows not :
for he this very day receives letters of strange tenor ;
perchance, of the duke's death : perchance, entering
into some monastery ; but, by chance, nothing of
what is writ. Look, the unfolding star calls up the
shepherd : put not yourself into amazement, how
these things should be : all difficulties are but easy
when they are known. Call your executioner, and
off" with Barnardine's head : I will give him a pre-
sent shrift, and advise him for a better place. Yet
you are amazed ; but this shall absolutely resolve
you. Come away, it is almost clear dawn.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. — Another Room m the same.
Enter Clown.
Clo. I am as well acquainted here, as I was ii
our house of profession : one would think, it wen
mistress Overdone's own house, for here be manj
of her old customers. s|^
Enter Abhorson.
Abhoi\ Sirrah, bring Barnardine hithen
Clo. Master Barnardine ! you must rise and be
hang'd, master Barnardine !
Abhor. What, ho, Barnardine !
Bamar. [ Within. ] A plague o' your throats !
Who makes that noise there ? What are you ?
Clo. Your friends, sir ; the hangmen : You must
be so good, sir, to rise and be put to death.
Barnar. [Within.^ Away, you rogue, away ; I am
sleepy.
Abhor. Tell him, he must awake, and that quickly
too.
Clo. Pray master Barnardine, awake till you are
executed, and sleep afterwards.
Abhor. Go in to him, and fetch him out.
2 Countenance.
Scene III.
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
101
Clo. He is coming sir, he is coining ; I hear his
straw rustic.
Enter Barnakiune.
Abhor. Is the axe upon tlie block, sirrah?
Clo. Very ready, sir.
Barnar. How now, Abhorson ? what's the news
with you ?
Abhor. Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap
into your prayers : for, look you, the warrant's
come.
liarnar. You rogue, I have been drinking all
night ; I am not fitted for't.
Clo. O, the better, sir; for he that drinks all
night, and is hang'd betimes in the morning, may
sleep the sounder all the next day.
Jknter Duke.
Abhor. Look you, sir, here comei your ghostly
father : Do we jest now, think you ?
Duke. Sir, induced by my charity, and hearing
how hastily you are to depart, I am come to advise
you, comfort you, and pray with you.
liarnar. Friar, not I j I have been drinking hard
all night, and I will have more time to prepare me,
or they shall beat out my brains with billets : I will
not consent to die this day, that's certain.
Duke. O, sir, you must : and therefore I beseech
you.
Look forwarcl on the journey you shall go.
Barjiar. I swear, 1 will not die to-day for any
man's persuasion.
Duke. But hear you
Barnar. Not a word ; if you have any thing to
say to me, come to my ward ; for thence will not
I to-day. \^Exit.
Enter Provost.
Diike. Unfit to live, o)c die : O, gravel heart ! —
After him, fellows ; bring him to the' block
[Exeunt Abhorson and Clown.
Prov. Now, sir, how do you find the prisoner ?
Duke. A creature unprepar'd, unmeet for death ;
And, to transport him in the mind he is,
Were horrible.
Prov. Here, in the prison, father.
There died this morning of a cruel fever
One Ragozine, a most notorious pirate,
A man of Claudio's years ; his beard and head,
Just of his colour -. What if we do omit
This reprobate, till he were well inclined ;
And satisfy tlie deputy with the visage
Of Ragozine, more like to Claudio ?
Duke. O, 'tis an accident that heaven provides !
Despatch it presently ; the hour draws on
Prefix'd by Angelo : See this bedone,
And sent according to command ; whiles I
Persuade this rude wretch willingly to die.
Prov. This shall be done, good father, presently.
But Bamardine must die this afternoon :
A fid how shall we continue Claudio,
To save me from the danger that might come,
If he were known alive ?
Duke. Let this be done : put them in secret holds,
Botli Bamardine and Claudio : Ere twice
Tlie sun hath made his journal greeting to
Tlie under generation % you shall find
Your safety manifested.
Prov. I am your free dependant.
3 The antlpodca.
Duke. Quick, despatch,
And send the head to Angelo. [Exit Provost.
Now win I write letters to Angelo, —
Tlie provost, he shall bear them, whose contents
Shall witness to him, I am near at home ;
And that by great injunctions I am bound
To enter publickly.: him I'll desire
To meet me at the consecrated fount,
A league below the city ; and from thence,
By cold gradation and weal-balanced form.
We shall proceed with Angelo.
Re-enter Provost.
Prov. Here is the head ; I'll carry it myself.
Duke. Convenient is it : Make a swift return ;
For I would commune with you of such things,
That want no ear but yours.
Prov. I'll make all speed. [E.iit.
Isab, [Within.'] Peace, ho, be here !
Duke. The tongue of Isabel : — She's come to
know.
If yet her brother's pardon be come hither :
But I will keep her ignorant of her good.
To make her heavenly comforts of despair.
When it is least expected.
Enter Isabella.
Isab. Ho, by your leave.
Duke. Good morning to you, fair and gracious
daughter. -
Isab. The better, given me by so holy a man.
Hath yet the deputy sent my brother's pardon ?
Duke. He hath relcas'd him, Isabel, from tlie
world J
His head is off, and sent to Angelo.
Isab. Nay, but it is not so.
Duke. . It is no other :
Show your wisdom, daughter, in your close patience.
Isab. Unhappy Claucho ' Wretched Isabel !
Injurious world ! A<^ur^ Angelo !
Duke. This nor hurts him, nor profits you a jot ;
Forbear it therefore ; give your cause to heaven.
Mark what I say ; which you shall find
By every syllable, a faithful verity :
The duke comes home to-morrow ; — nay, dry your
eyes;
One of our convent, and his confessor.
Gives me this instance : Already he hath carried
Notice to Escalus and Angelo ;
Who do prepare to meet him at the gates.
There to give up their power. If you can, pace
your wisdom
In that good path that I would wish it go ;
And you shall have your bosom •* on ttjjs wretch,
Grace of the duke, revenges to your heart.
And general honour.
Isab. I am directed by you.
Duke. This letter then to friar Peter give ;
'Tis that he sent me of the duke's return :
Say, by this token, I desire his company
At Mariana's house to-night. Iler cause, and yours,
I'll perfect him withal ; and he shall bring you
Before the duke ; and to the head of Angelo
Accuse him home, and home. For my poor self,
I am combined by a sacred vow.
And shall be absent. Wend ^ you with tliis letter :
Command these fretting waters from your eyes
With a light heart ; trust not my holy order,
If I pervert your course. — Who's here ?
« Your heul't desire.
H 3
» Go.
10^
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
Act IV. Scene VI.
Enter Lucio.
Lucio. Good even !
Friar, where is the provost ?
Duke. Not within, sir.
Lucio. O, pretty Isabella, I am pale at mine heart,
to see thine eyes so red : thou must be patient : But
they say the duke will be here to-morrow. By my
troth, Isabel, I lov'd thy brother: if the old fantas-
tical duke of dark corners had been at home, he
had lived. \^Exit Isabella.
Duke. Sir, the duke is marvellous little beholden
to your reports ; but the best is, he lives not in them.
Lucio. Friar, thou knowest not the duke so well
as I do : he's a better woodman than thou takest
him for.
Duke. Well, you'll answer this one day. Fare
ye well.
Lucio. Nay, tarry ; I'll go along with thee ; I
can tell thee pretty tales of the duke.
Duke. You have told me too many of him
already, sir, if they be true ; if not true, none were
enough ; but, sir, your company is fairer than
honest : Rest you well.
Lucio- By my troth, I'll go with thee to the
lane's end : Nay, friar, I am a kind of burr, I shall
stick. \_Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — A Room in Angelo's House.
Enter Angelo and Escalus.
Escal. Every letter he hath writ hath disvouch'd
other.
Ang. In most uneven and distracted manner.
His actions show much like to madness : pray,
heaven, his wisdom be not tainted ! And why meet
him at the gates, and re-deHver our authorities there?
Escal. I guess not.
Ang. And why should we proclaim it in an hour
before his entering, that, if any crave redress of
injustice, they should exhibit their petitions in the
street ?
Escal. He shows his reason for that : to have a
despatch of complaints; and to deliver us from
devices hereafter, which shall then have no power
to stand against us.
Ang. Well, I beseech you, let it be proclaim'd :
Betimes i' the morn, I'll call you at your house ;
Give notice to such men of sort and suite
As are to meet him.
Escal. I shall, sir : fare you well.
[Exit.
Ang. Good night. —
This deed unshapes me quite, makes me unpregnant,
And dull to all proceedings. A deflower'd maid !
And by an eminent body, that enToTC*d
The law against it ! — But that her tender shame
Will not proclaim against her maiden loss.
How might she tongue me ? Yet reason dares her ?
— no :
6 Figure and rank.
For my authority bears a credent bulk,
TJiat no particular scandal once can touch.
But it confounds the breather. He should have liv'd.
Save that his riotous youth, with dangerous sense.
Might, in the times to come, have ta'en revenge,
By^so receiving a dishonour'd life,
With ransome of such shame. 'Would yet he had
liv'd,
Alack, when once our grace we have forgot,
Nothing goes right ; we would, and we would not.
[ExU.
SCENE V. — Fields without the town.
Enter Duke in his own habit, and Friar Peter.
Duke. These letters at fit time deliver me.
[Giving letters.
The provost knows our purpose, and our plot.
The matter being afoot, keep your instruction.
And hold you ever to our special drift ;
Though sometimes you do blench 7 from this to that.
As cause doth minister. Go, call at Flavins' house,
And tell him where I stay : give the like notice
To Valentinus, Rowland, and to Crassus,
And bid them bring the trumpets to the gate ;
But send me Flavins first.
F. Peter. It shall be speeded well.
[Exit Friar.
Enter Varrius.
Duke. I thank thee, Varrius ; thou hast made
good haste :
Come, we will walk : There's other of our friends
Will greet us here anon, my gentle Varrius. [Exeunt.
SCENE VI. — Street near the city gate.
Enter Isabella and Mariana.
Isah. To speak so indirectly, I am loath ;
I would say the truth ; but to accuse him so.
That is your part : yet I'm advis'd to do it ;
He says, to veil full s purpose.
Mari. Be rul'd by him.
Isab. Besides, he tells me, that if peradventure
He speak against me on the adverse side,
I should not think it strange ; for 'tis a physick
That's bitter to sweet end.
Mari. I would, friar Peter —
Isab, O, peace ; the friar is come.
Enter Friar Peter.
F. Peter. Come, I have found you out a stand
most fit,
Where you may have such vantage on the duke.
He shall not pass you; Twice have the trumpets -
sounded ;
The generous 9 and gravest citizens
Have hent ' the gates, and veiy near upon ,
Thedukeisent'ring; therefore hence, away. [Exeunt.
7 Start off
s Most noble.
8 Av^ful
1 Seized.
Acr V. Scene I.
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
103
ACT V.
SCENE I. — A public Place near the City Gate.
Mariana {veiCd), Isabella, and Peter, at a
distance. Enter at opposite doors, Duke, Varrius,
Lords: Anoelo, Escalus, Lucio, Provost,
Officers, and Citizens.
Du/ce. My very worthy cousin, fairly met : —
Our old and faithful friend, we are glad to see you.
Ang. and Escal. Happy return be to your royal
grace !
Duke. Many and hearty thankings to you both.
We have made inquiry of you ; and we hear
Such goodness of your justice, that our soul
Cannot but yield you forth to public thanks,
Forerunning more requital.
Arig. You make my bonds still greater,
Duke. O, your desert speaks loud j and I should
wrong it.
To lock it in the wards of covert bosom,
When it deserves with characters of brass
A forted residence, 'gainst the tooth of time,
And razure of oblivion : Give me your hand,
And let the subject see, to make them know
That outward courtesies would fain proclaim
Favours that keep within Come, Escalus ;
You must walk by us on our other hand ; —
And good supporters are you.
Peter and Isabella come forward.
F. Peter. Now is your time; speak loud, and
kneel before him.
Isab. Justice, O royal duke ! Vail 2 your regard
Upon a wrong'd, I'd fain have said, a maid !
O worthy prince, dishonour not your eye
By throwing it on any other object.
Till you have heard me in my true complaint.
And given me justice, justice, justice, justice !
Duke. Relate your wrongs: In what? By whom?
Be brief:
Here is lord Angelo shall give you justice ;
Reveal yourself to him.
Isab. O, worthy duke,
You bid me seek redemption of the devil :
Hear me yourself; for that which t must speak
Must either punish me, not being believ'd.
Or wring redress from you : hear me, O, hear me, here.
Ang. My lord, her wits, I fear me, are not firm :
She hath been a suitor to me for her brother
Cut oft* by course of justice.
Isab. By course of justice !
Ang. And she will speak most bitterly and strange.
Isab. Most strange, but yet most truly will I speak :
That Angelo's forsworn, is it not strange ?
That Angelo's a muifderei*, isVirot strange ?
That Angelo is an adultereus-thief^ .
An hypocrite, a virgih-violator'c
Is it not straAge, and sfcrengeT
Duke. Nay, ten times strange.
Isab. It is not truer he is Angelo,
Than this is all as true as it is strange :
Nay, it is ten times true : for truth is truth
To the end of reckoning.
Duke. Away with her: Poor soul.
She speaks tliis in the infirmity of sense.
Isab. O prince, I conjure thee, as tliou belicv'st
' Lower.
There is another comfort than this world.
That tliou neglect me not, with that opinion
That I am touch'd with madness : make not impossible
That which but seems unlike : 'tis not impossible.
But one the wicked'§t caitiff' on the ground,
May seem as shy, as grave, as just, as absolute.
As Angelo ; even so may Angelo,
In all his dressings % characts, titles, forms.
Be an arch-villain : believe it, royal prince.
If he be less, he's nothing ; but he's more.
Had I more name for badness.
Duke. By mine honesty,
If she be mad, (as I believe no other,)
Her madness hath the oddest frame of sense.
Such a dependency of thing on thing,
As e'er I heard in madness.
Isab, O, gi-acious duke.
Harp not on that, nor do not banish reason
For inequality : but let your reason serve
To make the truth appear, where it seems hid ;
And hide the false, seems true.
Duke. Many that are not mad,
Have sure more lack of reason. What would you say?
Isab. I am the sister of one Claudio,
Condemn'd upon the {^ of fornication,
To lose his head ; condemn'd by AngClo 1
I, in probation of a sisterhood.
Was sent to by my brother : one Lucio
Was then the messenger ; —
Lucio. That's I, an't like your grace :
I came to her from Claudio, and desir'd her
To try her gracious fortune with lord Angelo,
For her poor brother's pardon.
Isab. That's he, indeed.
Duke. You were not bid to speak.
Lucio. No, my good lord ;
Nor wish'd to hold my peace.
Duke. I wish you now tlien ;
Pray you, take note of it ; and when you have
A business for yourself, pray heaven you then
Be perfect.
Lucio. I warrant your honour.
Duke. The warrant's for yourself ; take heed to it!
Isab. This gentleman told somewhat of my tale.
Lucio. Right.
Duke. It may be right ; but you are in the wrong
To speak before your time. — Proceed.
Isab. I went
To this pernicious caitiflf deputy.
Duke. That's somewhat madly spoken.
Isab. Pardon it ;
The phrase is to the matter.
Duke. Mended again : the matter ? — Proceed.
Isab. In brief, — to set the needless process by,
How I persuaded, how I pray'd and kneel'd.
How he refell'd ■» me, and how I reply'd ;
(For this was of much length,) the vile conclusion
I now begin with grief and shame to utter ;
He would not but by gift of my chaste person
Helease my brother ;anrt^afte'riTiuch debatement
"MyTJsferly remorse * confutes mine honour.
And I did yield to him: But the next morn betimes,
His purpose surfeiting, he sends a warrant
For my poor brother's head.
3 UabiU and characters of office.
H 4
* Refuted.
Pity.
104.
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
Act V.
Duke. This is most likely.
Jsab. O, that it were as like, as it is true !
Duke. By heaven, fond 6 wretch, thou know'st not
what thou speak'st ;
Or else thou art suborn'd against his honour,
In hateful practice : First, his integrity
Stands without blemish: — next, it imports no reason.
That with such vehemency he should pursue
Faults proper to himself: if he had so offended,
He would have weigh'd thy brother by himself,
And not have cut him off: Some one hath set you on :
Confess the truth, and say by whose advice
Thou cam'st here to complain.
Isab. And is this all ?
Then, oh, you blessed ministers above,
Keep me in patience ; and, with ripen'd time.
Unfold the evil which is here wrapt up
In countenance ! — Heaven shield yoiu* grace from
woe,
As I, thus wrong'd, hence unbelieved go.
Duke. I know you'd fain be gone : — An officer !
To prison with her : — Shall we thus permit
A blasting and a scandalous breath to fall
On him so near us ? This needs must be a practice.
— Who knew of your intent, and coming hither ?
Isab. One that I would were here, friar Lodowick.
Duke. A ghostly father, belike. — Who knows
that Lodowick ?
Lucio. My lord, I know him; 'tis a meddling friar;
I do not like the man : had he been lay, my lord,
For certain words he spake against your grace
In your retirement, I had swing'd him soundly.
Duke. Words against me? This' a good friar, belike!
And to set on this wretched woman here
Against our substitute ! — Let this friar be found.
Lucio. But yesternight, my lord, she and that friar
I saw them at the prison : a saucy friar,
A very scurvy fellow.
F. Peter. Blessed be yom- royal grace !
I have stood by, my lord, and I have heard
Your royal ear abus'd : First, hath this woman
Most wrongfully accus'd your substitute :
Who is as free from touch or guilt with her
As she from one unborn.
Duke. We did believe no less.
Know you that friar Lodowick, that she speaks of?
F. Peter. 1 know him for a man divine and holy :
Not scurvy, nor a temporary medler.
As he's reported by this gentleman ;
And, on my trust, a man that never yet,
Did, as he vouches, misreport your grace.
Lucio. My lord, most villainously ! believe it.
F. Peter. Well, he in time may come to clear him-
self;
But at this instant he is sick, my lord.
Of a strange fever : Upon his mere request,
(Being come to knowledge that there was complaint
Intended 'gainst lord Angelo,) came I hither.
To speak, as from his mouth, what he doth know
Is true, and false ; and what he with his oath.
And all probation, will make up full clear,
Wliensoever he's convented. 7 First, for this woman ;
(To justify this worthy nobleman,
So vulgarly 8 and personally accus'd,)
Her shall you hear disproved to her eyes.
Till she herself confess it.
Duke. Good friar, let's hear it.
[Isabella is carried off", guarded ; and
Mariana comes forward.
« Foolish. 7 Convened. » Publickly.
,„™../
Do you not smile at this, lord Angelo ? —
0 heaven ! the vanity of wretched fools !
Give us some seats. — Come, cousin Angelo,
In tliis I'll be impartial ; be you judge
Of your own cause. — Is this the witness, friar ?
First, let her show her face ; and, after, speak.
Marl. Pardon, my lord ; I will not show my face,
Until my husband bid me.
Duke. Wliat, are you married ?
Mari. No, my lord.
Duke. Are you a maid ?
Mari. No, my lord.
Duke. A widow then ?
Mari. Neither, my lord.
Duke. Why, you
Are nothing then : — Neither maid, widow, nor wife?
Mari. My lord, I do confess I ne'er was married ;
And, I confess, besides, I am no maid:
1 have known my husband ; yet my husband knowi
not,
That ever he knew me.
Lucio. He was drunk, then, my lord :
better.
Duke. For the benefit of silence, 'would thou wert
so too !
Lucio. Well, my lord.
Duke. This is no witness for lord Angelo.
Mari. Now I come lo't, my lor^ :
She that accuses him of fornicatio^,
In self-same manner doth accu^ my husband:
And charges him, my lord, with such a time,
When I'll depose I had him in mine arms.
Ang. Cliarges she more than me ?
Mari. Not that I know.
Duke. No ? you say your husband ?
Mari. Why, just, my lord, and that is Angelo.
Ang. This is a strange abuse 9 : — Let's see thy face.
Mari. My husband bids me ; now I will unmask.
[ Unveiling.
This is that face, thou cruel Angelo,
Which once thou swor'st was worth the looking on ;
This is the hand, which, with a vow'd contract,
Was fast belock'd in thine : and this is she
That took away the match from Isabel,
And did supply thee at thy garden-house,
In her imagin'd person.
Duke. Know you this woman ?
Ang. My lord, I must confess, I know this woman ;
And, five years since, there was some speecli of mar-
riage
Betwixt myself and her ; which was broke off.
Partly, for that her promised proportions
Came short of composition ; but in chief.
For that her reputation was disvalued
In levity : since which time, of five years,
I never spake with her, saw her, nor heard from her.
Upon my faith and honour.
Mari. Noble prince,
As there comes light from heaven, and words from
breath.
As there is sense in truth, and truth in virtue,
I am affianc'd this man's wife, as strongly
As words could make up vows ; and, my good lord.
But Tuesday night last gone, in his garden-house.
He knew me as a wife : As this is true
Let me in safety raise me from my knees.
Or else for ever be confixed here,
A marble monument !
9 Deception.
Scene I.
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
105
jliig. I did but smile till now :
Now, good my lord, give me the scope of justice ;
My patience here is touch'd : I do perceive,
These poor informal ' women are no more
IJut instruments of some more mightier member,
That sets them on : Let me have way, my lord.
To find this practice 2 out.
Duke. Ay, with my heart ;
And punish them unto your height of pleasure. —
Thou foolish friar ; and thou pernicious woman,
Compact with her that's gone! think'stthou thy oaths,
Though they would swear down each particular saint.
Were testimonies against his worth and credit.
That's seal'd in approbation ? — You, lord Escalus,
Sit with my cousin ; lend him your kind pains
To find out this abuse, whence 'tis derived. —
There is another friar that set them on j
Let him be sent for.
F. Peter. Would he were here, my lord ; for he,
indeed.
Hath set the women on to this complaint :
Your provost knows the place where he abides,
And he may fetch him.
Duke. Go do it instantly. — \_Exit Provost.
And you, my noble, and well-warranted cousin.
Whom it concerns to hear this matter forth,
Do witli your injuries as seems you best.
In any chastisement : I for a while
Will leave you ; but stir not you, till you have well
Determined upon these slanderers.
Escal. My lord, we'll do it thoroughly. — [^Exit.
Duke.] Signior Lucio, did not you say, you knew
that friar Lodowick to be a dishonest person ?
Lucio. CucuUus nonfacit monachum : honest in
nothing but in his clothes ; and one that hath spoke
most villainous speeches of the duke.
Escal. We shall entreat you to abide here till he
come, and enforce them against him : we shall find
this friar a notable fellow.
Lucio. As any in Vienna, on my word.
Escal. Call that same Isabel here once again;
[To an Attendant.} I would speak with her: Pray
you, my lord, give me leave to question; you shall
see how I'll handle her.
Re-enter Officers^ tmth Isabella ; the Duke, in the
Friar's habity and Provost.
Escal. Come on, mistress : [To Isabella.] here's
«i gentlewoman denies all that you have said.
^ Lucio. My lord, here comes tlie rascal I spoke of;
here with the provost.
: - Escal. In very good time : — speak not you to
liim, till we call upon you.
Lucio. Mum.
Escal. Come, sir : Did you set these women on
to slander lord Angelo ? they have confess'd you did.
Duke. 'Tis false.
x^ EscqI. How ! know you where you are ?
Duke. Where is the duke ? 'tis he should hear me
speak.
Escal. The duke's in us ; and we will hear you
speak :
Look, you speak justly.
Duke. Boldly, at least : — But, O, poor souls.
Come you to seek the lamb here of the fox ?
Good night to your redress. Is the duke gone ?
Then is your cause gone too. The duke's unjust.
Thus to retort your manifest appeal,
And put your trial in the villain's mouth.
Which here you come to accuse.
' Crazy. a CoMpiracy.
Lucio. This is tlie rascal ; tlus is he I spoke of.
Escal. Why, thou unreverend and unhallow'd friar !
Is'tnot enough, that thou hast suborn'd these women.
To accuse this worthy man ; but in foul mouth,
And in the witness of his proper ear,
To call him villain ?
And then to glance from him to the duke liimself ;
To tax him with injustice ? — Take him hence ;
To the rack with him : — We'll touze you joint byjoint,
But we will know this purpose : — What ! unjust?
Duke. Be not so hot ; the duke
Dare no more stretch this finger of mine, than he
Dare rack his own : his subject am I not.
Nor here provincial : My business in this state
Made me a looker-on here in Vienna,
Where I have seen corruption boil and bubble.
Till it o'er-run the stew : laws for all faults ;
But faults so countenanc'd, that the strong statutes
Stand like the forfeits in a barber's shop,
As much in mock as mark.
Escal. Slander to the state ! Away with him to
prison.
Ang. What can you vouch against him^ signior
Lucio ?
Is this the man that you did tell us of?
Lucio. 'Tis he, my lord. Come hither, good-
man bald-pate : Do you know me ?
Duke. I remember you, sir, by the sound of your
voice : I met you at the prison in the absence of the
duke.
Lucio. O, did you so ? And do you remember
what you said of the duke ?
Duke. Most notedly, sir.
,,,Lucii). Do you so, sir ? And was the duke a^flesh-
mongeiv a fool, and a coward, as you then reporteX
him to be ?
Duke. You must, sir, change persons with me,
ere you make that my report : you, indeed, spoke
so of him ; and much more, much worse.
Lucio. O thou abominable fellow ! Did not I
pluck thee by the irose, fbr thy speeches ?
Duke. I protest I love the duke as I love myself.
Aug. Hark ! how the villain would close now,
after his treasonable abuses.
Escal. Such a fellow is not to ho ♦nikcd withal : —
Away with him to prison. Wliere is tlie provost ? —
Away with him to prison ; lay bolts enough upon
him : let him speak no more. Away with those giglots 3
too, and with the other confederate companion.
[The Provost lays hands on the Duke.
Duke. Stay, sir ; stay awhile.
Ang. What ! resists he ? Help him, Lucio.
Lucio. Come, sir ; come, sir ; come sir ; foh, sir :
Why, you bald-pated, lying rascal ! you must be
hooded, must you ? Show your knave's visage !
Show your sheep-biting face, and be hang'd an hour!
Will't not off? [PuUs off the Friar'5 Aoorf, and
discovers the Duke.
Duke. Thou art tlie first knave that e'er made a
duke.
First, provost, let me bail these gentle three : -
Sneak not away, sir; [To Lccio.] for the friar and
you
Must have a word anon : — Lay hold on him.
Lucio. This may prove worse than hanging.
Duke. What you have spoke, I pardon ; sit you
down. — — [To Escalus.
We'll borrow place of him : — Sir, by your leave :
[To Angelo.
3 Wantons.
106
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
Act V.
Hast thou or word, or wit, or impudence,
That yet can do thee office ? If thou hast,
Rely upon it till my tale be heard,
And hold no longer out.
Ang. O my dread lord,
I should be guiltier than my guiltiness,
To think I can be undiscernible.
When I perceive your grace, like power divine,
Hath look'd upon my passes '' : Then, good prince,
No longer session hold upon my shame.
But let my trial be mine own confession ;
Immediate sentence then, and sequent ^ death.
Is all the grace I beg.
Duke. Come hither, Mariana : —
Say, wast thou e'er contracted to this woman ?
Ang. I was, my lord.
Duke. Go, take her hence, and marry her in-
stantly. —
Do you the office, friar ; which consummate,
Return him here again : — Go with him, provost.
\_Exeunt Angelo, Mariawa, Peter,
and Provost.
Escal. My lord, I am more amazed at his dis-
honour.
Than at tlie strangeness of it.
Duke. Come hither, Isabel :
Your friar is now your prince : As I was then
Advertising 6, and holy to your business.
Not changing heart with habit, I am still
Attorney'd at your service.
Isab. O give me pardon.
That I, your vassal, have employ'd and pain'd
Your unknown sovereignty.
Duke. You are pardon'd, Isabel :
And now, dear maid, be you as free to us.
Your brother's death, I know, sits at your heart ;
And you may marvel why I obscur'd myself.
Labouring to save liis life ; and would not rather
Make rash remonstrance of my hidden power.
Than let him be so lost : O, most kind maid.
It was the swift celerity of his death.
Which I did think with slower foot came on.
That brain'd my purpose : But peace be with him !
That life is better life, past fearing death.
Than that which lives to fear : make it your comfort.
So happy is your brother.
Re-enter Angelo, Mariana, Peter, and Provost.
Isab. I do, my lord.
Duke. For this new-married man, approaching
here.
Whose foul imagination yet hath wrong'd
Your well-defended honour, you must pardon
For Mariana's sake : but as he adjudged your brother,
( Being criminal, in double violation
Of sacred chastity, and of promise-breach.
Thereon dependent for your brother's life,)
The very mercy of the law cries out
Most audible, even from his proper tongue,
"An Angelo for Claudio, death for death."
Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure ;
Like doth quit like, and " Measure still for Mea-
sure ! "
Then, Angelo, thy fault's thus manifested ;
Which though thou would'st deny, denies thee van-
tage :
We do condemn thee to the very block
Where Claudio stoop'dtodeath,andwithlikehaste: —
Away with him.
4 Devices.
Following.
« Attentive.
Mari. O my most gracious lord,
I liope you will not mock me with a husband !
Duke. It is your husband mock'd you with a hus-
band :
Consenting to the safeguard of your honour,
I thought your marriage fit ; else imputation,
For that he knew you, might reproach your life,
And choke your good to come : for his possessions.
Although by confiscation they are ours.
We do instate and widow you withal.
To buy you a better husband.
Mari. O, my dear lord,
I crave no other nor no better man.
Duke. Never crave him ; we are definitive.
Mari. Gentle, my liege, — [Kneeling.
Duke. You do but lose your labour ;
Away with him to death. — Now, sir, [Tb Lucio.]
to you.
Mari. O, my good lord ! — Sweet Isabel, take my
part;
Lend me your knees, and all my life to come
I'll lend you all my life to do you service.
Duke. Against all sense you do importune her :
Should she kneel down, in mercy of this fact.
Her brother's ghost his paved bed would break,
And take her hence in horror.
Mari. Isabel,
Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me ;
Hold up your hands ; say nothing ; I'll speak all.
They say, best men are moulded out of faults ;
And, for the most, become much more the better
For being a little bad : so may my husband.
O, Isabel ! will you not lend a knee ?
Duke. He dies for Claudio's death.
Isab. Most bounteous sir,
\^Kneeling.
Look, if it please you, on this man condemn'd.
As if my brother liv'd : I partly think,
A due sincerity govern'd his deeds.
Till he did look on me ; since it is so.
Let him not die : My brother had but justice,
In that he did the thing for which he died :
For Angelo,
His act did not o'ertake his bad intent.
And must be buried but as an intent
That perish'd by the way : thoughts are no subjects ;
Intents but merely thoughts.
Mari. Merely, my lord.
Duke. Your suit's unprofitable ; stand up, I say. —
I have bethought me of another fault : ^
Provost, how came it, Claudio was beheaded
At an unusual hour ?
Prov. It was commanded so.
Duke. Had you a special warrant for the deed ?
Prov. No, my good lord ; it was by private mes-
sage.
Duke. For which I do discharge you of your office :
Give up your keys.
Prov. Pardon me, noble lord :
I thought it was a fault, but knew it not ;
Yet did repent me after more advice 7 :
For testimony whereof, one in the prison.
That should by private order else have died,
I have reserv'd alive.
Duke. What's he?
Prov. His name is Bamardine.
Duke. I would thou hadst done so by Claudio. —
Go, fetch him hither ; let me look upon him.
[Exit Provost.
7 Consideration.
Scene 1.
MEASURE FOR MEASURE.
107
Esctd. I am sorry, one so learned and so wise
As yoii, lord Angelo, have still appear'd,
Should sh'p so grossly, both in the heat of blood,
And lack of temper'd judgment afterward.
^Ing. I am sorry, that such sorrow I procure :
And so deep sticks it in my penitent heart,
'lliat I crave- death more willingly than mercy ;
"fis my deserving, and I do entreat it.
Re-enier Provost, Barnarwne, Claudio, and
Juliet.
Duke. Which is that Bamardine ?
Prov. This, my lord.
Duke. There was a friar told me of this man.
Sirrali, thou art said to have a stubborn soul,
That apprehends no further than this world,
And squar'st thy life according. Thou'rt condemned;
But, for those earthly faults I quit them all ;
And pray thee, take this mercy to provide
For better times to come : — Friar advise him ;
I leave him to your hand. — What muffled fellow's
that ?
Prov. Tills is another prisoner, that I sav'd.
That should have died when Claudio lost his head j
As like almost to Claudio as himself.
[Unmuffies Claudio.
Duke. If he be like your brother, [ To Isabella.]
for his sake
Is he pardon'd ; and for your lovely sake.
Give me your hand, and say you will be mine.
He is my brother too : But fitter time for that.
By this lord Angelo perceives he's safe ;
Methinks, I see a quick'ning in his eye : —
Well, Angelo, your evil quits 8 you well :
Look that you love your wife; her worth, worth
yours. —
I find an apt remission in myself:
And yet here's one in place I cannot pardon :
You, sirrah, {To Lucio.] that knew me for a fool,
a coward, . ^
One all of luxury, an ass, a madman ;
8 Requites.
Wherein have I so deserved of you.
That you extol me thus ?
Lucia- 'Faith, my lord, I spoke it but according
to the trick 9 : If you will hang me for it, you may,
but I had rather it would please you, I might be
whipp'd.
Duke. Whipp'd first, sir, and hang'd after. —
Proclaim it, provost, round about the city ;
If ^ny woman's wrong'd by this lewd fellow,
(As I have heard him swear himself, there's one
Whom he hath injured thus,) let her appear.
And he shall marry her : the nuptial finish'd,
Let him be whipp'd and hang'd.
Ludo. I beseech your highness, do not marry me
so. Your highness said even now, I made you a
duke; good my- iord, do not recompense me, in
making me 2^ cuckold
Duke. UpolT'mine honour, thou shalt marry her.
Thy slanders I forgive ; and therewithal
Remit thy other forfeits : — Take him to prison :
And see our pleasure herein executed.
Lucio. Marrying me so, my lord, is pressing to
death, whipping, and hanging.
Duke. Sland'ring a prince deserves it. —
She, Claudio, that you wrong'd look you restore.
Joy to you, Mariana ! — love her, Angelo ;
I have confess'd her, and I know her virtue. —
Thanks, good friend Escal us, for thy much goodness:
There's more behind, that is more gratulate.
Thanks, provost, for thy care and secrecy ;
We shall employ thee in a worthier place : —
Forgive him, Angelo, that brought you home
The head of Ragozine for Claudio's ;
The offence pardons itself. — Dear Isabel,
I have a motion much imports your good ;
Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline,
What's mine is yours, and what is yours is mine :
So bring us to our palace ; where we'll show
What's yet behind, that's meet you all should know.
{Exeunt.
> Thoughtless practice.
v?
/
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
Don Pedro, Prince of Arragon.
Don John, his Bastard Brother.
Claudio, a young Lord of Florence, Favourite to
Don Pedro.
Benedick, a young Lord of Padua, Favourite like-
wise of Don Pedro.
Leo NATO, Governor of Messina.
Antonio, his Brother.
Balthazar, Servant to Don Pedro.
Conk aX } -^^^^^'^''^ of Don John.
> two foolish Office
Dogberry,
Verges,
^ Sexton.
A Friar.
J Boy.
Hero, Daughter to Leonato.
Beatrice, Niece to Leonato.
ARC A RET, I Q^jjjigjji^jjigji attending on He
Messengerst Watchy and Attendants.
SCENE, Messina.
OOME, BINlJ lUEM :
THOn NA.T3GHT5 VARLEl
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING,
ACT I.
SCENE I. — Before Leonato's House.
Enter Leonato, Hero, Beatrice, and others, witli
a Messenger.
Leonato. I learn in this letter, that don Pedro of
Arragon comes this night to Messina.
Mess. He is very near by this ; he was not three
leagues ofT, when I left him.
Leon. How many gentlemen have you lost in this
action ?
Mess. But few of any sort, and none of name.
Leon. A victory is twice itself, when the achiever
brings home full numbers. I find here, that don
Pedro hath bestowed much honour on a young
Florentine, called Claudio.
Mess. Much deserved on his part, and equally
remembered by don Pedro : He hath borne him-
self beyond the promise of his age ; doing, in the
figure of a lamb, the feats of a lion : he hath, indeed,
better bettered expectation, than you must expect of
me to tell you how.
Leon. He hath an uncle here in Messina will be
very much glad of it.
Mess. I have already delivered him letters, and
there appears much joy in him ; even so much, that
joy could not show itself modest enough, without a
badge of bitterness.
Leon. Did he break out into tears ?
Mess.r In great measure. '
Leon. A kind overflow of kindness : There are
no faces truer than those that are so washed. How
much better is it to weep at joy, than to joy at
weeping ?
Beat. I pray y'ou, is signior Montanto returned
from the wars, or no ?
Mess. I know none of that name, lady ; there
was none such in the army of any sort.
Leon. What is he that you ask for, niece ? ^^ >
Hero. My cousin means signior Benedick of|^|j
Padua. VI
Mess. O, he is returned ; and as pleasant as ever
he was.
Beat. He set up his bills here in Messina, and
challenged Cupid at the flight : and my uncle's fool,
reading the challenge, subscribed for Cupid, and
challenged him at the bird-bolt. — I pray you, how
many hath he killed and eaten in these wars ? But
how many hath he killed ? for, indeed, I promised
to eat all of his killing.
Leon. Faith, niece, you tax signior Benedick too
much ; but he'll be meet with you, I doubt it not.
Mess. He hath done good service, lady, in these
wars.
Beat. You had musty victual, and he hath holp
to eat it : he is a very valiant trencher-man, he hath j
an excellent stomach.
Mess. And a good soldier too, lady.
Beat. And a good soldier to a lady : — But what
is he to a lord ?
Mess. A lord to a lord, a man to a man.
Beat. Well, we are all mortal.
Leon. You must not, sir, mistake my niece : thcrv
41
Acfl. Sce^teI.
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
109
is a kind of merry war betwixt signior Benedick
an<i her : they never meet, but there is a skirmish
of wit between them.
Beat. Alas, he gets nothing by that. In our last
conflict, four of his five wits went halting off, and
now is the whole man governed with one : so tliat
if he have wit enough to keep liimself warm, let him
bear it for a difference between himself and his
liorse : for it is all the wealth that he hath left, to
be known a reasonable creature. — Who is his com-
panion now ? He hath every month a new sworn
brother.
Mess. Is it possible ?
Beat. Very easily possible: he wears his faith
but as the fashion of his hat, it ever changes with
the next block.
Mess. I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your
books.
Beat. No : an he were, I would burn my study.
But, I pray you, who is his companion ? Is there no
young squarer ^ now, that will make a voyage with
him to the devil ?
Mess. He is most in the company of the right
noble Claudio.
Beat. O Lord ! he will hang upon him like a
disease : he is sooner caught than the pestilence,
and the taker runs presently mad. Heaven help
the noble Claudio ! if he have caught the Benedick,
it will cost him a thousand pound ere he be cured.
Mess. I will hold friends with you, lady.
Beat. Do, good friend.
Leon. You will never run mad, niece.
Beat. No, not till a hot January.
Mess. Don Pedro is approached.
Enter Don Pedro, attended by Balthazar and
others, Don John, Claudio, and Benedick.
D. Pedro. Good signior Leonato, you are come
to meet your trouble : the fashion of the world is to
avoid cost, and you encounter it.
Leon. Never came trouble to my house in the
likeness of your grace: for trouble being gone,
comfort should remain ; but, when you depart from
me, sorrow abides, and happiness takes his leave.
D. Pedro. You embrace your charge too willing-
ly. — I think, this is your daughter.
Leon. Her mother hath many times told me so.
Bene. Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her ?
Leon. Signior Benedick, no ; for then were you
a child.
D. Pedro. You have it full, Benedick : we may
guess by this what you are, being a man. Truly,
the lady fathers herself : Be happy, lady ! for you
are like an honourable father.
Bene. If signior Leonato be her father, she would
not have his head on her shoulders, for all Messina,
as like him as she is.
Beat. I wonder that you will still be talking,
signior Benedick ; no body marks you.
Bene. What, my dear lady Disdain ! are you yet
living ?
Beat. Is it possible, disdain should die, while she
hath such meet food to feed it, as signior Benedick ?
Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come
in her presence.
Bene. Then is courtesy a turn-coat : — But it is
certain, I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted :
and I would I could find in my heart that I had not
a hard heart ; for, truly, I love none.
' Quarrelsome fellow.
Beat. A dear happiness to women ; they would
else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor.
I am of your humour for that ; I had rather hear my
dog bark at a crow, than a man swear he loves me.
Bene. Heaven keep your ladyship still in that
mind ! so some gentleman or other shall 'scape a
predestinate scratched face.
Beat. Scratching could not make it worse, an
'twere such a face as yours were.
Bene. Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.
Beat. A bird of my tongue is better than a beast
of yours.
Bene. I would, my horse had the speed of your
tongue ; and so good a continuer : But keep your
way ; I have done.
Beat. You always end with a jade's trick ; I
know you of old.
D. Pedro. This is the sum of all : Don John, —
signior Claudio, and signior Benedick, — my dear
friend Leonato hath invited you all. I tell him,
we shall stay here at the least a month ; and he
heartily prays, some occasion may detain us longer :
I dare swear he is no hypocrite, but prays from his
heart.
Leon. If you swear, my lord, you shall not l>c
forswora. — Let me bid you welcome, my lord :
being reconciled to the prince your brother, I owe
you all duty.
D. John. I thank you : I am not of many words,
but I thank you.
Leon. Please it your grace lead on ?
D. Pedro. Your hand, Leonato ; we will go to-
gether. [Exeunt all but Benedick and Claudio.
Claud. Benedick, didst thou note tlie daughter of
signior Leonato ?
Bene. I noted her not ; but I looked on her.
Claud. Is she not a modest young lady ?
Bene. Do you question me, as an honest man
should do, for my simple true judgment ; or would
you have me speak ailter my custom, as being a
professed tyrant to their sex ?
Claud. No, I pray thee, speak in sober judgment.
Bene. Why, i'faith, methinks she is too low
for a high praise, too brown for a fair praise, and
too little for a great praise: only this commend-
ation I can afford her ; that were she other than she
is, she were unhandsome ; and being no other but
as she is, I do not like her.
Claud. Thou thinkest, I am in sport; I pray
thee, tell me truly how thou likest her.
Bene. Would you buy her, that you inquire after
her?
Claud. Can the world buy such a jewel ?
Bene. Yea, and a case to put it into. But spe.nk
you this witli a sad brow ? or do you play the flout-
ing Jack ; to tell us Cupid is a gootl hare-finder,
and Vulcan a rare carpenter? Come, in what key
shall a man take you, to go in the song ?
Claud. In mine eye, she is the sweetest lady that
ever I look'd on.
Bene, I can see yet without spectacles, and I see
no such matter: there's her cousin, an she were
not possessed with a fury, exceeds her as much in
beauty, as the first of May doth the last of Decem-
ber. But I hope, you have no intent to turn
husband ; have you ?
Claud. I would scarce trust myself, though I liad
sworn the contrary, if Hero would be my wife.
Bene* Is it come to this? Hath not the world
one man, but he will wear his cap with suspicion ?
110
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
Act I. Scene II.
Shall I never see a baclielor of tliree-score again?
Go to ; an thou wilt needs thrust thy neck into a
yoke, wear the print of it, and sigh away Sundays.
Look, don Pedro is returned to seek you.
Re-enter Don Pedro.
D. Pedro. What secret hath held you here, that
you followed not to Leonato's?
Bene. I would, your grace would constrain me
to tell.
D. Pedro, I charge thee, on thy allegiance.
Bene. You hear, count Claudio : T can be secret
as a dumb man, I would have you think so ; but on
my allegiance, — mark you this, on my allegiance :
— He is in love. With who ? — now that is your
grace's part. — Mark, how short his answer is : —
With Hero, Leonato's short daughter.
Claud. If this were so, so were it uttered.
Bene. Like the old tale, my lord : it is not so,
nor 'twas not so ; but, indeed, heaven forbid it
should be so.
Claud. If my passion change not shortly, heaven
forbid it should be otherwise.
D. Pedro. Amen, if you love her ; for the lady
is very well worthy.
Claud. You speak this to fetch me in, my lord.
D. Pedro. By my troth, I speak my thought.
Claud. And, in faith, my lord, I spoke mine.
Bene. And, by my two faiths and troths, my
lord, I spoke mine.
Claud. That I love her, I feel.
D. Pedro. That she is worthy, I know.
Bene. That I neither feel how she should be
loved, nor know how she should be worthy, is the
opinion that fire cannot melt out of me j I will die
in it at the 'stake.
D. Pedro. Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in
the despite of beauty.
Claud. And never could maintain his part, but in
the force of his will.
Bene. That a woman conceived me, I thank her ;
that she brought me up, I likewise give her most
humble thanks: but that I will have a recheat 3
winded in my forehead, all women shall pardon
me. Because I will not do them the wrong to
mistrust any, I will do myself the right to trust
none ; and the fine is, (for the which I may go the
finer,) I will live a bachelor.
D. Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale
with love.
Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with hunger,
my lord ! not with love: prove, that ever I lose more
blood with love, than I will get again with drink-
ing, pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker's pen,
and hang me up for the sign of blind Cupid.
D. Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this
faith, thou wilt prove a notable argument.
Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat, and
shoot at me ; and he that hits me, let him be clapped
on the shoulder, and called Adam."*
B. Pedro. Well, as time shall try :
In time the savage bull doth bear Ike yoke.
Bene. The savage bull may ; but if ever the sen-
sible Benedick bear it, pluck off the bull's horns, and
set them in my forehead : and let me be vilely paint-
ed ; and in such great letters as they write. Here is
good horse to hire, let them signify under my sign,
— Here you may see Benedick, the married man.
3 The tune sounded to call off the dogs.
* The name of a faraoug archer.
Claud. If this should ever happen, thou wouldst
be horn-mad.
D. Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his
quiver in Venice, thou wilt quake for this shortly.
Bene. I look for an earthquake too then.
D. Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the
hours. In the mean time, good signior Benedick,
repair to Leonato's ; commend me to him, and tell
him, I will not fail him at supper ; for, indeed, he
hath made great preparation.
Bene. I have almost matter enough in me for
such an embassage ; and so I commit you —
Claud. To the tuition of heaven : From my
house, (if I had it,) —
D. Pedro. The sixth of July : Your loving friend,
Benedick.
Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not : The body of
your discourse is sometime guarded with fragments,
and the guards are but slightly basted on neither ;
ere you flout old ends any further, examine your
conscience ; and so I leave you. ^Exit Benedick.
Gaud. My liege, your highness now may do me
good.
D, Pedro. My love is thine to teach j teach it
but how.
And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn
Any hard lesson that may do thee good.
Claud. Hath Leonato any son, my lord ?
D. Pedro. No child but Hero, she's his only heir :
Dost thou aflfect her, Claudio ?
Claud. O my lord.
When you went onward on this ended action,
I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye.
That lik'd, but had a rougher task in hand
Than to drive liking to the name of love :
But now I am return'd, and that war-thoughts
Have left their places vacant, in their rooms
Come thronging soft and delicate desires,
All prompting me how fair young Hero is.
Saying, I lik'd her ere I went to wars.
D. Pedro. Thou wilt be like a lover presently,
And tire the hearer with a book of words :
If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it ;
And I will break with her, and with her father.
And thou shalt have her : Was't not to this end
That thou began'st to twist so fine a story ?
Claud. How sweetly do you minister to love.
That know love's grief by his complexion !
But lest my liking might too sudden seem,
I would have salv'd it wdth a longer treatise.
D. Pedro. What need the bridge much broader
than the flood ?
The fairest grant is the necessity :
Look, what will serve, is fit : 'tis once s, thou lov'st ;
And I will fit thee with the remedy.
I know, we shall have revelling to-night;
I will assume thy part in some disguise.
And tell fair Hero I am Claudio ;
And in her bosom I'll unclasp my heart,
And take her hearing prisoner with the force
And strong encounter of my amorous tale :
Then, after, to her father will I break ;
And, the conclusion is, she shall be thine :
In practice let us put it presently. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. — A Room in Leonato's House.
Enter Leonato and Antonio.
Leon. How now, brother ? Where is my cousin,
your son ? Hath he provided this musick ?
* Once for all.
Act II. Scene I.
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
Ill
Jnt. He is very busy about it. But, brother,
I can tell you strange news that you yet dreamed
not of.
Leon. Are they good ?
Ant. As the event stamps them ; but tliey have
a good cover, they show well outward. The prince
and count Claudio, walking in a thick.plcached*^
alley in my orchard, were thus much overheard by
a man of mine : The prince discovered to Claudio,
that he loved my niece your daughter, and meant
to acknowledge it this night in a dance ; and, if he
found her accordant, he meant to take the present
time by the top, and instantly break with you of it.
I^eon. Hath the fellow any wit, that told you this ?
A7U. A good sharp fellow : I will send for him,
and question him yourself.
Leon. No, no ; we will hold it as a dream, till it
appear itself : — but I will acquaint my daughter
withal, that she may be the better prepared for an
answer, if peradventure this be true. Go you, and
tell her of it. {^Several persons cross the stage.'\
Cousins, you know what you have to do. — O, I
cry you mercy, friend ; you go with me, and I will
use your skill : — Good cousins, have a care this
busy time. [Exeunt.
SCENE III. — Another Room in Leonato's House.
Enter Don John and Conrade.
Con, My lord ! why are you thus out of measure
sad?
D. John. There is no measure in the occasion that
breeds it, therefore the sadness is without limit.
Con. You should hear reason.
D. John. And when I have heard it, what blessing
bringeth it ?
Con. If not a present remedy, yet a patient suf-
ferance.
D. John. I wonder, that thou being (as thou
say'st tliou art) born under Saturn, goest about to
apply a moral medicine to a mortifying mischief.
I cannot hide what I am : I must be sad when I
have cause, and smile at no man's jests ; eat when I
have stomach, and wait for no man's leisure ; sleep
when I am drowsy, and tend to no man's business;
laugh when I am merry, and claw 7 no man in his
humour.
Con. Yea, but you must not make the full show
of this, till you may do it without controlment. You
have of late stood out against your brother, and he
hath ta'en you newly into his grace ; where it is
impossible you should take true root, but by the fair
weather that you make yourself: it is needful that
you frame the season for your own harvest.
D. John. I had rather be a canker in a hedge,
than a rose in his grace; and it better fits my blood
to be disdained of all, than to fashion a carriage to
rob love from any : in this, though I cannot be said
to be a flattering honest man, it must not be denied
that I am a plain-dealing villain. I am trusted with
a muzzle, and enfranchised with a clog ; therefore I
have decreed not to sing in my cage : If 1 had my
mouth, I would bite ; if I had my liberty, I would
do my liking ; in the mean time, let me be that I
am, and seek not to alter me.
Con. Can you make no use of your discontent ?
D. John. I make all use of it, for I use it only.
Who comes here ? What news, Borachio ?
Enter Borachio.
Bora. I came yonder from a great supper ; the
prince, your brother, is royally entertained by Leo-
nato ; and I can give you intelligence of an intended
marriage.
L>. John. Will it serve for any model to build
mischief on ? What is he for a fool, tliat betroths
himself to unquietness ?
Bora. Marry, it is your brother's right hand.
D. John. Who ? (he most exquisite Claudio ?
Bora. Even he.
D. John. A proper squire ! And who, and who ?
which way looks he ?
Bora. Marry, on Hero, the daughter and heir of
Leonato.
J). John. A very forward March-chick ! How
came you to this ?
Bora. Being entertained for a perfumer, as I was
smoking a musty room, comes me the prince and
Claudio, hand in hand, in sad conference : I whipt
me behind the arras ; and there heard it agreed
upon, that the prince should woo Hero for himself,
and having obtained her, give her to count Claudio.
L>. John. Come, come, let us thither ; this may
prove food to my displeasure ; that young start-up
hath all the glory of my overthrow ; if I can cross
him any way, I bless myself every way : You are
both sure, and will assist me ?
Con. To the death, my lord.
L>. John. Let us to the great supper j their cheer
is the greater, that I am subdued : 'Would the cook
were of my mind ! — Shall we go prove what's to
be done ?
Bora. We'll wait upon your lordship. [Exeunt.
ACT 11.
SCENE I. — ^ HaU in Leonato'* House.
Enter Lbokato, Antonio, Hero, Beatrice, and
others.
Leon. Was not count John here at supper ?
Ant. I saw him not.
Beat. How tartly that gentleman looks ! I never
can see him, but I am heart-bunicd an hour after.
Hero. He is of a very melancholy disposition.
Beat. He were an excellent man, that were made
just in the mid-way between him and Benedick :
« Thickly.intcrwoTea ? Flatter.
the one is too like an image, and says nothing ; and
the other, too like my lady's eldest son, evermore
tattling.
Leon. Then half signior Benedick's tongue in
count John's mouth, and half count John's melan-
choly in signior Benedick's face, —
Beat. With a good leg, and a good foot, uncle,
and money enough in his purse, such a man would
win any woman in tlie world, — if he could get her
good will.
Leon. By my troth, niece, thou wilt never get
thee a husband, if thou be so shrewd of thy tongue.
112
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
Act II.
Ant. Well, niece, [To Hero.] I trust, you will
be ruled by your father.
Beat. Yes, it is my cousin's duty to make courtesy,
and say, Father, as it please j/ou : — but yet for all
that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else
make another courtesy, and say. Father, as it please
me.
Leon. Well, niece, I hope to see you one day
fitted with a husband.
Beat. Not till men are made of some other metal
than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be
ovemiaster'd with a piece of valiant dust ? to make
an account of her life to a clod of wayward marl ?
No, uncle, I'll none: Adam's sons are my brethren ;
and truly, I hold it a sin to match in my kindred.
Leon. Daughter, remember what I told you : if
the prince do solicit you in that kind, you know
your answer.
Beat. The fault will be in the musick, cousin, if
you be not woo'd in good time : if the prince be
too important s tell him, there is measure in every
thing, and so dance out the answer. For hear me.
Hero ; Wooing, wedding, and repenting, is as a
Scotch jig, a measure, and a cinque-pace : the first
suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full as
fantastical ; the wedding, mannerly-modest, as a
measure full of state and ancientry; and then
comes repentance, and, with his bad legs, falls into
the cinque-pace faster and faster, till he sink into
his grave.
Leon. Cousin, you apprehend passing shrewdly.
Beat. I have a good eye, uncle ; I can see a
church by day-light.
Leon. The revellers are entering ; brother, make
good room.
Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, Bal-
thazar ; Don John, Borachio, Margaret,
Ursula, and others, masked.
D. Pedro. Lady, will you walk about with your
friend?
Hero. So you walk softly, and look sweetly, and
say nothing, 1 am yours for the walk : and, espe-
cially, when I walk away.
D. Pedro. With me in your company ?
Hero. I may say so, when I please.
D. Pedro. And when please you to say so ?
Hero. When I like your favour; for heaven
forbid the lute should be like the case !
D. Pedro. My visor is Philemon's roof; within
the house is Jove.
Hero. Why, then your visor should be thatch'd.
D. Pedro. Speak low, if you speak love.
[ Takes her aside.
Urs. I know you well enough ; you are signior
Antonio.
Ayit. At a word, I am not.
Urs. I know you by the waggling of your head.
Ant. To tell you true, I counterfeit him.
Urs. You could never do him so ill-well, unless
you were the very man : Here's his dry hand up and
down ; you are he, you are he.
Ant. At a word, I am not,
Urs. Come, come ; do you think I do not know
you by your excellent wit? Can virtue hide itself?
Go to, mum, you are he : graces will appear, and
there's an end.
Beat. Will you not tell me who told you so ?
Bene. No, you shall pardon me.
s Importunate.
Beat. Nor will you not tell me who you are ?
Bene. Not now.
Beat. That I was disdainful,— and that I had my
good wit out of the Hundred Merry Tales; — Well,
this was signior Benedick that said so.
Bene. What's he ?
Beat. I am sure, you know him well enough.
Bene. Not I, believe me.
Beat. Did he never make you laugh ? ">.
Bene. I pray you, what is he ?
Beat. Why, he is the prince's jester : a very dull
fool ; only his gift is in devising impossible slanders :
none but libertines delight in him ; and the com-
mendation is not in his vnt, but in his villainy ; for
he both pleaseth men, and angers them, and then
they laugh at him, and beat him.
Bene. When I know the gentleman, I'll tell him
what you say.
Beat. Do, do ; he'll but break a comparison or
two on me ; which, peradventure, not marked, or
not laughed at, strikes him into melancholy ; and
then there's a partridge' wing saved, for the fool will
eat no supper that night. [Musick within.^ We
must follow the leaders.
Bene. In every good thing.
Beat. Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave
them at the next turning.
[Dance. Then exeunt all hut Don John,
Borachio, and Claudio.
D. John. Sure, my brother is amorous on Hero, and
hath withdrawn her father to break with him about
it : The ladies follow her, and but one visor remains.
Bora. And that is Claudio ; I know him by his
bearing. 9
D. John. Are not you signior Benedick ?
Claud. You know me well ; I am he.
D. John. Signior, you are very near my brotlier
in his love ; he is enamoured on Hero; I pray you,
dissuade him from her, she is no equal for his birth ;
you may do the part of an honest man in it,
Claud. How know you he loves her?
D. John. I heard him swear his affection.
Bora. So did I too ; and he swore he would marry
her to night.
D. John. Come, let us to the banquet.
[Exeunt Don John and Borachio.
Claud. Thus answer I in name of Benedick,
But hear these ill news with the ears of Claudio, —
'Tis certain so; — the prince wooes for himself.
Friendship is constant in all other things,
Save in the oflSce and affairs of love :
Therefore, all hearts in love use their own tongues ;
Let every eye negotiate for itself,
And trust no agent : for beauty is a witch.
Against whose charms faith melteth into blood. '
This is an accident of hourly proof.
Which I mistrusted not: Farewell therefore, Hero!
Re-enter Benedick.
Bene. Count Claudio?
Claud. Yea, the same.
Bene. Come, will you go with me ?
Claud. Whither?
Bene. Even to the next willow, about your own
business, count. What fashion will you wear the
garland of? About your neck, like an usurer's
chain ? or under your arm, like a lieutenant's scarf?
You must wear it one way, for the prince hath got
your Hero.
9 Carriage, demeanour ' Passion.
Scene I.
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
113
I
Claud. I wish him joy of her. .
Bene. Why, that's spoken like an honest drover,
so they sell bullocks. But did you think, the prince
would have served you thus.
Claud. I pray you, leave me.
Bene. Ho ! now you strike like the blind man ;
'twas the boy that stole your meat, and you'll beat
the post.
Gaud. If it will not be, I'll leave you. [Exit.
Bene. Alas, poor hurt fowl ! Now will he creep
into sedges. But, that my lady Beatrice should
know me, and not know me ! The prince's fool ! —
Ha, it may be, I go under that title, because I am
merry. — Yea ; but so ; I am apt to do myself wrong :
I am not so reputed : it is the base, the bitter dis-
position of Beatrice, that puts the world into her
person, and so gives me out. Well, I'll be re-
venged as I may.
Re-enter Don Pedro.
D. Pedro. Now, signior, where's the count ? Did
you see him ?
Bene. Troth, my lord, I have plfyed the part of
lady Fame. I found him here as melancholy as a
lodge in a wai-ren ; I told him, and, I tliink, I told
him true, that your grace had got the good will of
this young !ady ; and I offered him my company to
a willow-tree, either to make him a garland, as being
forsaken, or to bind him up a rod, as being worthy
to be whipped.
D. Pedro. To be whipped ! What's his fault ?
Bene. The flat transgression of a school-boy; who,
being overjoyed with finding a bird's nest, shows it
his companion, and he steals it.
D. Pedro. Wilt thou make a trust a transgression?
The transgression is in the stealer.
Bene. Yet it had not been amiss, the rod had been
made, and the garland too; for the garland he might
have worn himself ; and the rod he might have be-
stow'd on you, who, as I take it, have stol'n his
bird's nest.
D. Pedro. I will but teach them to sing, and re-
store them to the owner.
Bene. If their singing answer your saying, by my
faith, you say honestly.
D. Pedro. The lady Beatrice hath a quarrel to
you ; the gentleman that danced with her, told her,
she is much wronged by you.
Bene. O, she misused me past the endurance of a
block ; an oak, but with one green leaf on it, would
have answ^ered her ; my very visor began to assume
life, and scold with her. She told me, not thinking I
had been myself, that I was the prince's jester; that
I was duller than a great thaw; huddling jest upon
jest, with such impossible conveyance, upon me,
that I stood like a man at a mark, with a whole army
shooting at me ; She speaks poniards, and every
word stabs : she would have made Hercules have
turned spit ; yea, and have cleft his club to make
the fire too. Come, talk not of her.
Re-enter Claudio, Beatrice, Leovato, anef Hbro.
/>. Pedro. Look, here she comes.
Bene. Will your grace command me any service
to the world's end? I will go on the slightest errand
now to the Antipotles, tliat you can devise to send
me on : I will fetch you a toothpicker now from the
farthest inch of Asia : bring you the length of Prester
John's foot ; fetch you a hair off the great Cham's
beard ; do you any embassage to the Pigmies, rather
than hold three words' conference with this harpy :
You have no employment for me ?
D. Pedro. None, but to desire your good company.
Bene. O sir, here's a dish I love not ; I cannot
endure my lady Tongue. [Exit.
D. Pedro. Come, lady, come ; you have lost tlie
heart of signior Benedick.
Beat. Indeed, my lord, he lent it me a while; and
I give him use '-' for it, a double heart for his single
one : marry, once before, he won it of me with false
dice, therefore your grace may well say I have lost
it. I have brought count Claudio, whom you sent
me to seek.
D. Pedro. Why, how now, count ? wherefore are
you sad ?
Claud. Not sad, my lord.
D. Pedro. How then ? Sick ?
Claud. Neither, my lord.
Beat. The count is neither sad, nor sick, nor
merry, nor well : but civil, count ; civil as an
orange, and something of that jealous complexion.
D. Pedro. I'faith, lady, I think your blazon to be
true ; though, I'll be sworn, if he be so, his conceit
is false. Here, Claudio, I have wooed in thy name,
and fair Hero is won ; I have broke with her father,
and his good will obtained: name the day of mar-
riage, and God give thee joy !
Leon. Count, take of me my daughter, and with
her my fortunes : his grace hath made tlie match,
and all grace say Amen to it !
Beat. Speak, count, 'tis your cue. 3
Claud. Silence is the perfectest herald of joy : I
were but little happy, if I could say how much. —
Lady, as you are mine, I am yours ; I give away
myself for you, and dote upon the exchange.
Beat. Speak, cousin ; or, if you cannot, stop his
mouth with a kiss, and let him not speak, neither.
D. Pedro. In faith, lady, you have a merry heart.
Beat. Yea, my lord, I thank it, poor fool, it keeps
on the windy side of care : — My cousin tells him
in his ear, that he is in her heart.
Claud. And so she doth, cousin.
Beat. Good lord, for alliance ! — Thus goes every
one to the world but I, and I am sun-burned ; I
may sit in a comer, and cry, heigh ho ! for a hus-
band.
D. Pedro. Lady Beatrice, I will get you one.
Beat. Hath your grace ne'er a brother like you ?
D. Pedro. Will you have me, lady ?
Beat. No, my lord, unless I might have another
for working days ; your grace is too costly to wear
every day : — But, I beseech your grace, pardon
me : I was born to speak all mirth and no matter.
D. Pedro. Your silence most offends me, and to
be merry best becomes you ; for out of question,
you were bom in a merry hour.
Beat. No, sure, my lord, my mother cry'd ; but
then there wao a star danced, and under that was I
bom. — Cousins, God give you joy !
Leon. Niece, will you look to those things I told
you of?
Beat. I cry you mercy, uncle. — By your grace's
pardon. [Exit Beatrice.
D. Pedro. By my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady.
Leon. There's little of the melancholy element
in her, my lord : she is never sad, but when she
sleeps : and not ever sad then ; for I have heard
my daughter say, she hath often dreamed of un-
happiness, and waked herself with laughing.
« Interett ' Turn : a phraw among the playen.
1]4.
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
Act II.
D. Pedro. She cannot endure to hear tell of a
husband.
Leon. O, by no means ; she mocks all her wooers
out of suit.
D. Pedro. She were an excellent wife for Be-
nedick.
Leon. O, my lord, if they were but a week mar-
ried, they would talk themselves mad.
D. Pedro. Count Claudio, when mean you to go
to church ?
Claud. To-morrow, my lord: Time goes on
crutches, till love have all his rites.
Leon. Not till Monday, my dear son, which is
hence a just seven-night; and a time too brief too,
tc have all things answer my mind.
D. Pedro. Come, you shake the head at so long
a breathing ; but, I warrant thee, Claudio, the time
shall not go dully by us ; I will, in the interim,
undertake one of Hercules' labours ; wliich is, to
bring signior Benedick and the lady Beatrice into
a mountain of affection, the one with the other. I
would fain have it a match ; and 1 doubt not but
to fashion it, if you three will but minister such as-
sistance as I shall give you direction.
Leon. My lord, I am for you, though it cost me
ten nights' watchings.
Claud. And I, my lord.
D. Pedro. And you too, gentle Hero ?
Hero. I will do any modest office, my lord, to
help my cousin to a good husband.
D. Pedro. And Benedick is not the unhopefullest
husband that I know : thus far can I praise him ;
he is of a noble strain *, of approved valour, and
confirmed honesty. I will teach you how to humour
your cousin, that she shall fall in love with Bene-
dick : — and I, with your two helps, will so practise
on Benedick, that, in despite of his quick wit and
his queasy ^ stomach, he shall fall in love with Bea-
trice. If we can do this, Cupid is no longer an
archer ; his glory shall be ours, for we are the only
love-gods. Go in with me, and I will tell you my
dnft. {Exeunt.
SCENE II. — Another Room in Leonato's House.
Enter Don John and Borachio.
D, John. It is so ; the count Claudio shall marry
the daughter of Leonato.
Bora. Yea, my lord ; but I can cross it.
D. John. Any bar, any cross, any impediment
will be medicinable to me : I am sick in displeasure
to him ; and whatsoever comes athwart his affection,
ranges evenly with mine. How canst thou cross
this marriage ?
Bora. Not honestly, my lord ; but so covertly
that no dishonesty shall appear in me.
D. John. Show me briefly how.
Bora. I think, I told your lordship, a year since,
how much I am in the favour of Margaret, the
waiting -gentlewoman to Hero.
D. John. 1 remember.
Bora. I can, at any unseasonable instant of the
night, appoint her to look out at her lady's chamber-
window.
D. John. What life is in that, to be the death of
this marriage ?
Bora. Ttie poison of that lies in you to temper.
Go you to the prince your brother ; spare not to tell
him, that he hath wronged his honour in marrying
■* Lineage.
' Fastidious.
the renowned Claudio (whose estimation do you
mightily hold up) to a contaminated person, such a
one as Hero.
I). John. What proof shall I make of that?
Bora Proof enough to misuse the prince, to vex
Claudio, to undo Hero, and kill Leonato : Look
you for any other issue ?
D. John* Only to despite them, I will endeavour
any thing.
Bora. Go then, find me a meet hour to draw don
Pedro and the count Claudio, alone : tell them,
that you know that Hero loves me ; intend 6 a kind
of zeal both to the prince and Claudio, as — in love
of your brother's honour who hath made this match;
and his friend's reputation, who is thus like to be
cozened with the semblance of a maid, — that you
have discovered thus. They will scarcely believe
this without trial : cffer them instances; which shall
bear no less likelihood, than to see me at her cham-
ber-window ; hear me call Margaret, Hero ; hear
Margaret term me Borachio ; and bring them to
see this, the very night before the intended wed-
ding : for, in the mean time, I will so fashion the
matter, that Hero shall be absent ; and there shall
appear such seeming truth of Hero's disloyalty, that
jealousy shall be call'd assurance, and all the pre-
paration overthrown.
I). John. Grow this to what adverse issue it can,
I will put it in practice : Be cunning in the work-
ing this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats.
Bora. Be you constant in the accusation, and my
cunning shall not shame me.
D. John. I will presently go learn their day of
man'iage. \_Exeunt.
SCENE III. — Leonato's Garden.
Enter Benehick and a Boy.
Bene. Boy, —
Boy. Signior.
Bene. In my chamber- window lies a book ; bring
it hither to me in the orchard.
Boy. I am here already, sir.
Bene. I know that ; — but I would have thee
hence, and here again. {ExU Boy.] — I do much
wonder, that one man, seeing how much another
man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviours to
love, will, after he hath laughed at such shallov^
follies in others, become the argument of his own
scorn by falling in love : And such a man is Clau-
dio. I have known, when there was no musick
with him but the drum and fife ; and now had he
rather hear the tabor and the pipe : I have known,
when he would have walked ten mile afoot, to see
a good armour ; and now will he lie ten nights
awake carving the fashion of a new doublet. He
was wont to speak plain, and to the purpose, like an
honest man, and a soldier ; and now is he turn'd
orthographer ; his words are a very fantastical ban-
quet, just so many strange dishes. May I be so
converted, and see with these eyes ? I cannot tell ;
I think not : I wall not be sworn, but love may
transform me to an oyster ; but I'll take my oath
on it, till he have made an oyster of me, he shall
never make me such a fool. One woman is fair ;
yet I am well : another is wise ; yet I am well :
another virtuous ; yet I am well : but till all graces
be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my
grace. Rich she shall be, that's certain ; wise, or ■
<> Pretend.
Scene III.
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
115
I'll none ; virtuous, or I'll never cheapen her ; fair,
or I'll never look on her ; mild, or come not near ;
noble, or not I for an angel ; of good discourse, an
excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what
colour it pleases. Ha ! the prince and monsieur
love ! I will liide me in the arbour. [ Withdraws.
Enter Don Pedro, Leonato, and Claudio.
D. Pedro. Come, shall we hear this musick ?
Claud. Yea, my good lord : — How still the
evening is.
As hush'd on purpose to grace harmony 1
D. Pedro. See you where Benedick hath liid liim-
self?
Claud. O, very well, my lord : the musick ended,
We'll fit the kid-fox with a penny-worth.
Enter Balthazar with musick.
D. Pedro. Come, Balthazar, we'll hear tliat song
again.
Balth. O good my lord, tax not so bad a voice
To slander musick any more than once.
D. Pedro. It is the witness still of excellency,
To put a strange face on his own perfection : —
I pray thee, sing, and let me woo no more.
Balth. Because you talk of wooing, I will sing :
Since many a wooer doth commence his suit
To her he thinks not worthy ; yet he wooes ;
Yet will he swear, he loves.
1). Pedro. Nay, pray thee, come :
Or, if thou wilt hold longer argument,
Do it in notes.
Balth. Note this before my notes,
There's not a note of mine that's worth the noting.
D. Pedro. Why these are very crotchets that he
speaks ;
Note, notes, forsootli, and noting ! [Miisick.
Bene. Now, Divine air! now is his soul ravish 'd !
— Is it not strange, that sheep's guts should hale
souls out of men's bodies ? — Well, a horn for my
money, when all's done.
Balthazar sings.
I.
Balth. Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more.
Men were deceivers ever ;
One foot in sea, and one on shore ;
To one thing constant never :
Then sigh not so,
But let them go.
And be you blithe and bonny :
Converting all your sounds of woe
Into, Hey nonny, nonny.
II.
Sing no more ditties, sing no mo''
Ofdtnnps so dull and heavy;
The fraud of men was et>er so.
Since summer first was leafy.
Then sigh not so, ^c
D. Pedro. By my troth, a good song.
Balth. And an ill singer, my lord.
D. Pedro. Ha ? no ; no, faith ; tliou singest well
enough for a shift.
Bene. [Aside.] An he had been a dog, that
should have howled thus, tliey would have hanged
him ; and, I pray heaven, his bad voice bode no
mischief! I had as lief have heard the night-raven,
come what plague could have come after it.
' More.
D. Pedro. Yea, marry; [To Claudio.] — Dost
thou hear, Balthazar ? I pray thee, get us some ex-
cellent musick ; for to-morrow night we would have
it at the lady Hero's chamber-window.
Balth. The best I can, my lord.
D. Pedro. Do so: farewell, [^j-^mh^ Balthazar
and musick.] Come hither, Leonato : What was it
you told me of to-day ? that your niece Beatrice
was in love with signior Benedick ?
Claud. O, ay ; — Stalk on, stalk on ; the fowl
sits. [Aside to Pedro.] I did never think that
lady would have loved any man.
Leon. No, nor I neither ; but most wonderful,
that she should so dote on signior Benedick, whom
she hath in all outward behaviours seemed ever to
abhor.
Bene. Is't possible ? Sits the wind in that comer ?
[Aside.
Leon. By my troth, ray lord, I cannot tell what to
think of it; but that she loves him with an enraged
alfection, — it is past the infinite of thought.
D. Pedro. May be, she doth but counterfeit.
Claud. 'Faith, like enough.
Leon. Counterfeit! There never was counterfeit
of passion came so near the life of passion, as she
discovers it.
D. Pedro. Why, what effects of passion shows she ?
Claud. Bait the hook well ; this fisli will bite.
[Asiile.
Leon. What effects, my lord ! She will sit you —
You heard my daughter tell you how.
Claud. She did, indeed.
D. Pedro. How, how, I pray you? You amaze
me : I would have thought her spirit had been in-
vincible against all assaults of affection.
Leon. I would have sworn it had, my lord ; es-
pecially against Benedick.
Bene. [Aside.] I should tliink this a gull, but
that the white-bearded fellow speaks it : knavery
cannot, sure, hide itself in such reverence.
Clatid. He hath ta'en the infection ; hold it up.
[Aside.
D. Pedro. Hath she made her affection known
to Benedick?
Leon. No ; and swears she never will : that's her
torment.
Claud. 'Tis true, indeed ; so your daughter says :
Shall I, says she, that have so oft encounter d him
with scorn, un-ile to him that I love him ?
I^eon. This says she now when she is beginning
to write to him : for she'll be up twenty times a
night ; and there will she sit till she have writ a
sheet of paper: — my daughter tells us all. Then
will she tear the letter into a thousand lialf-pence ;
rail at herself, that slie should write to one that she
knew would flout her : / measure him, says she, hy
my own spirit ; for I should flout him, if he writ to
me ; yea, though I love him, I should.
Claud. Then down upon her knees she falls,
weeps, sobs, beats her heart, tears her hair, and
cries, 0 siveet Benedick !
Leon. She doth, indeed ; my daughter says so :
and the ecstasy hath so much overborne her, that
my daughter is sometime afraid she will do a des-
perate outrage to herself : It is very true.
D. Pedro. It were good, that lienedick knew of
it by some otlier, if she will not discover it.
Claud. To what end? He would but make a
sport of it, and torment the poor lady worse.
D, Pedro, An he should, it were an alms to hang
I 2
116
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
Act III
him : She's an excellent sweet lady ; and, out of all
suspicion, she is virtuous.
Claud. And she is exceeding wise.
D. Pedro. In everything, but in loving Benedick.
Leon. I am sorry for her, as I have just cause,
being her uncle and her guardian.
-D. Pedro. I would she had bestowed this dotage
on me ; I would have daff 'd 8 all other respects,
and made her half myself : I pray you, tell Benedick
of it, and hear what he will say.
Leon. Were it good, think you ?
Claud. Hero thinks surely, she will die : for she
says, she will die if he love her not ; and she will
die ere she makes her love known ; and she will die
if he woo her, rather than she will bate one breath
of her accustomed crossness.
D. Pedro. She doth well : if she should make
tender of her love, 'tis very possible he'll scorn it ;
for the man, as you know all, hath a contemptuous
spirit.
Claud. He is a very proper man.
D. Pedro. He hath indeed a good outward hap-
piness.
Claud. And in my mind, very wise.
D. Pedro. He doth, indeed, show some sparks
that are like wit
Leo7i. And I take him to be valiant.
D. Pedro. As Hector, I assure you : and in the
managing of quarrels you may say he is wise ; for
either he avoids them with great discretion, or un-
dertakes them with a most Christian-like fear.
Leon. If he do fear God, he must necessarily keep
peace ; if he break the peace, he ought to enter into
a quarrel with fear and trembling.
B. Pedro. And so will he do; for the man doth
fear God. Well, I am sorry for your niece : Shall
we go see Benedick, and tell him of her love ?
Claud. Never tell him, my lord ; let her wear it
out with good counsel.
Leon- Nay, that's impossible ; she may wear her
heart out first.
D. Pedro. Well, we'll hear further of it by your
daughter ; let it cool the while. I love Benedick
well ; and I could wish he would modestly examine
himself, to see how much he is unworthy so good a
lady.
Leon. My lord, will you walk ? dinner is ready.
Claud. If he do not dote on her upon this, I will
never trust my expectation. [Aside.
D. Pedro. Let thei'e be the same net spread for
her ; and that must your daughter and her gentle-
woman carry. The sport will be, when they hold
one an opinion of another's dotage, and no such
matter ; tliat's the scene that I would see, which
will be merely a dumb show. Let us send her to
call him in to dinner. [Aside.
[Exeunt Don Pedro, Claudio, and Leonato.
Benepick advances from the Arbour.
Bene. This can be no trick : The conference wa-^
sadly borne. ' — They have the truth of this from
Hero. They seem to pity the lady ; it seems, her
affections have their full bent. Love me ! why, it
must be requited. I hear how I am censured : they
say, I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive the
love come from her ; they say too, that she will ra-
ther die than give any sign of affection. — I did
never think to marry : — I must not seem proud :
— Happy are they that hear their detractions, and
can put them to mending. They say, the lady is
fair ; 'tis a truth I can bear them witness : and vir-
tuous ; — 'tis so, I cannot reprove it ; and wise, but
for loving me : — By my troth, it is no addition to
her wit ; — nor no great argument of her folly, for
I will be horribly in love with her. — I may chance
have some odd quirks and remnants of wit broken
on me, because I have railed so long against mar-
riage: — But doth not the appetite alter? A man
loves the meat in his youth, that he cannot endure
in his age : Shall quips, and sentences, and these
paper bullets of the brain, awe a man from the
career of his humour ? No : The world must be
peopled. When I said, I would die a bachelor, I
did not think I should live till I were mamed. —
Here comes Beatrice : By this day, she's a fair lady ;
I do spy some marks of love in her.
Enter Beatrice.
Beat. Against my will, I am sent to bid you come
in to dinner.
Bene. Fair Beatrice, I thank you for your pains.
Bent. I took no more pains for those thanks, than
you take pains to thank me ; if it had been painful
I would not have come.
Bene. You take pleasure in the message ? '
Beat. Yea, just so much as you may take upon a
knife's point, and choke a daw withal : — You have
no stomach, signior ; fare you well. [Exit.
Bene. Ha ! Against my will, I am sent to bid you
come to dinner — there's a double meaning in that,
/ took no more pains for those thanks, than you took
pains to thank me — that's as much as to say. Any
pains that I take for you is as easy as thanks : — If
I do not take pity of her, I am a villain ; if I do not
love her, I am a Jew : I will go get her picture.
[Exit.
ACT III.
SCENE I Leonato'5 Garden.
Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula.
Hero. Good Margaret, run thee into the parlour ;
There shalt thou find my cousin Beatrice
Proposing 9 with the prince and Claudio i
Whisper her ear, and tell her, I and Ursula
Walk in the orchard, and our whole discourse
Is all of her ; say, that thou overheard 'st us ;
And bid her steal into the pleached bower,
8 Thrown ofF. 9 Discoursing.
Where honey-suckles, ripen'd by the sun.
Forbid the sun to enter ; — like favourites.
Made proud by princes, that advance their pride
Against that power that bred it : — there will she
hide her,
To listen our propose : This is thy office.
Bear thee well in it, and leave us alone.
Marg. I'll make her come, I warrant you, pre-
sently. [Exit.
Hero. Now, Ursula, when Beatrice doth come,
1 Seriously carried on.
Scene I.
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
117
As we do trace this alley up and down,
Our talk must only be of Benedick :
When I do name liim, let it be thy part
To praise him more than ever man did merit :
My talk to thee m'ust be, how Benedick
Is sick in love with Beatrice : Of this matter
Is little Cupid's crafty arrow made,
That only wounds by hearsay. Now begin ;
Enter Beatrice, behind.
For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs
Close by the ground, to hear our conference.
Urs. The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish
Cut vvitli her golden oars the silver stream.
And greedily devour the treacherous bait :
So angle we for Beatrice ; who even now
Is couch'd in the woodbine coverture :
Fear you not my part of the dialogue.
Hero. Then go we near her, that her ear lose
nothing
Of the false sweet bait that we lay for it. —
[Thei/ advance to the bower.
No, truly, Ursula, she is too disdainful ;
I know, her spirits are as coy and wild
As haggards of the rock. 2
Urs. But are you sure,
That Benedick loves Beatrice so entirely ?
Jlero. So says the prince, and my new-trothed
lord.
Urs. And did they bid you tell her of it, madam?
Hero. They did entreat me to acquaint her of it :
But I persuaded them, if they loved Benedick,
To wish liim wrestle with aiFection,
And never to let Beatrice know of it.
Urs. Wliy did you so ? Doth not the gentleman
Deserve as full, as fortunate a bed.
As ever Beatrice shall couch upon ?
Hero. O God of love ! I know, he doth deserve
As much as may be yielded to a man :
But nature never fram'd a woman's heart
Of prouder stuff' than that of Beatrice :
Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes.
Misprising what they look on ; and her wit
Values itself so highly, that to her
All matter else seems weak : she cannot love,
Nor take no shape nor project of affection,
She is so self-endeared.
Urs. Sure, I think so ;
And therefore, certainly, it were not good
She knew his love, lest she make sport at it.
Hero. Why, you speak truth : I never yet saw man.
How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featur'd,
But she would spell him backward : if fair-faced.
She'd swear, the gentleman should be her sister ;
If black, why, nature, drawing of an antick,
Made a foul blot : if tall, a lance ill-headed j
If low, an agate very vilely cut :
If speaking, why, a vane blown with all wind :
If silent, why, a block moved with none.
So turns she every man the wrong side out ;
And never gives to truth and virtue, that
Which simpleness and merit purchaseth.
Urs. Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable.
Hero. No: not to be so odd, and from all fashions,
As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable :
But wlio dare tell her so ? If I should speak,
She'd mock me into air ; O, she would laugh me
Out of myself, press me to death with wit.
Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire,
' A species of hawks.
Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly :
It were a better deatli than die with mocks.
Urs. Yet tell her of it ; hear what she will say.
Hero. No ; rather I will go to Benedick,
And counsel him to fight against his passion :
And, truly, I'll devise some honest slanders
To stain my cousin with : One doth not know.
How much an ill word may empoison liking.
Urs. O, do not do your cousin such a wrong.
She cannot be so much without true judgment,
(Having so swift and excellent a wit.
As she is priz'd to have,) as to refuse
So rare a gentleman as signior Benedick.
Hero. He is the only man of Italy,
Always excepted my dear Claudio.
Urs. I pray you, be not angry with me, madam.
Speaking my fancy ; signior Benedick,
For shape, for bearing, argument, and valour.
Goes foremost in report through Italy.
Hero. Indeed he hath an excellent good name.
Urs. His excellence did earn it, ere he had it
When are you married, madam ?
Hero. Why, every day ; — to-morrow : Come
go in ;
I'll show thee some attires ; and have thy counsel,
Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow.
Urs. She's lim'd, I warrant you ; we have caught
her, madam.
Hero. If it prove so, then loving goes by haps :
Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.
[Exeunt Hero and Ursula.
Beatrice advances.
Bent. What fire is in mine ears? Can this be true ?
Stand I condemn 'd for pride and scorn so much?
Contempt, farewell ! and maiden pride, adieu !
No glory lives behind the back of such.
And, Benedick, love on, I will requite thee ;
Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand ;
If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite tliee
To bind our loves up in a holy band :
For others say, thou dost deserve ; and I
Believe it better than reportingly. \^ExU.
SCENE II. — A Room in Leonato'* House.
Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, Benedick, ayid
Leonato.
D. Pedro. I do but stay till your marriage be
consummate, and then I go toward Arragon.
Claud. I'll bring you thitlier, my lord, if you'll
vouchsafe me.
D. Pedro. Nay, that would be as great a soil in
the new gloss of your marriage, as to show a child
his new coat, and forbid him to wear it. I will only
be bold with Benedick for his company ; for, from
the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, he is
all mirth ; he hath twice or thrice cut Cupid's bow-
string, and the little hangman dare not shoot at
him : he hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his
tongue is the clapper ; for what his heart thinks,
his tongue speaks.
Bene. Gallants, I am not as I have been.
Leon. So say I ; methinks you are sadder.
Claud. I hoiie, he be in love.
D. Pedro. Hang him, truant ; there's no true
drop of blood in him, to be truly touch'd with love :
if he be sad, he \vants money.
Bene. I have the tooth-ach.
D. Pedro. Draw it.
I 3
118
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
Act III.
Bene. Hang it !
Claud. You must hang it first, and draw it after-
wards.
D. Pedro. What ? sigh for the tooth-ach ?
Leon. Where is but a humour, or a worm ?
Bene. Well, every one can master a grief, but
he that has it.
Claud. Yet say I, he is in love.
D. Pedro. There is no appearance of fancy in
him, \inless it be a fancy that he hath to strange
disguises ; as, to be a Dutchman to-day ; a French-
man to-morrow ; or in the shape of two countries
at once. Unless he have a fancy to this foolery,
as it appears he hath, he is no fool for fancy, as
you would have it appear he is.
Claud. If he be not in love with some woman,
there is no believing old signs : he brushes his hat
o' mornings ; What should that bode ?
D. Pedro. Hath any man seen him at the barber's ?
Claud. No, but the barber's man hath been seen
with him ; and the old ornament of his cheek hath
already stuffed tennis-balls.
Leon. Indeed, he looks younger than he did by
the loss of a beard.
D. Pedro. Nay, he rubs himself with civet : Can
you smell him out by that ?
Claud. That's as much as to say, The sweet
youth's in love.
D. Pedro. The greatest note of it is his melancholy.
Claud. And when was he wont to wash his face?
Z>. Pedro. Yea, or to paint himself? for the
which, I hear what they say of him.
Claud. Nay, but his jesting spirit ; which is now
crept into a lutestring, and now governed by stops.
D. Pedro. Indeed, that tells a heavy tale for him :
Conclude, conclude, he is in love.
Claud. Nay, but I know who loves him.
D. Pedro. That would I know too ; I warrant,
one that knows him not.
Claud. Yes, and his ill conditions; and, in despite
of all, dies for him.
Bene, Yet is this no charm for the tooth-ach. —
Old signior, walk aside with me : I have studied
eight or nine wise words to speak to you, which
these hobby-horses must not hear.
[Exeunt Benedick and Leonato.
D. Pedro. For my life, to break with him about
Beatrice.
> Claud. 'Tis even so : Hero and Margaret have
by this played their parts with Beatrice ; and then
the two bears will not bite one another, when they
meet.
Enter Don John.
D. John. My lord and brother, God save you.
L>. Pedro. Good den, brother.
D. John. If your leisure served, I would speak
with you.
D. Pedro. In private?
D. Pedro. If it please you ; — yet count Claudio
may hear ; for what I would speak of, concerns him.
Z). Pedro. What's the matter?
D. John. Means your lordship to be married to-
morrow? [To Claudio.
D. Pedro. You know, he does.
D. Johii. I know not that, when he knows what
I know.
Claud. If there be any impediment, I pray you,
discover it.
D. John. You may think I love you not; let that
appear hereafter, and aim better at me by that I
now will manifest : For my brother, I think he
holds you well ; and in dearness of heart hath holp
to effect your ensuing marriage : surely, suit ill
spent, and labour ill bestowed !
n. Pedro. Why, what's the matter ?
D. John. I came hither to tell you ; and, cir-
cumstances shortened, (for she hath been too long
a talking of,) the lady is disloyal.
Claud. Who? Hero?
I). John. Even she ; Leonato's Hero, your Hero,
every man's Hero.
Claud. Disloyal?
B. John. The word is too good to paint out her
wickedness ; I could say, she were worse ; think
you of a worse title, and I will fit her to it. Wonder
not till further warrant : go but with me to-night,
you shall see her chamber- window entered; even
the night before her wedding-day : if you love her
then, to-morrow wed her ; but it would better fit
your honour to change your mind.
Claud. May this be so ?
D. Pedro. I will not think it.
D. John. If you dare not trust that you see, con-
fess not that you know : if you will follow me, I
will show you enough ; and when you have seen
more and heard more, proceed accordingly.
Claud. If I see any thing to night why I should
not marry her to-morrow ; in the congregation,
where I should wed, there will I shame her.
Z>. Pedro. And as I wooed for thee to obtain
her, I will join with thee to disgrace her.
D. John. 1 will disparage her no farther, till you
are my witnesses : bear it coldly but till midnight,
and let the issue show itself.
D. Pedro. O day untowardly turned !
Claud. O mischief strangely thwarting !
D. John- O plague right well prevented !
So will you say, when you have seen the sequel.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. —^Street.
Enter Dogberry and Verges, with the Watch.
Dogb. Are you good men, and true ?
Ve7-g. Yea, or else it were pity but they should
suffer salvation.
Dogb. Nay, that were a punishment too good for
them, if they should have any allegiance in them,
being chosen for the prince's watch.
Verg. Well, give them their charge, neighbour
Dogberry.
Dogb. First, who think you the most disheartless
man to be constable ?
1 Watch. Hugh Oatcake, sir, or George Seacoal ;
for they can write and read.
Dogb. Come hither, neighbour Seacoal. Heaven
hath blessed you with a good name : to be a well-
favoured man is the gift of fortune ; but to write
and read comes by nature.
2 Watch. Botli which, master constable,
Dogb. You have ; I knew it would be your an-
swer. Well, for your favour, sir, make no boast of
it ; and for your writing and reading, let that appear
when there is no need of such vanity. You are
thought here to be the most senseless and fit man for ,^
the constable of the watch ; therefore bear you the \
lantern: This is your charge ; You shall comprehend
all vagrom men ; you are to bid any man stand, ia .>
the prince's name.
2 Watch. How, if he will not stand ?
Scene III.
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
119
Dogb. Why then, take no note of him, but let
hhn go ; and presently call the rest of the watch to-
gether, and Uiank heaven you are rid of a knave.
Verg. If he will not stand when he is bidden, he
is none of the prince's subjects.
Dogb. True, and they are to meddle with none
but the prince's subjects : — You shall also make no
noise in tlie streets ; for, for the watcli to babble and
talk is most tolerable and not to be endured.
2 Watch. We will rather sleep than talk ; we
know what belongs to a watch.
Dogb. AVhy, you speak like an ancient and most
quiet watchman ; for I cannot see how sleeping
should offend : only, have a care that your bills 3
be not stolen : — Well, you are to call at all the
ale-houses, and bid those tliat are drunk get them to
bed.
2 JFatch. How, if they will not ?
Dogb. Why then, let them alone till they are
sober; if they make you not then the better an-
swer, you may say, tliey are not the men you took
them for.
2 iratch. Well, sir.
Dogb. If you meet a thief, you may suspect him,
by virtue of your office, to be no true man ; and,
for such kind of men, the less you meddle or make
with them, why, the more is for your honesty,
2 Watch. If we know him to be a thief, shall we
not lay hands on him ?
Dogb. Truly, by your office, you may ; but, I
think, they that touch pitch will be defiled ; the
most peaceable way for you, if you do take a thief,
is, to let him show himself what he is, and steal out
of your company.
Verg. You have been always called a merciful
man, partner.
Dogb. Truly, I would not hang a dog by my will ;
much more a man who hath any honesty in him.
Verg. If you hear a child cry in the night, you
must call to tlie nurse, and bid her still it.
2 Watch. How, if the nurse be asleep, and will
not hear us ?
Dogb. Why, then depart in peace, and let the
child wake her with crying ; for the ewe that will
not hear her lamb when it baes, will never answer
a calf when he bleats.
Verg. *Tis very true.
Dogb. This is the end of the charge. You, con-
stable, are to present the prince's own person : if
you meet the prince in the night, you may stay him.
Verg. Nay by'r lady, tliat, I think, he cannot.
Dogb. Five sliillings to one on't, with any man
that knows the statues, he may stay him : marry,
not without the prince be willing : for, indeed, the
watch ought to offend no man ; and it is an offence
to stay a man against his will.
Verg. By'r lady, I think it be so.
Dogb. Ha, ha, ha ! Well, masters, good night :
an there be any matter of weight chances, call up
me : keep your fellows' counsels and your own, and
good night. — Come, neighbour.
2 Watch. Well, masters, we hear our charge: let
us go sit here upon the church-bench till two, and
then all to-bed.
Dogb. One word more, honest neighbours : I
pray you, watch about signior Leonato's door ; for
the wedding being tliere to-morrow, tliere is a great
coil to-night: Adieu, be vigitant, I beseech you.
[Exeunt Dogberry and Verges.
3 Weapons of the w atchraaj.
Enter Borachio and Conrade.
Bora. What ! Conrade, —
Watch. Peace, stir not. \^Aside.
Bora. Conrade, I say !
Con. Here, man, I am at thy elbow.
Bora. Stand thee close then under this pent-
house, for it drizzles rain ; and I will, like a true
drunkard, utter all to thee.
Watch \^Aside.'\ Some treason, masters ; yet
stand close.
Bora. Therefore know, I have earned of don
John a thousand ducats.
Con. Is it possible that any villainy should be so
dear?
Bora. Thou shouldst rather ask, if it were pos-
sible any villainy should be so rich ; for when rich
villains have need of poor ones, poor ones may make
what price they will.
Con. I wonder at it.
Bora. That shows thou art unconfirmed ^ : Thou
knowest that tlie fashion of a doublet, or a hat, or a
cloak, is notliing to a man.
Con. Yes, it is apparel.
Bora. I mean the fashion.
Con. Yes, the fashion is the fashion.
Bora. Tush ! I may as well say, the fool's the
fool. But see'st thou not what a deformed thief
tliis fashion is ?
Watch. I know that Deformed; he has been a
vile thief this seven year ; he goes up and down like
a gentleman : I remember his name.
Bora. Didst thou not hear somebody ?
Co7i. No ; 'twas the vane on the house.
Bora. Seest thou not, I say, what a deformeil
thief this fashion is? how giddily he turns about
all the hot bloods, between fourteen and five-and-
thirty ?
Con. All tills I see ; and see, that the fashion
wears out more apparel than the man : But art not
thou thyself giddy with the fashion too, that thou
hast shifted out of thy tale into telling me of the
fashion ?
Bora. Not so, neither: but know, that I have
to-night wooed Margaret, the lady Hero's gentle-
woman, by tlie name of Hero ; she leans me out at
her mistress' chamber-window, bids me a thousand
times good night, — I tell this tale vilely : — I
should first tell tliee, how the prince, Claudio, and
my master, planted, and placed, and possessed by
my master don John, saw afar off" in the orchard
this amiable encounter.
Con. And thought they, Margaret was Hero?
Bora. Two of them did, the prince and Claudio ;
but the devil my master knew she was IMargaret ;
and partly by his oaths, which first possessed them,
partly by the dark night, which did deceive tJieni,
but chiefly by my villainy, which did confirm any
slander that don John had made, away went Claudio
enraged ; swore he would meet her as he was aji-
pointed, next morning at the temple, and there,
before the whole congregation, shame her with what
he saw over-night, and send her home again without
a husband.
1 Watch. We charge you in the prince's name,
stand.
2 Watch. Call up the right master constable : We
have here recovered the most dangerous piece t>f
lechery that ever was known in tlic commonwealth.
< Unpractiaed in the ways of the world.
I 4
120
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. Act HI. Scene IV.
1 Watch. And one Deformed is one of them ; I
know him, he wears a lock.
Con. Masters, masters.
2 Watch. You'll be made bring Deformed forth,
I warrant you.
Con. Masters, —
1 Watch. Never speak ; we charge you, let us
obey you to go with us.
Bora. We are like to prove a goodly commodity,
being taken up of these men's bills.
Con. A commodity in question, I warrant you.
Come, we'll obey you. {^Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — A Room in Leonato's House.
Enter Hero, Margaret, and Ursula.
Hero. Good Ursula, wake my cousin Beatrice,
and desire her to rise.
Urs. I will, lady.
Hero. And bid her come hither.
Urs. Well. [Eait Ursula.
Marg. Troth, I think, your other rabato ^ were
better.
Hero. No, pray thee, good Meg, I'll wear this.
Marg. By my troth, it's not so good ; and I war-
rant, your cousin will say so.
Hei'o. My cousin's a fool, and thou art another ;
I'll wear none but this.
Marg. I like the new tire within excellently, if
the hair were a thought browner : and your gown's
a most rare fashion. I saw the duchess of Milan's
gown, that they praise so.
Hero. O that exceeds, they say.
Marg. By my troth, its but a night-gown in re-
spect of yours : Cloth of gold, and cuts, and laced
with silver; set with pearls, down sleeves, side-
sleeves, and skirts round, underborne with a bluish
tinsel : but for a fine, quaint, graceful, and excel-
lent fashion, yours is worth ten on't.
Hero. God give me joy to wear it, for my heart
is exceeding heavy !
Enter Beatrice.
Hero. Good morrow, coz.
Beat. Good morrow, sweet Hero. 'Tis almost
five o'clock, cousin j 'tis time you were ready. By
my troth, I am exceeding ill : — hey ho !
Marg. For a hawk, a horse, or a husband ?
Beat. By my troth, I am sick.
Marg. Get you some of this distilled Carduus
Benedictiis, and lay it to your heart ; it is the only
thing for a qualm.
Hero. There thou prick'st her with a thistle.
Beat. Bened ictus ! why Benedictus ? you have
some moral in this Benedictus.
Marg. Moral ! no, by my troth, I have no moral
meaning ; I meant, plain holy^thistle. You may
think, perchance, that I think you are in love : nay,
hy'r lady, I am not such a fool to think what I list ;
nor I list not to think what I can ; nor, indeed, I
cannot think, if I would think my heart out of
thinking, that you are in love, or that you will be
in love, or that you can be in love ; yet Benedick
was such another, and now is he become a man ;
he swore he would never marry ; and yet now, in
despite of his heart, he eats his meat without grudg-
ing : and how .you may be converted, I know not ;
but, methinks, you look with your eyes as other
women do.
Beat. What pace is this that thy tongue keeps ?
Marg. Not a false gallop.
^ A kii.dof ruff
Re-enter Ursula.
Urs. Madam, withdraw ; the prince, the count,
signior Benedick, don John, and all the gallants of
the town, are come to fetch you to church.
Hero. Help to dress me, good coz, good Meg,
good Ursula. [Exeunt.
SCENE V. — Another Room in Leonato's House.
Enter Leonato, with Dogberry and Verges.
Leon. What would you with me, honest neigh-
bour?
Dogb. Marrj', sir, I would have some confidence
with you, that decerns you nearly.
Leon. Brief, I pray you ; for you see, 'tis a busy
time with me.
Dogh. Marry, this it is, sir.
Verg. Yes,, in truth, it is, sir.
Leon. What is it, my good friends ?
Dogb. Goodman Verges, sir, speaks a little off
the matter ; an old man, sir, and his wits are not so
blunt, as I would desire they were ; but, in faith,
honest, as the skin between his brows.
Verg. Yes, I thank God, I am as honest as any
man living, that is an old man, and no honester
than I.
Dogb. Comparisons are odorous : palabras, neigh-
bour Verges.
Leon. Neighbours, you are tedious.
Dogb. It pleases your worship to say so, but we
are the poor duke's oflicers ; but truly, for mine own
part, if I were as tedious as a king, I could find in
my heart to bestow it all of your worship.
Leon. All thy tediousness on me ! ha !
Dogb. Yea, and 'twere a thousand times more
than 'tis : for I hear as good exclamation on your
worship, as of any man in the city ; and though I
be but a poor man, I am glad to hear it.
Verg. And so am I.
I^eon. I would fain know what you have to say.
Verg. Marry, sir, our watch to-night, excepting
your worship's presence, have ta'en a couple of as
arrant knaves as any in Messina.
Dogb. A good old man, sir ; he will be talking ;
as they say, When the age is in, the wit is out : it
is a world to see ! 6 — Well said, i'faith, neigbour
Verges : — well, an two men ride of a horse, one
must ride behind : — An honest soul, i'faith, sir ;
by my troth he is, as ever broke bread : but, all
men are not alike ; alas, good neighbour !
Leon. Indeed, neighbour, he comes too short of
you ; but I must leave you.
Dogb. One word, sir ; our watch, sir, have, in-
deed, comprehended two aspicious persons, and
we would have them this morning examined before
your worship.
Leon. Take their examination yourself, and bring
it me ; I am now in great haste, as it may appear
unto you.
Dogb. It shall be suffigance.
Leon. Drink some wine ere you go; fare you well.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My lord, they stay for you to give your
daughter to her husband.
Leon. I will wait upon them ; I am ready.
[Exeunt Leonato and Messenger.
Dogb. Go, good partner, go, get you to Francis
6 J. e. It is wonderful to see.
Act IV. Scene I.
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
121
Seacoal, bid him bring his pen and inkhorn to the
gaol ; we are now to examination these men.
Verg. And we must do it wisely.
Dogb. We will spare for no wit, I warrant you ;
here's that [^Touching his forehead.'] shall drive some
of them to a non com : only get the learned writer
to set down our excommunication, and meet me at
the gaol. {Exeunt,
ACT IV.
SCENE I. — Tlui Inside of a Church.
Enter Don Pedro, Don John, Leonato, Friar,
Claudio, Benedick, Hero, and Beatrice, ^c
Leon. Come, friar Francis, be brief; only to tlie
plain form of marriage, and you shall recount their
particular duties afterwards.
Friar. You come hitlicr, my lord, to marry this lady ?
Claud. No.
Leon. To be married to her, friar ; you come to
marry her.
Friar. Lady, you come hither to be married to
tliis count ?
Hero. I do.
Friar. If eitlier of you know any inward impe-
diment why you should not be conjoined, I charge
you, on your souls, to utter it.
Claud. Know you any. Hero?
Hero. None, my lord.
Friar. Know you any, count ?
Leon. I dare make his answer, none.
Claud. O, what men dare do ! what men may do !
what men daily do ! not knowing what they do !
Bene. How now ! Interjections ? Why, then some
be of laughing, as, ha ! ha ! he !
Claud. Stand thee by, friar: — Father, by your leave !
Will you witli free and unconstrained soul
Give me this maid, your daughter?
Leon. As freely, son, as God did give her me.
Claud. And what have I to give you back, whose
worth
May counterpoise this rich and precious gift ?
D. Pedro. Nothing, unless you render her again.
Claud. Sweet prince, you learn me noble thank-
fulness. —
There, Leonato, take her back again ;
Give not this rotten orange to your friend ;
vShe's but the sign and semblance of her honour :
Behold, how like a maid she blushes here :
(), what authority and show of truth
Can cunning sin cover itself withal !
Comes not that blood, as modest evidence.
To witness simple virtue ? Would you not swear,
All you that see her, that she were a maid,
By these exterior shows ? But she is none :
Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty.
Leon. What do you mean, my lord ?
Claud. Not to be married.
Not knit my soul to an approved wanton.
Leon. Dear my lord, if you in your own proof
Have vanquish'd the resistance of her youth.
And made defeat of her virginity,
Claud. I know what you would say; if I have
known her,
You'll say, she did embrace me as a husband,
And so extenuate the 'forehand sin :
No, Leonato,
1 never tempted her with word too large 7 ;
7 Licentioiu.
But, as a brother to his sister, show'd
Bashful sincerity, and comely love.
Hero. And seem'd I ever otherwise to you ?
Claud. Out on thy seeming ! I will write against it:
You seem to me as Dian in her orb ;
As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown ;
But you are more intemperate in your blood
Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals
That rage in savage sensuality.
Hero. Is my lord well, that he doth speak so wide? ^
Leon. Sweet prince, why speak not you ?
D. Pedro. What should I speak ?
I stand dishonour'd, that have gone about
To link my dear friend to a common stale.
Leon. Are these things spoken? or do I but dream?
D. John. Sir, they are spoken, and these things
are true.
Bene. This looks not like a nuptial.
Hero. True ? O God !
Claud. Leonato, stand I here ?
Is this the prince ? Is this the prince's brother ?
Is this face Hero's ? Are our eyes our own ?
Leon. All this is so ; But what of this, my lord ?
Claud. Let me but move one question to your
daughter :
And, by that fatherly and kindly power
That you have in her, bid her answer truly.
Leon. I charge thee do so, as thou art my child.
Hero. O God defend me ! how am I beset ! —
What kind of catechising call you this ?
Claud. To make you answer truly to your name.
Hero. Is it not Hero ? WTio can blot that name
With any just reproach ?
Claud. Marry, that can Hero ;
Hero itself can blot out Hero's virtue.
What man was he talk'd with you yesternight
Out at your window, betwixt twelve and one ?
Now, if you are a maid, answer to this.
Hero. I talk'd with no man at that hour, my lord.
D. Pedro. Why, then are you no maiden. — Leonato,
I am sorry you must hear ; Upon mine honour.
Myself, my brother, and this grieved count.
Did see her, hear her, at that hour last night,
Talk with a ruffian at her chamber-window ;
Who hath, indeed, most like a liberal 9 villain,
Confess'd the vile encounters they have had
A thousand times in secret.
D. John. Fye, fye ! they are
Not to be nam'd, my lord, not to be spoke of;
There is not chastity enough in language.
Without offence to utter tliem : Tlius, pretty lady,
.1 am sorry for thy much misgovcmment.
Claud. O Hero ! what a Hero hadst thou been,
fhalf tliy outward graces had been placed
bout thy thoughts, and counsels of thy heart !
t, fare thee well, most foul, most fair ! fart well,
Thou pure impiety, and impious purity !
For tliee I'll lock up all the gates of love.
Wildly.
9 Too firee of tongue.
122
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
Act IV.
And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang,
To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm,
And never shall it more be gracious.
Leon. Hath no man's dagger here a point for me?
[Hero swoons.
Beat. Why, how now, cousin? wherefore sink
you down ?
D. John. Come, let us go ; these things, come
thus to light,
Smotlier her spirits up.
[Exeunt Don Pedro, Don John, <and Claudio.
Bene. How doth the lady ?
BecU. Dead, 1 think ; — help, uncle ; —
Hero! why. Hero ! — Uncle ! — Signior Benedick !
friar !
Leon. O fate, take not away thy heavy hand !
Death is tlie fairest cover for her shame,
That may be wish'd for.
Beat. How now, cousin Hero ?
Friar. Have comfort, lady.
Leon. Dost thou look up ?
Friar. Yea; wherefore should she not?
Leon. Wherefore ? Why, doth not every earthly
thing
Cry shame upon her? Could she here deny
The story that is printed in her blood ?
Do not live. Hero : do not ope thine eyes :
For did I think thou wouldst not quickly die.
Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames.
Myself would, on the rearward of reproaches,
Strike at thy life. Griev'd I, I had but one ?
Chid I for that at frugal nature's frame, i
O, one too much by thee ! Why had I one ?
Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes ?
Why had I not, with charitable hand,
Took up a beggar's issue at my gates ;
Who smirched - thus, and mir'd with infamy,
I might have said. No part of it is mine,
This shame derives itself Ji-o^n unknown loins 9
But mine, and mine I lov'd, and mine I prais'd.
And mine that 1 was proud on ; mine so much,
That I myself was to myself not mine.
Valuing of her ; why, she — O, she is fallen
Into a pit of ink ! that the wide sea
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again.
Bene. Sir, sir, be patient :
For my part, I am so attir'd in wonder,
I know not what to say.
Beat. O, on my soul, my cousin is belied !
Bene. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night ?
Beat. No, truly, not : although, until last night,
I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow.
Leon. Confirm' d, confinn'd ! O, that is stronger
made,
Which \\ as before barr'd up with ribs of iron !
Would the two princes lie ? and Claudio lie ?
Who lov'd her so, that, speaking of her foulness,
Wash'd it with tears? Hence from her ; let her die.
Friar. Hear me a little ;
For I have only been silent so long.
And given way unto this course of fortune,
By noting of the lady : I have mark'd
A thousand blushing apparitions start
Into her face ; a thousand innocent shames
In angel whiteness bear away those blushes ;
And in her eye there hath appear'd a fire,
To burn the errors that these princes hold
Against her maiden truth : — Call me a fool j
• Dispocition of things.
Trust not my reading, nor my observations.
Which with experimental seal doth warrant
The tenour of my book ; trust not my age,
My reverence, calling, nor divinity,
If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here
Under some biting error.
Leon. Friar, it cannot be :
Thou seest, that all the grace that she hath left,
Is, that she will not add unto her guilt
A sin of perjury ; she not denies it :
Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse
That which appears in proper nakedness?
Friar. Lady, what man is he you are accus'd of?
Hero. They know, that do accuse me ; I know none :
If I know more of any man alive.
Than that which maiden modesty doth warrant,
Let all my sins lack mercy ! — O my father.
Prove you that any man with me convers'd
At hours unmeet, or that I yesternight
Maintain'd the change of words with any creature,
Refuse me, hate me, torture me to death.
Friar. There is some strange misprision 3 in the
^princes.
Bene. Two of them have the very bent of honour ;
And if their vnsdoms be misled in this,
The practice of it lives in John the bastard.
Whose spirits toil in frame of villainies.
Leon. I know not ; If they speak but truth of her;
These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her honour.
The proudest of them shall well hear of it.
Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine,
Nor age so eat up my invention,
Nor fortune made such havock of my means,
Nor my bad life reft me so much of friends.
But they shall find, awak'd in such a kind.
Both strength of limb, and policy of mind.
Ability in means, and choice of friends,
To quit me of them throughly.
Friar. Pause a while,
And let my counsel sway you in this case.
Your daughter here the princes left for dead ;
Let her a while be secretly kept in,
And publish it, that she is dead indeed :
Maintain a mourning ostentation :
And on your family's old monument
Hang mournful epitaphs, and do all rites
That appertain unto a burial.
Leo7i. What shall become of this? What will this
do?
Friar. Marry, this, well carried, shall on her behalf
Change slander to remorse ; that is some good :
But not for that, dream I on this strange course.
But on this travail look for greater birth.
She dying, as it must be so maintain'd.
Upon the instant that she was accus'd.
Shall be lamented, pitied and excus'd,
Of every hearer : For it so falls out.
That what we have we prize not to the worth,
Whiles we enjoy it ; but being lack'd and lost.
Why, then we rack * the value ; then we find
The virtue, that possession would not show us
Whiles it was ours : — So will it fare with Claudio r
When he shall hear she died upon his words.
The idea of her life shall sweetly creep
Into his study of imagination ;
And every lovely organ of her life
Shall come apparell'd in more precious habit.
More moving-delicate, and full of life,
2 Sullied.
Misconception.
■* Over-rate.
Scene I.
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
123
Into the eye and prospect of his soul,
Than when she liv'd indeed: — then shall he mourn,
And wish he had not so accus'd her ;
No, though he thought his accusation true.
Let this be so, and doubt not but success
Will fashion the event in better shape
ITian I can lay it down in likelihood.
But if all aim but this be levell'd false,
The supposition of tlie lady's death
Will quench the wonder of her infamy :
And, if it sort not well, you may conceal her
( As best befits her wounded reputation)
In some reclusive and religious life,
Out of all eyes, tongues, minds, and injuries.
Bene. Signior Leonato, let the friar advise you :
And though, you know, my inwardness * and
love
Is very much unto the prince and Claudio,
Yet, by mine honour, I will deal in this
As secretly, and justly, as your soul
Should with your body.
Leon. Being that I flow in grief.
The smallest twine may lead me.
Friar. 'Tis well consented ; presently away ;
For to strange sores strangely they strain the
cure : —
Come, lady, die to live : this wedding day,
Perhaps, is but prolong'd ; have patience, and
endure.
[Exeiint Friar, Hero, and Leonato.
Bene. Lady Beatrice, have you wept ail this
wliile ?
Beat. Yea, and I will weep a while longer.
Bene. I will not desire that.
Beat. You have no reason, I do it freely.
Bene. Surely, I do believe your fair cousin is
wrong'd.
Beat. Ah, how much might the man deserve of
me, that would right her !
Bene. Is there any way to show such friendship ?
Beat. A very even way, but no such friend.
Bene. May a man do it ?
Beat. It is a man's office, but not yours.
Bene. I do love nothing in the world so well as
you : Is not that strange ?
Beat. As strange as the thing I know not : It
were as possible for me to say, I loved nothing so
well as you : but believe me not ; and yet I lie not;
I confess nothing, nor, I deny nothing: — I am sorry
for my cousin.
Bene. By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me.
Beat. Do not sw ear by it, and eat it.
Bene. I will swear by it, that you love me ; and
I will make him eat it, that says I love not you.
Beat. Will you not eat your word ?
Bene. With no sauce that can be devised to it :
I protest, I love thee.
Beat. Why then, heaven forgive me !
Bene. What offence, sweet Beatrice.
Beat. You have staid me in a happy hour ; I was
about to protest, I loved you.
Bene. And do it with all thy heart.
Beat. I love you with so much of my heart, that
none is left to protest.
Bene. Come, bid me do any thing for thee.
Beat. Kill Claudio.
Bene. Ha ! not for the wide world.
Beat. You kill me to deny it : Farewell.
Bene. Tarry, sweet Beatrice.
* Intimacy.
Btat. I am gone, though I am here . — There is
no love in you : — Nay, I pray you, let me go.
Bene. Beatrice, —
Beat. In faith, I will go.
Bene. We'll be friends first.
Beat. You dare easier be friends with me, than
fight with mine enemy.
Bene. Is Claudio thine enemy ?
Beat. Is he not approved in the height a villain,
that hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kins-
woman ? — O, that I were a man ! — What ! bear
her in hand until they come to take hands ; and
then with public accusation, uncovered slander, im-
mitigated rancour, — O, that I were a man ! I would
eat his heart in the market-place.
Bene. Hear me, Beatrice ; —
Beat. Talk with a man out at a window ? — a
proper saying !
Bene. Nay, but, Beatrice ; —
Beat. Sweet Hero ! — she is wronged, she is
slandered, she is undone.
Bene. Beat —
Beat. Princes and counties^ ! Surely, a princely
testimony, a goodly count-confect 7 ; a sweet gal-
lant, surely ! O, that I were a man for his sake ! or
that I had any friend would be a man for my sake !
But manhood is melted into courtesies, valour into
compliment, and men are only turned into tongue,
and trim ones too : he is now as valiant as Hercu-
les, that only tells a lie, and swears it : — I cannot
be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman
with grieving.
Bene- Tarry, good Beatrice : By this hand, I love
thee.
Beat. Use it for my love some other way than
swearing by it.
Bene. Think you in your soul the count Claudio
hath wronged Hero?
Beat. Yea, as sure as I have a thought, or a
soul.
Bene. Enough, I am engaged, I will challenge
him ; I will kiss your hand, and so leave you : By
this hand, Claudio shall render me a dear account :
As you hear of me, so think of me. Go, comfoit
your cousin : I must say, she is dead ; and so, fare-
well. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. — A Prison.
Enter Djdgberry, Verges, arid Sexton, in gowns ;
and the Watch, with Conrade and Borachio.
Dogb. Is our whole dissembly appeared ?
Verg. O, a stool and a cushion for the sexton !
Sexton. Which be the malefactors ?
Dogb. Marry, that am 1 and my partner.
Verg. Nay, diat's certain ; we have the exhibition
to examine.
Sexton. But which are the offenders that are to be
examined ? let them come before master constable.
Dogb. Yea, marry, let them come before me.' —
What is your name, friend?
Bora. Borachio.
Dogb. Pray write down — Borachio.- Yours,
sirrah?
Con. I am a gentleman, sir, and my name is
Conrade.
Dogb. Write down — master gentleman Conrade.
— Masters, it is proved already that you are little
better than false knaves ; and it w ill go near to be
< Noblemen.
' A nobleman made out of sugar.
124.
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
Act V.
thought so shortly. How answer you for your-
selves ?
Con. Marry, sir, we say we are none.
Dogb. A marvellous witty fellow, I assure you ;
but I will go about with him. — Come you hither,
sirrah : a word in your ear, sir ; I say to you, it is
thought you are false knaves.
Birra. Sir, I say to you, we are none.
Dogb. Well, stand aside. — They are both in a
tale : Have you writ down — that they are none ?
Sexton. Master constable, you go not the way to
examine : you must call forth tlie watch that are
their accusers.
Dogb. Yea, marry, that's the eftest way : — Let
the watch come forth — Masters, I charge you, in
the prince's name, accuse these men.
1 Watch. This man said, sir, that Don John, the
prince's brother, was a villain.
Dogb. Write down — prince John a villain : —
Why this is flat perjury, to call a prince's brother —
villain.
Bora. Master constable, —
Dogb. Pray thee, fellow, peace; I do not like
thy look, I promise thee.
Sexton. What heard you hiin say else ?
2 Watch. Marry, that he had received a thousand
ducats of Don John, for accusing the lady Hero
wrongfully.
Dogb. Flat burglary, as ever was committed.
Verg. Yea, by the mass, that it is.
Sexton. What else, fellow ?
1 Watch. And that count Claudio did mean upon
his words, to disgrace Hero before the whole as-
sembly, and not marry her.
Dogb. O villain ! tliou wilt be condemned into
everlasting redemption for this.
Sexton. What else ?
2 Watch. This is all.
Sexton. And this is more, masters, than you can
deny. Prince John is this morning secretly stolen
away ; Hero was in this manner accused, in this very
manner refused, and upon the grief of this, suddenly
died. — Master constable, let these men be bound,
and brought to Leonato's ; I will go before, and
show him their examination. \_Exit.
Dogb. Come, let them be opinioned.
Verg. Let them be in band.
Con. Off, coxcomb.
Dogb. Where's the sexton ; let him write down
— the prince's officer, coxcomb. — Come, bind
them : Thou naughty varlet !
Con. Away ! you are an ass, you are an ass.
Dogb. Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost
thou not suspect my years ? — O that he were here
to write me down — an ass! — but, masters, remem-
ber, that I am an ass; though it be not written down,
yet forget not that I am an ass : — No, thou villain,
thou art full of piety, as shall be proved upon thee
by good witness. I am a wise fellow ; and, which
is more, an officer ; and, which is more, a house-
holder : and, which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh
as any is in Messina ; and one that knows the law,
go to ; and a rich fellow enough, go to ; and a fel-
low that hath had losses ; and one that hath two
gowns, and every thing handsome about him : —
Bring him away. O, that I had been writ down —
an ass. \^Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I. — Before Leonato's House.
Enter Leonato and Antonio.
Ant. If you go on thus, you will kill yourself;
And 'tis not wisdom, thus to second grief
Against yourself.
Leon. I pray thee, cease thy counsel.
Which falls into mine ears as profitless
As water in a sieve : give not me counsel ;
Nor let no comforter delight mine ear.
But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine.
Bring me a father, that so lov'd his child.
Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine,
And bid him speak of patience ;
Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine.
And let it answer every strain for strain ;
As thus for thus, and such a grief for such.
In every lineament, branch, shape, and form :
If such a one will smile, and stroke his beard :
Cry — sorrow, wag ! and hem, when he should groan;
Patch grief with proverbs, make misfortune drunk
With candle- wasters ; bring him yet to me.
And I of him will gather patience.
But there is no such man : For, brother, men
Can counsel, and speak comfort to that grief
Which they themselves not feel ; but tasting it.
Their counsel turns to passion, which before
Would give preceptial medicine to rage.
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread.
Charm acb with air, and agony with words :
No, no : 'tis all men's office to speak patience
To those that wring under the load of sorrow.
But no man's virtue, nor sufficiency.
To be so moral, when he shall endure
The like himself : therefore give me no counsel :
My griefs cry louder than advertisement. 8
Ant. Therein do men from children nothing difiFer.
Leon. I pray thee, peace : I will be flesh and blood;
For there was never yet philosopher.
That could endure the tooth-ach patiently;
However they have writ the style of gods.
And made a pish at chance and sufferance.
Ant. Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself;
Make those, that do offend you, suffer too.
Leon. There thou speak'st reason : nay, I will
do so :
My soul doth tell me. Hero is belied ;
And that shall Claudio know, so shall the prince,
And all of them, that thus dishonour her.
Enter Don Pedro and Claudio.
Ant. Here comes the prince, and Claudio, hastily.
D. Pedro. Good den, good den.
Claud. Good day to both of you.
Leon. Hear you, my lords, —
D. Pedro. We have some haste, Leonato.
Leon. Some haste, my lord ! — well, fare you well,
my lord : —
Are you so hasty now? — well, all is one.
8 Admonition.
Scene I.
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
125
D. Pedro. Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old
man.
Ant. If he could right himself with quarrelling,
Some of us would lie low.
Claud. Who wrongs him ?
Leon. Marry,
Thou, thou dost wrong me : thou dissembler, thou : —
Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword,
I fear tliee not.
Claud. Marry, beshrew my hand.
If it should give your age such cause of fear :
In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword.
Leon . Tush, tush, man, never fleer and jest at me :
I speak not like a dotard, nor a fool ;
As, under privilege of age, to brag
What I have done being young, or what would do,
Were I not old : Know, Claudio, to thy head.
Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent child and me,
That I am forc'd to lay my reverence by ;
And, with grey hairs, and bruise of many days,
Do challenge thee to trial of a man.
I say, thou hast belied mine innocent child ;
Thy slander hath gone through and through her
heart.
And she lies buried with her ancestors :
O ! in a tomb where never scandal slept,
Save this of hers fram'd by thy villainy !
Claud. My villainy !
Leon. Thine, Claudio ; thine, I say.
D. Pedro. You say not right, old m'an.
Leon. My lord, my lord,
I'll prove it on his body, if he dare ;
Despite his nice fence, and his active practice,
His May of youth, and bloom of lustyhood.
Claud. Away, I will not have to do with you.
Leon. Canst thou so dafF me ? Thou hast kill'd
my child ;
If thou kill'st me, boy, thou shalt kill a man.
Ant. He shall kill two of us, and men indeed :
But that's no matter ; let him kill one first ; —
Win me and wear me, — let him answer me, —
Come, follow me, boy ; come, boy, follow me:
Sir boy, I'll whip you from your foining 9 fence ;
Nay, as I am a gentleman, I will.
Leon. Brother, —
Jnt. Content yourself: God knows, I lov'd my
niece ;
And she is dead, slander'd to death by villains ;
That dare as well answer a man, indeed.
As I dare take a serpent by the tongue :
Boys, apes, braggarts, Jacks, milksops ! —
Leon. Brother Antony, —
Ant. Hold you content ; What, man ! I know
them, yea.
And what they weigh, even to the utmost scruple :
Scambling, out-facing, fashion-mong'ring Iwys,
That lie, and cog, and flout, deprave and slander.
Go antickly, and show outward hideousness.
And speak off half a dozen dangerous words.
How they might hurt their enemies, if they durst,
And this is all.
Leon. But, brother Antony, —
Ant. Come, 'tis no matter ;
Do not you meddle, let me deal in this.
D. Pedro. Gentlemen both, we will not wake
your patience.
IV^y heart is sorry for your daughter's death ;
but, on my honour, she was charg'd with nothing
But what was true, and very full of proof.
9 Thrusting.
Leon. My lord, my lord, —
D. Pedro. I will not hear you.
L^eon. No ?
Brother, away : — I will be hoard ; —
Ant. And shall,
Or some of us will smart for it.
[Exeunt Leonato and Antonio.
Enter Benedick.
D. Pedro. Se^, see ; here comes the man we went
to seek.
Claud. Now, signior ! what news ?
Bene. Good day, my lord.
D. Pedro. Welcome, signior: You are almost
come to part almost a fray.
Claud. We had like to have had our two noses
snapped off with two old men without teeth.
i). Pedro. Leonato and his brother : What
think'st thou ? Had we fought, I doubt we should
have been too young for them.
Bene. In a false quarrel there is no true valour.
I came to seek you both.
Claud. We have been up and down to seek thee ;
for we are high-proof melancholy, and would fain
have it beaten away : Wilt thou use thy wit?
Bene. It is in my scabbard ; shall I draw it ?
D. Pedro. Dost thou wear thy wit by thy side ?
Claud. Never any did so, though very many have
been beside their wit. — I will bid thee draw, as we
do the minstrels ; draw, to pleasure us.
D. Pedro. As I am an honest man, he looks
pale ; — Art thou sick, or angry ?
Claud. What ! courage, man ! What though care
killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill
care.
Bene. Sir, I shall meet your wit in the career,
an you charge it against me : — I pray you, choose
another subject.
Claud. Nay, then give him another staff; this
last was broke cross.
D. Pedro. By this light, he changes more and
more ; I think, he be angry indeed.
Claud. If he be, he knows how to turn his girdle.
Bene. Shall I speak a word in your ear ?
Claud. Heaven bless me from a challenge !
Bene. You are a villain ; — I jest not : — I will
make it good how you dare, with what you dare,
and when you dare : — Do me right, or I will pro-
test your cowardice. You have killed a sweet lady,
and her death shall fall heavy on you : Let me hear
from you.
Claud. Well, I will meet you, so I may have good
cheer.
D. Pedro. What, a feast ? a feast ?
Clmid. I'faith, I tliank him ; he hath bid me to
a calf's head and a capon ; the which if I do not
carve most curiously, say, my knife's naught. —
Shall I not find a woodcock too?
Bene. Sir, your wit ambles well ; it goes easily.
D. Pedro, I'll tell thee how Beatrice praised tJiy
wit the other day : I said, thou hadst a fine wit :
lYue, says she, ajine lUtie one : No, said I, a great
wit s Right, says she, a great gross one : Kay, said I,
a good wit s Just, said she, it hurts nobody : Nay,
said I, the gentleman is wise; Certain, said she, a
wise gentleman : Nay, said I, he hath the tongues ;
That I believe, said she, for he swore a thing to me
on Monday night, which he forswore on Tuesday
morning ; there's a double tongue ; there's two tongues.
Thus did she, an hour together, trans-shape thy par-
126
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
Act V.
ticular virtues ; yet, at last, she concluded with a
sigh, thou wast the properest man in Italy.
Claud. For the which she wept heartily, and said,
she cared not.
D. Pedro. Yea, that she did ; but yet for all that,
an if she did not hate him deadly, she would love
him dearly : the old man's divughter told us all.
Claud. All, all.
D. Pedro. But when shall we set the savage bull's
horns on the sensible Benedick's head ?
Claud. Yea, and text underneath. Here dwells
Benedick the married man ?
liene. Fare you well, boy ; you know my mind ;
I will leave you now to your gossip-like humour :
you break jests as braggarts do their blades, which
hurt not. — My lord, for your many courtesies, I
thank you : I must discontinue your company :
your brother, the bastard, is fled from Messina : you
have, among you, killed a sweet and innocent lady :
For my lord lack-beard, there, he and I shall meet ;
and till then, peace be with him. \^E3nt Benedick.
D. Pedro. He is in earnest.
Claud. In most profound earnest ; and, I'll war-
rant you, for the love of Beatrice.
D. Pedro. And hath challenged thee.
Claud. Most sincerely.
D. Pedro. What a pretty thing man is, when he
goes in his doublet and hose, and leaves off his wit!
Enter Dogberry, Verges, and the Watch, ivith
CoNRADE and Boraohio.
Claud. He is then a giant to an ape : but then is
an ape a doctor to such a man.
D. Pedro. But, soft you, let be ; pluck up, my
heart, and be sad ! i Did he not say, my brother was
fled?
Dogb. Come, you, sir ; if justice cannot tame you,
she shall ne'er weigh more reasons in her balance ;
nay, an you be a cursing hypocrite once, you must
be looked to.
D. Pedro. How now, two of my brother's men
bound ! Borachio, one !
Claud. Hearken after their offence, my lord !
D. Pedro. OflScers, what offence have these men
done?
Dogb. Marry, sir, they have committed false re-
port ; moreover, they have spoken untruths ; se-
condarily, they are slanders ; sixth and lastly, they
have belied a lady ; thirdly, they have verified un-
just things ; and, to conclude, they are lying knaves.
D. Pedro. First, I ask thee what they have done ;
thirdly, I ask thee what's their offence ; sixth and
lastly, why they are committed ; and, to conclude,
what you lay to their charge ?
Claud. Rightly reasoned, and in his own division ;
and, by my troth, there's one meaning well suited.
D. Pedro. Whom liave you offended, masters,
that you are thus bound to your answer ? this learned
constable is too cunning to be understood ; What's
your oflf'ence ?
Bora. Sweet prince, let me go no further to mine
answer ; do you hear me, and let this count kill me.
I have deceived even your very eyes ; what your
wisdoms could not discover, these shallow fools
have brought to light; who, in the night, over-
neard me confessing to this man, how don John
your brother incensed '^ me to slander the lady
Hero : how you were brought into the orchard, and
Seriou*.
2 Incited.
saw me court Margaret in Hero's garment; how
you disgraced her, when you should marry her :
my villainy they have upon record ; which I had
rather seal with my death, than repeat over to my
shame : the lady is dead upon mine and my master's
false accusation ; and, briefly, I desire notliing but
the reward of a villain.
D. Pedro. Runs not this speech like iron through
your blood ?
Claud. I have drunk poison, whiles he utter'd it.
D. Pedro. But did my brother set thee on to this ?
Bora. Yea, and paid me richly for the practice
of it.
D. Pedro. He is compos'd and fram'd of trea-
chery : —
And fled he is upon this villainy.
Claud. Sweet Hero ! now thy image doth appear
In the rare semblance tliat I loved it first.
Dogb. Come, bring away the plaintiffs ; by this
time our sexton hath reformed signior Leonato of
the matter : And, masters, do not forget to specify,
when time and place shall serve, that I am an ass.
Verg. Here, here comes master signior Leonato,
and the sexton too.
Re-enter Leonato and Antonio, vnth the Sexton.
Leon. Which is the villain ? Let me see his eyes;
That when I note another man like him,
I may avoid him : Which of these is he ?
Bora. If you would know your wronger, look
on me.
Leon. Art thou the slave, that with thy breath
hast kill'd
Mine innocent child ?
Bora. Yea, even I alone.
Leon. No, not so, villain; thou bely'st thyself;
Here stand a pair of honourable men.
A third is fled, that had a hand in it : —
I thank you, princes, for my daughter's death ;
Record it with your high and worthy deeds ;
'Twas bravely done, if you bethink you of it.
Claud. I know not how to pray your patience.
Yet I must speak : Choose your revenge yourself;
Impose me to what penance your invention
Can lay upon my sin : yet sinn'd I not,
But in mistaking.
D. Pedro. By my soul, nor I ;
And yet, to satisfy this good old man,
I would bend under any heavy weight
That he'll enjoin me to.
Leon. I cannot bid you bid my daughter live.
That were impossible : but, I pray you both.
Possess 3 the people in Messina here
How innocent she died : and, if your love
Can labour aught in sad invention,
Hang her an epitaph upon her tomb.
And sing it to her bones ; sing it to-night : —
To-morrow morning come you to my house ;
And since you could not be my son-in-law.
Be yet my nephew : my brother hath a daughter.
Almost the copy of my child that's dead,
And she alone is heir to both of us ;
Give her the right you should have given her cousin.
And so dies my revenge.
Claud. O, noble sir,
Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me !
I do embrace your offer ; and dispose
For henceforth of poor Claudio.
3 Acquaint
Scene II.
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
127
Leon. To-morrow tlaen I will expect your coming;
To-niglit I take my leave. — Tliis naughty man
Shall face to face be brought to Margaret,
Who, I believe, was pack'd ^ in all this wrong,
Hir'd to it by your brother.
Bora. No, by my soul, she was not ;
Nor knew not what she did, when she spoke to me ;
But always hath been just and virtuous.
In any thing that I do know by her.
Dogb. Moreover, sir, (which, indeed, is not under
white and black,) tliis plaintiff here, the offender,
did call me ass : I beseech you, let it be remembered
in his punishment : And also the watch heard them
talk of one Deformed : tliey say, he wears a key in
his ear, and a lock hanging by it; and borrows mo-
ney ; the which he hath used so long, and never
paid, that now men grow hard-hearted, and will
lend nothing : Pray you, examine him upon that
point.
Leon. I thank thee for thy care and honest pains.
Dogb. Your worship speaks like a most thankful
and reverend youth.
Leon. There's for thy pains. Go, I discharge
thee of thy prisoner, and I thank thee.
Dogb. I leave an arrant knave with your worship ;
which, I beseech your worship, to correct yourself,
for the example of others. I wish your worship
well : I humbly give you leave to depart. — Come,
neighbour. [Exeu7it Dogberry, Verges, a«rf Watch,
Leon. Until to morrow-morning, lords, farewell.
Ant. Farewell, my lords ; we look for you to-
morrow.
D. Pedro. We will not fail.
Claud. To-night I'll mourn with Hero.
[Exeunt Don Pedro ayid Claudio.
Leon. Bring you these fellows on ; we'll talk witli
Margaret,
How her acquaintance grew with this lewd* fellow.
{Exeunt.
SCENE II. — Leonato's Garden.
Enter Benedick and Margaret, meeting.
Bene. Pray thee, sweet mistress Margaret, de-
serve well at my liands, by helping me to the speech
of Beatrice.
Marg. Will you then write me a sonnet in praise
of my beauty ?
Bene. In so high a style, Margaret, that no man
living shall come over it ; for in most comely truth,
thou deservest it.
Marg. Well, I will call Beatrice to you.
^ Exit Margaret.
Bene. [Sin^ng."]
The god of love i
That sits above,
And knows me, and knows me.
How pitiful I deserve, —
I mean, in singing : but in loving. — Leander the
good swimmer, Troilus the first employer of pan-
dars, and a whole book full of these quondam car-
pet mongers, whose names yet run smoothly in the
even road of a blank verse, why, they were never so
truly turned over and over as my poor self, in love :
Marry, I cannot show it in rhyme ; I have tried ; I
can find out no rhyme to ladt/ but babi/, an innocent
rhyme ; for scorn, horn, a hard rhyme ; for school,
fihtL, a babbling rhyme ; very ominous endings :
No, I was not l>om under a rhyming planet, nor I
cannot woo in festival terms.
« Combined. » Wicked.
Enter Beatrice.
Sweet Beatrice, wouldst thou come when I called
thee ?
Beat. Yea, signior, and depart when you bid me.
Bene. O, stay but till then !
Beat. Then, is spoken ; fare you well now : —
and yet, ere I go, let me go with that I came for,
which is, with knowing what hath passed between
you and Claudio.
Bene. Only foul words ; and thereupon I will
kiss thee.
Beat. Foul words are but foul breath, and foid
breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkissed.
Bene. Thou hast frighted the word out of his
right sense, so forcible is thy wit : But I must tell
thee plainly, Claudio undergoes my challenge ;
and either I must shortly hear from him, or I will
subscribe him a coward. And, I pray thee now,
tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first
fall in love with me ?
Beat. For them altogether ; which maintained so
politick a state of evil, that they will not admit any
good part to intermingle with them. But for which
of my good parts did you first suffer love for me ?
Bene. Su^er love ; a good epithet ! I do suffer
love, indeed, for I love thee against my will.
Beat. In spite of your heart, I think ; alas ! poor
heart ! If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for
yours ; for I will never love that which my friend
hates.
Bene. Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.
Beat. It appears not in this confession : there's
not one wise man among twenty that will praise
himself.
Bene. An old, an old instance, Beatrice, that
lived in the time of good neighbours : if a man do
not erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he
shall live no longer in monument than the bell rings,
and the widow weeps.
Beat. And how long is that, think you?
Bene. Question ? — Why, an hour in clamour,
and a quarter in rheum : Therefore it is most ex-
pedient for the wise, (if don Worm his conscience
find no impediment to the contrary,) to be the
trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself : So
much for praising myself, (who, I myself will bear
witness, is praise -worthy,) and now tell me. How
doth your cousin ?
Beat. Very ill.
Bene. And how do you ?
Beat. Very ill too.
Bene. Serve God, love me, and mend : there
will 1 leave you too, for here comes one in haste.
Enter Ursula.
Urs. Madam, you must come to your uncle ;
yonder's old coil ^ at home : it is proved, my lady
Hero hath been falsely accused, the prince and
Claudio mightily abused ; and don John is tlie
author of all, who is fled and gone : will you come
presently ?
Beat. Will you go hear this news, signior?
Bene. I will live in thy heart, be buried in thy
eyes, and will go with thee to thy uncle's. [Exeunt.
SCENE III Tlu: Inside of a Church.
Enter Don Pedro, Claudio, and Attendants, with
viusick ami tapers.
Claud. Is this the monument of Leonato ?
6 Stir.
128
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
Act V
yltlen. It is, my lord.
Claud. [Heads from a scroll]
Done to death by slanderous tongues,
Was the Hero that here lies :
Death in guerdon "^ of her wrongs.
Gives her fame which never dies :
So the life, that died with shame,
'Lives in death with glonous fame.
Hang thou there upon the tomb, [Affixing it.
Praising her when I am dumb. —
Now, musick, sound, and sing your solemn hymn.
SONG.
Pardon, goddess cf the night,
Those that slew thy virgin knight.
For the tvhich, with so7igs of woe.
Round about her tomb they go.
Midnight, assist our moan ;
Help us to sigh and groan,
Heavily, heavily:
Graves yawn, and yield your dead,
Till death be uttered,
Heavily, heavily.
Claud. Now, unto thy bones good night !
Yearly will I do this rite.
D. Pedro. Good morrow, masters; put your
torches out :
The wolves have prey'd ; and look, the gentle day,
Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about
Dapples the drowsy east with spots of grey :
Thanks to you all, and leave us ; fare you well.
Claud. Good morrow, masters; each his several
way;
D. Pedro. Come, let us hence, and put on other
weeds ;
And then to Leonato's we will go.
Claud. And, Hymen, now with luckier issue
speeds,
Than this, for whom we render'd up this woe !
\_Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — A Room in Leonato's House.
Enter Leonato, Antonio, Benedick, Beatrice,
Ursula, Friar, and Hero.
Friar. Did I not tell you she was innocent ?
Leon. So are the prince and Claudio, who ac-
cus'd her,
Upon the error that you heard debated :
But Margaret was in some fault for this ;
Although against her will, as it appears
In the true course of all the question.
Ant. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well.
Bene. And so am I, being else by faith enforc'd
To call young Claudio to a reckoning for it.
Leon. Well, daughter, and you gentlewomen all.
Withdraw into a chamber by yourselves ;
And, when I send for you, come hither mask'd :
The prince and Claudio promis'd by this hour
To visit me : — You know your office, brother ;
You must be father to your brother's daughter.
And give her to young Claudio. [Fxeunt Ladies.
Ant. Which I will do with confirm'd countenance.
Rene. Friar, I must entreat your pains, I think.
Friar. To do what, signior?
Bene. To bind me, or undo me, one of them. —
Signior Leonato, trutli it is good signior.
Your niece regards me with an eye of favour.
7 Reward.
Leon. That eye my daughter lent her : 'Tis most
true,
Rene. And I do with an eye of love requite her.
Leon. The sight whereof, I think, you had from
me,
From Claudio and the prince ; But what's your will?
Bene. Your answer, sir, is enigmatical :
But, for my will, my will is, your good will
May stand with ours, this day to be conjoin'd
In the estate of honourable marriage ; —
In which, good friar, I shall desire your help.
Leon. My heart is with your liking.
Friar. And my help.
Here comes the prince, and Claudio.
Fntet Don Pedro and Claudio, tuith Attendants.
D. Pedro. Good morrow to this fair assembly.
Leon. Good morrow, prince: good morrow,
Claudio ;
We here attend you ; are you yet determin'd
To-day to marry with my brother's daughter ?
Claud. I'll hold my mind, were she an Ethiope.
Leon. Call her forth, brother, here's the friar
ready. [Exit Antonio.
Z). Pedro. Good morrow. Benedick : Why, what's
the matter.
That you have such a February face,
So full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness?
Claud. I think, he thinks upon the savage bull : —
Tush, fear not, man, we'll tip thy horns with gold.
Re-enter Antonio, with the Ladies masked.
For this I owe you : here come other reckonings.
Which is the lady I must seize upon ?
Ant. This same is she, and I do give you her.
Claud. Why, then she's mine : Sweet, let me see
your face.
Leon. No, that you shall not, till you take her
hand,
Before this friar, and swear to marry her.
Claud. Give me your hand before this holy friar;
I am your husband, if you like of me.
Hero. And when I lived, I was your other wife :
[ Unmasking.
And when you loved, you were my other husband.
Claud. Another Hero?
Hero. Nothing certainer :
One Hero died defam'd ; but I do live.
And, surely as I live, I am a maid.
D. Pedro. The former Hero ! Hero that is dead.
Leon. She died, my lord, but whiles her slander
lived.
Friar. All this amazement can I qualify ;
WTien, after that the holy rites are ended,
I'll tell you largely of fair Hero's death :
Mean time, let wonder seem familiar,
And to the chapel let us presently.
Rene. Soft and fair, friar. — WTiich is Beatrice ?
Beat. I answer to that name; [U7imasking.}
What is your will ?
Bene. Do not you love me ?
j]eat. Noj no more than reason.
Bene. Why, then your uncle, and the prince,
and Claudio,
Have been deceived ; for they swore you did.
Beat. Do you not love me ?
jjene. No, no niore than reason.
Beat. Why, then my cousin, Margaret, and Ursula,
Are much deceiv'd; for they did swear you did.
Scene IV.
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.
129
Bene. They swore that you were almost sick for me.
Beat. They swore that you were well-nigh dead
for me.
Bene. 'Tis no such matter : — Then you do not
love me ?
Beat. No, truly, but in friendly recompense.
Leon. Come, cousin, I am sure you love the
gentleman.
Claud. And I'll be sworn upon't, that he loves her;
For here's a paper, written in his hand,
A halting sonnet of his own pure brain,
Fashion'd to Beatrice.
Hero. And here's another.
Writ in my cousin's hand, stolen from her pocket.
Containing her affection unto Benedick.
Bene. A miracle ! here's our own hands against
our hearts ! — Come, I will have thee ; but, by this
light, I take thee for pity.
Beat. I would not deny you ; but, by this good
day, I yield upon great persuasion ; and, partly to
save your life j for I was told you were in a con-
sumption.
Bene. Peace, I will stop your mouth. —
[ITissing her.
D. Pedro. How dost thou. Benedick the married
man?
Bene. I'll tell thee what, prince ; a college of wit-
crackers cannot flout me out of my humour : Dost
thou think, I care for a satire, or an epigram ? No :
If a man will be beaten with brains, he shall wear
notliing handsome about him : In brief, since I do
propose to marry, I will think nothing to any pur-
pose that the world can say against it ; and therefore
never flout at me for what I have said against it ;
for man is a giddy thing, and this is my conclusion. —
For thy part, Claudio, I did think to have beaten
thee ; but in tliat^ thou art like to be my kinsman,
live unbruised, and love my cousin.
Claud. I had well hoped, thou wouldst have
denied Beatrice, that I might have cudgelled thee
out of thy single life, to make thee a double dealer ;
which, out of question, thou wilt be, if my cousin
do not look exceeding narrowly to thee.
Bene. Come, come, we are friends : — let's have
a dance, ere we are married, that we might lighten
om* own hearts and our wives' heels.
Leon. We'll have dancing afterwards.
Bene. First, o'my word ; therefore, play, musick.
— Prince, thou art sad ; get thee a wife, get thee a
wife : there is no staff more reverend than one
tipped with horn.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My lord, your brother John is ta'en in
flight,
And brought with armed men back to Messina.
Bene. Think not on liim till to-morrow ; I'll
devise thee brave punishments for him. — Strike up,
pipers. [Ifance.^Exeunt,
B Because.
^
c
y
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
m love with Hermia.
Theseus, Duke of Athens.
Egeus, Father la Hermia.
Lysander, 1
Demetrius, J
Philostrate, Master of the Revels to Theseus,
QriNCE, the Carpenter.
Snug, the Joiner.
Bottom, the Weaver.
Flute, the liellows-menfler.
Snout, the Tinker.
Starveling, the Tailor.
Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, betrothed to
Theseus.
Hermia, Daughter to Egeus, in love with Lysander.
Helena, in love ivith Demetrius.
- Fairies.
Oberok, King of the Fairies.
Titania, Queen oftlie Fairies.
Puck, or Robin-goodfellow, a Fairy.
Peas-blossom,
Cobweb,
Moth,
Mustard-seed,
Pyramus,
Thisbe,
WaU,
Moonshiney
Lio?i,
Characters in tlie Interlude per-
formed by the Clowns.
Other Fairies attending their King and Queen.
Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta.
SCENE, Athens ; and a Wood not far from it.
HENCE, AWAY I
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM,
ACT I.
SCENE I Athens. A Room in the Palace (f
Theseus.
Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, and
Attendants.
Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour
Draws on apace ; four happy days bring in
Another moon : but, oh, methinks, how slow
This old moon wanes ! she lingers my desires,
Like to a step-dame, or a dowager,
Long withering out a young man's revenue.
Hip. Four days will quickly steep themselves in
nights ;
Four nights will quickly dream away the time ;
And then the moon, like to a silver bow
New bent in heaven, shall behold the night
Of our solemnities.
The. Go, Philostrate,
Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments :
Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth;
Turn melancholy forth to funerals,
The pale companion is not for our pomp.
\^Evit Philostrate.
Hippolyta, I woo'd thee with my sword.
And won thy love, doing thee injuries ;
But I will wed thee in another key,
With pomp, with triumjih find with revelling.
Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lvsander, o/irf Demetriuj,.
Ege. Happy be Theseus, our renowned duke !
IVie. Thanks, good Egeus : What's the news with
thee?
E<:^e. Full of vexation come I, with complaint
Against my child, my daughter Hermia. —
Stand forth, Demetrius ; — My noble lord,
This man hath my consent to marry her : —
Stand forth, Lysander ; — and, my gracious duke,
This hath betwich'd the bosom of my child :
Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes,
And interchang'd love-tokens with my child :
Thou hast by moon-light at her window sung,
With feigning voice, verses of feigning love ;
And stol'n the impression of her fantasy
With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gauds, conceits,
Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweet-meats ; messengers
Of strong prevailment in unharden'd youth :
With cunning hast thou filch'd my daughter's heart ;
Turn'd her obedience, which is due to me.
To stubborn harshness : — And, my gracious duke,
Be it so she will not here before your grace
Consent to marry with Demetrius,
I beg the ancient privilege of Athens ;
As she is mine, I may dispose of her :
Which shall be cither to this gentleman,
Act I. Scene I.
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.
131
Or to her death ; according to our law,
Iramediatoly provided in that case.
The. What say you, Ilermia? be advis'd, fair maid :
To you your father should be as a god ;
One that compos'd your beauties ; yea, and one
To whom you are but as a form in wax,
By him imprinted, and within liis power
To leave the figure, or disfigure it.
Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.
Her. So is Ly sunder.
The. In himself he is :
But, in this kind, wanting your father's voice,
The other must be held the worthier.
Her. I would, my father look'd but with my eyes.
The. Rather your eyes must with his judgment
' look.
Her. I do entreat your grace to pardon me.
I know not by what power I am made bold ;
Nor how it may concern my modesty.
In such a presence here, to plead my thoughts :
But I beseech your grace that I may know
The worst that may befal me in tliis case,
If I refuse to wed Demetrius.
The. Either to die the death, or to abjure
For ever the society of men.
Therefore, fair Ilennia, question your desires,
Whether, if you yield not to your father's choice,
You can endure the livery of a nun ;
For aye to be in shady cloister mew'd,
To live a barren sister all your life,
Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon.
Thrice blessed tliey, tliat master so their blood,
To undergo such maiden pilgrimage :
But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd.
Than that, which, withering on the virgin thorn,
Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness.
Her. So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord.
Ere I will yield my virgin patent up
Unto his lordship, whose unwished yoke
My soul consents not to give sovereignty.
The. Take time to pause ; and, by the next new
moon,
( The sealing-day betwixt my love and me,
For everlasting bond of fellowship,)
Upon that day either prepare to die.
For disobedience to your father's will ;
Or else, to wed Demetrius, as he would :
Or on Diana's altar to protest,
For aye, austerity and single life.
Dem. Relent, sweet Hermia ; — And, Lysander,
yield
Thy crazed title to my certain right.
Li/s. You have Iier father's love, Demetrius :
Let me have Hermia's : do you marry him.
Ege. Scornful Lysander ! true, he hath my love ;
And what is mine my love shall render him :
And she is mine ; and all my right of her
I do estate unto Demetrius.
Lt/s. I am, my lord, as well deriv'd as he.
As well possess'd ; my love is more than his ;
My fortunes every way as fairly rank'd.
If not with vantage, as Demetrius' ;
And, which is more than all these boasts can be,
I am belov'd of beauteous Hermia :
Why should not I then prosecute my right ?
Dfmetrius, I'll avouch it to his head.
Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena,
And won her soul ; and she, sweet lady, dotes
Upon this spotted ' and inconstant man.
» Wicked
The. I must confess, that I have heard so much»
And with Demetrius thought to have spoke tliereof >
But, being over-full of self-affairs.
My mind did lose it. — But, Demetrius, come ;
And come, Egeus ; you shall go witli me ;
I have some private schooling for you both. —
For you, fair Hermia, look you arm yourself
To fit your fancies to your father's will ;
Or else the law of Athens yields you up
( Wliicii by no means we may extenuate,)
To death, or to a vow of single life. —
Come, my Hippolyta ; What cheer, my love ? —
Demetrius, and Egeus, go along :
I must employ you in some business
Against our nuptial ; and confer with you
Of something nearly that concerns yourselves.
Ege. With duty, and desire, we follow you.
[Exeunt Thes. PIip. Ege. Dem. and train.
Eys. How now, my love? Why is your cheek so pale?
How chance the roses there do fade so fast?
Her. Belike, for want of rain ; which I could well
Beteem ^ them from the tempest of mine eyes.
Lys. Ah me ! for aught that ever I could read,
Could ever hear by tale or history.
The course of true love never did run smooth -.
But, either it was different in blood ;
Or else misgrafl^ed, in respect of years ;
Or else it stood upon the choice of friends :
Or, if there were a sympathy in choice.
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it ;
Making it momentany 5* as a sound.
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream ;
Brief as the lightning in the coUied * night,
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth.
And ere a man hath power to say, — Behold !
The jaws of darkness do devour it up :
So quick bright tilings come to confusion.
Her. If then true lovers have been ever cross'd,
It stands as an edict in destiny :
Then let us teach our trial patience.
Because it is a customary cross ;
As due to love, as thoughts, and dreams, and sigjis,
Wishes, and tears, poor fancy's = followers.
Lys. A good persuasion ; therefore, hear me,
Hennia.
I have a widow aunt, a dowager
Of great revenue, and she hath no child :
From Athens is her house remote seven leagues ;
And she respects me as her only son.
There, gentle Hermia, may I marry thee ;
And to that place the sharp Athenian law
Cannot pursue us ; If thou lov'st me then.
Steal forth thy father's house to-morrow night ;
And in the wood, a league without the town,
Where I did meet thee once with Helena,
To do observance to a morn of May,
There will I stay for thee.
Her. My good Lysander !
I swear to thee by Cupid's strongest bow ;
By his best arrow with the golden head ;
By the simplicity of Venus' doves ;
By that which knitteth souls, and prospers loves ;
And by that fire which bum'd the Carthage queen,
When the false Trojan under sail was seen ;
By all the vows that ever men have broke,
In number more than ever women spoke ; —
In that same place thou hast appointed me,
To-morrow truly will I meet with thee.
2 Give, bestow.
4 Black.
' Momentary.
* Love'i.
132
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT S. DREAM.
Act I. ScENK II.
Lys. Keep promise, love : Look, here comes
Helena.
Enter Helena.
Her. God speed fair Helena ! Wliither away ?
Hel. Call you me fair ? that fiiir again unsay.
Demetrius loves you fair ; O happy fair !
Your eyes are lode-stars '5; and your tongue's sweet air
More tuneable than lark to shepherd'^ ear,
When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear.
Sickness is catching ; O, were favour 7 so !
Yours woukl I catch, fair Hennia, ere I go ;
My ear should catch your voice, my eye your eye,
My tongue should catch your tongue's sweet melody.
Were the world mine, Demetrius being bated.
The rest I'll give to be to you translated.
O, teach me how you look ; and with what art
You sway the motion of Demetrius' heart.
Her. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.
Hel. O, that your frowns would teach my smiles
such skill !
Her. The more I hate, the more he follows me.
Hel. The more I love, the more he hateth me.
Her. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine.
Hel. None, but your beauty j 'Would that fault
were mine !
Her. Take comfort ; he no more shall see my face,
Lysander and myself will fly this place. —
Lys. Helen, to you our minds we will unfold :
To-morrow night when Phoebe doth behold
Her silver visage in the wat'ry glass,
Decking with liquid pearl the bladed grass,
(A time that lovers' flights doth still conceal,)
Through Athens' gates have we devis'd to steal.
Her. And in the wood, where often you and I
Upon faint primrose-beds were wont to lie.
Emptying our bosoms of their counsel sweet ;
There my Lysander and myself shall meet :
And thence, from Athens, turn away our eyes.
To seek new friends and stranger companies.
Farewell, sweet play-fellow ; pray thou for us.
And good luck grant thee thy Demetrius !
Keep word, Lysander : we must starve our sight
From lovers' food, till morrow deep midnight.
[Exit Herm.
hys. I will, my Hermia. — Helena, adieu :
As you on him, Demetrius dote on you ! \_Ex^ Lys.
Hel. How happy some, o'er other some can be !
Through Athens I am thought as fair as she.
But what of that ? Demetrius thinks not so ;
He will not know what all but he do know.
And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes,
So I, admiring of his qualities.
Things base and vile, holding no quantity.
Love can transpose to form and dignity.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind ;
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste ;
Wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste :
And therefore is love said to be a child.
Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd.
As waggish boys in game 8 themselves forswear.
So the boy love is perjur'd every where :
For ere Demetrius look'd on Hermia's eyne 9,
He hail'd down oaths, that he was only mine ;
I will go tell him of fair Hermia's flight;
Then to the wood will he, to-morrow night.
Pursue her ; and for this intelligence
If I have thanks, it is a dear expence :
^ Polo stars. y Countenance.
** Sport. 9 Eyes.
But herein mean I to enrich my pain.
To have his sight thither, and back again, \ExM,
SCENE II r/ic same. A Room in a Cottage.
Enter Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, Quince, and
Starveling.
Qnin. Is all our company here ?
JSot. You were best to call them generally, man
by man, according to the scrip.
Quin. Here is the scroll of every man's name,
which is thought fit, through all Athens, to play in
our interlude before the duke and duchess, on his
wedding-day at night.
Bol. First, good Peter Quince, say what the
play treats on ; then read the names of the actors ;
and so grow to a point.
Quin. Marry, our play is — The most lamentable
comedy, and most cruel death of Pyramus and
Thisby.
Bot. A very good piece of work, I assure you,
and a merry. — Now, good Peter Quince, call forth
your actors by the scroll : Masters, spread yourselves.
Quin. Answer, as I call you. — Nick Bottom,
the weaver.
Bot. Ready : Name what part I am for, and
proceed.
Quin. You, Nick Bottom,are set down for Pyramus.
Bot. What is Pyramus ? a lover, or a tyrant.
Quin. A lover, that kills himself most gallantly
for love.
Bot. That will ask some tears in the true per-
forming of it : If 1 do it, let the audience look to
their eyes ; I will move storms, I will condole in
some measure. To the rest : — Yet my chief hu-
mour is for a tyrant : I could play Ercles rarely,
or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split.
" The raging rocks,
" With shivering shocks,
" Shall break the locks
" Of prison gates :
** And Phibbus' car
« Shall shine from far,
" And make and mar
" The foolish fates."
This was lofty ! — Now name the rest of the players.
— This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein ; a lover is
more condoling.
Quin. Francis Flute, the bellows-mender.
Elu. Here, Peter Quince.
Quin. You must take Thisby on you.
Fhi. What is Thisby? a wandering knight?
Quin. It is the lady that Pyramus must love.
Flu. Nay, faith, let me not play a woman ; I
have a beard coming. ■ ■
Quin. That's all one; you shall play it in a mask,B I
and you may speak as small as you will. * "
Bot. An I may hide my face, let me play, Thisby
too : I'll speak in a monstrous little voice ; — Thisne,
Thime, — Ah, Pyramus, my lover dear; thy Thishy
dear : and lady dear !
Quin. No, no: you must play Pyramus, and,
Flute, you Thisby.
Bot. Well, proceed. ^_
Quin. Robin Starveling, the tailor. ^|
Starv. Here, Peter Quince. ^^
Quin. Robin Starveling, you must play Tliisby's
mother. — Tom Snout, the tinker.
Snout. Here, Peter Quince.
I
Act II. Scene I.
MIDSUMJVIEIl-NIGHT'S DREAM.
133
Quin. You, Pyramus's father ; myself Thisby's
father ; — Snug, the joiner, you, the lion's part : —
and, I hope, here is a play fitted.
Snug. Have you tlie lion's part written? pray
you, if it be, give it me, for I am slow of study.
Quin. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing
but roaring.
Bot. Let me play the lion too : I will roar, that
I will do any man's heart good to hear me ; I will
roar, tliat I will make the duke say, Let him roar
again. Let him roar again.
Quin. An you should do it too terribly, you would
fright the duchess and the ladies, timt they would
shriek : and that were enough to hang us all.
All. Tliat would hang us every mother's son.
Bot. I grant you, friends, if that you should
fright the ladies out of their wits, they would have
no more discretion but to hang us : but I will ag-
gravate my voice so, tliat I will roar you as gently
as any sucking dove; I will roar you an ' 'twere
any nightingale.
Quin. You can play no part but Pyramus ; for
Pyramus is a sweet-faced man ; a proper man, as
one shall see in a summer's day : a most lovely,
gentleman-like man ; therefore you must needs
play Pyramus.
Bot. Well, I will undertake it. What beard were
I best to play it in ?
Quin. Why, what you will.
Bot. I will discharge it in either your straw-
coloured beard, your orange-tawny beard, your
purple-in-grain beard, or your perfect yellow.
Quin. Masters, here are your parts : and I am
to entreat you, request you, and desire you, to con
them by to-morrow night ; and meet me in the
palace wood, a mile without the town, by moon-
light ; there will we reliearse : for if we meet in
the city, we shall be dog'd with company, and our
devices known. In the mean time, I will draw a
bill of properties 6, such as our play wants. I pray
you, fail me not.
Bot. We will meet ; and there we may reliearse
courageously. Take pains ; be perfect ; adieu.
Quill. At the duke's oak we meet.
Bot. Enough : Hold, or tut bow-strings. 7
[Lxcunt.
ACT 11.
SCENE I. —yi fVood near Athens.
Enter a Fairy at 07ie door, and Puck at another.
Puck: How now, spirit ! whither wander you ?
Fai. Over hill, over dale.
Thorough bush, thorough briar,
Over park, over pale.
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander every where.
Swifter than the moones sphere ;
And I serve the fairy queen.
To dew her orbs 2 upon the green :
The cowslips tall her pensioners be j
In their gold coats spots you see ;
Those be rubies, fairy favours,
In those freckles live their savours :
I must go seek some dew-drops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
Farewell, thou lob 3 of spirits, I'll be gone ;
Our queen and all her elves come here anon.
Puck. The king doth keep his revels here to-night;
Take heed, the queen come not within his sight,
For Oberon is passing fell and wrath,
Because tliat she, as her attendant, hath
A lovely boy, stol'n from an Indian king;
She never had so sweet a changeling :
And jealous Oberon would have the child
Knight of Ills train, to trace the forests wild :
But she, perforce, withholds the loved lioy.
Crowns him with flowers, and makes hira all her joy :
And now they never meet in grove, or green.
By fountain clear, or spangled star-light sheen ♦,
But they do square '•> ; that all their elves, for fear,
Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there.
Fai. Eitlier 1 mistake your shape and making quite,
Or else you arc that shrewd and knavish sprite,
Call'd Robin Gootlfellpw : are you not he.
That fright the maidens of the villagery ;
> At if.
^ tihining.
« Circle*.
* Quarrfl.
3 A term of coDtenipt
Skim milk ; and sometimes labour in the quern 8,
And bootless make the breathless housewife churn ;
And sometimes make the drink to bear no barm ^ ;
Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm ?
Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck,
You do their work, and tliey shall have good luck :
Are not you he ?
Puck. Thou speak 'st aright ;
I am that merry wanderer of the night.
I jest to Oberon, and make him smile,
When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile.
Neighing in likeness of a silly foal :
And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl,
In very likeness of a roasted crab ' ;
And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob.
And on her wither'd dew-lap pour the ale.
The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale.
Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me ;
Then slip I from her, and down topples she.
And tailor cries, and falls into a cough ;
And then the whole quire hold their hips, and loffe ;
And waxen in their mirth, and neeze, and swear
A merrier hour was never wasted there. —
But room. Fairy, here comes Oberon.
Fai. And here my mistress : — 'Would that he
were gone !
SCENE II.
Enter Oberon, at one door, tciih his train, and
TiTANiA, at another, with hers.
Ohe. Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania.
Pita. What, jealous Oberon ? Fairj-, skip hence ;
I have forsworn his bed and company,
Obe. Tarry, rash wanton: Am not I thy lord?
7't/a. Then I must be thy lady : But I know
W hen thou hast stol'n away from fairy land.
And in the shape of Corin sat all day,
« Articles required in performing a plav.
7 At all events. •* Mill.
9 Ycait Wild aiTi)le.
K :}
134
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.
Act II.
Playing on pipes of corn, and versing love
To amorous Phillida. Why art thou here,
Come from the farthest steep of India ?
But that, forsooth, the bouncing Amazon,
Your buskin'd mistress, and your warrior love,
To Theseus must be wedded ; and you come
To give tlieir bed joy and prosperity.
Obe. How cansf diou thus, for shame, Titania,
Glance at my credit with Hippolyta,
Knowing I know thy love to Theseus ?
Didst thou not lead him through the glimmering
night.
And make him with fair ^gle break his faith,
With Ariadne, and Antiopa ?
Tita. These are the forgeries of jealousy :
And never since the middle summer's spring,
Met we on hill, in dale, forest, or mead,
By paved fountain, or by rushy brook,
Or on the beached margent of the sea.
To dance our ringlets to the whistling wind,
But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport.
ITierefore the winds, piping to us in vain.
As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea
Contagious fogs ; which falling in the land.
Have every pelting '2 river made so proud.
That they have overborne their continents 3 :
The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain.
The ploughman lost his sweat ; and the green corn
Hath rotted ere his youth attain'd a beard :
The fold stands empty in the drowned field.
And crows are fatted with the murrain flock ;
Tlie nine men's morris "* is fill'd up with mud ;
And the quaint mazes in the wanton green.
For lack of tread, are undistinguishable :
The human mortals want their winter here ;
No night is now with hymn or carol blest : —
Therefore the moon, the governess of floods,
Pale in her anger, washes all the air,
That rhcumatick diseases do abound :
And thorough this distemperature, we see
The seasons alter : hoary-headed frosts
Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose ;
And on old Hyem's chin, and icy crown.
An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds
Is, as in mockery, set : The spring, the summer,
The childing ^ autumn, angry winter, change
Their wonted liveries ; and the 'mazed world,
By their increase, now knows not which is which :
And this same progeny of evils comes
From our debate, from our dissension ;
We are their parents and original.
Obe. Do you amend it then ; it lies in you :
Why should Titania cross her Oberon ?
I do but beg a little changeling boy,
To be my henchman. 6
Tita. Set your heart at rest,
The fairy land buys not the child of me.
His mother was a vot'ress of my order :
And, in the spiced Indian air, by night,
Full often hath she gossip'd by my side ;
And sat with me on Neptune's yellow sands.
Marking the embarked traders on the flood ;
But she, being mortal, of that boy did die ;
And, for her sake, I do rear up her boy ;
And, for her sake, I will not part with him.
Obe. How long within this wood intend you stay ?
Tita. Perchance, till after Theseus' wedding-day.
2 Petty. 3 Banks which contain them.
•* Holes made for a game played by boys.
' Autumn producing flowers unseasonably. ^ Page.
If you will patiently dance in our round.
And see our moonlight revels, go with us ;
If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts.
Obe. Give me that boy, and I will go with thee.
Tita. Not for thy kingdom. — Faries, away :
We shall chide downright, if I longer stay.
[Exeiint Titania, and her traitu
Obe. Well, go thy way : thou shalt not from this
grove,
Till I torment thee for tliis injury. —
My gentle Puck, come hither : Thou remember'st
Since once I sat upon a promontory.
And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back,
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath,
That the rude sea grew civil at her song ;
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres,
To hear the sea-maid's musick.
Puck. 1 remember.
Obe. That very time I saw, but thou could'st not.
Flying between the cold moon and the earth,
Cupid all arm'd : A certain aim he took
At a fair vestal, throned by the west ;
And loos'd his love-shaft smartly from his bow,
As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts :
But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft
Quench'd in the chaste beams of the wat'ry moon ;
And the imperial vot'ress passed on.
In maiden meditation, fancy-free.
Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell :
It fell upon a little western flower, —
Before, milk-white ; now pu rple with love's wound —
And maidens call it love-in-idleness.
Fetch me that flower ; the herb I show'd thee once ;
The juice of it on sleeping eye-lids laid.
Will make or man or woman madly dote
Upon the next live creature that it sees.
Fetch me this herb : and be thou here again,
Ere the Leviathan can swim a league.
Puck. I'll put a girdle round about the earth
In forty minutes. {Exit Puck.
Obe. Having once this juice,
I'll watch Titania when she is asleep.
And drop the liquor of it in her eyes :
The next thing then she waking looks upon,
(Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull.
On meddling monkey, or on busy ape,) "
She shall pursue it with the soul of love.
And ere I take this charm off from her sight,
(As I can take it with another herb,)
I'll make her render up her page to me.
But who comes here ? I am invisible ;
And I will over-hear their conference.
Enter Demetrius, He-l^-s a following him.
Bern. I love thee not, therefore pursue me not.
Where is Lysander, and fair Hermia?
The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me.
Thou told'st me they were stolen into this wood.
And here am I, and wood 7 within this wood.
Because I cannot meet with Hermia.
Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more.
Hel. You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant ;
But yet you draw not iron, for my heart
Is true as steel : Leave you your power to draw.
And I shall have no power to follow you.
Dem- Do I entice you ? Do I speak you fair?
Or rather, do I not in plainest truth
Tell you — I do not, nor I cannot love you ?
" Raving mad.
1
Scene II.
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.
135
Hel. And even for that do I love you the more.
I am your spaniel ; and, Demetrius,
The more you beat me, I will fawn on you :
Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me,
Neglect me, lose me ; only give me leave.
Unworthy as I am, to follow you.
What worser place can I beg in your love,
(And yet a place of high respect with me,)
Than to be used as you use your dog ?
Dejn. Tempt not too much the hatred of my
spirit ;
For I am sick, when I do look on thee.
Hel. And I am sick, when I look not on you.
Dem. You do impeach ^ your modesty too much.
To leave the city, and commit yourself
Into the hands of one that loves you not.
Hel. Your virtue is my privilege for that.
It is not night, when I do see your face,
Therefore I think I am not in tlie night :
Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company ;
For you, in my respect, are all the world :
Then how can it be said, I am alone.
When all the world is here to look on me ?
Dem. I'll run from thee, and hide me in the
brakes.
And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts.
Hel. The wildest hath not such a heart as you.
Run when you will, the story shall be chang'd j
Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase ;
The dove pursues the griflin ; the mild hind
IVIakes speed to catch the tiger : Bootless speed !
When cowardice pursues, and valour flies.
Dem. I will not stay thy questions : let me go :
Or, if thou follow me, do not believe
But I shall do thee mischief in the wood.
Hel. Ay, in the temple, in the town, the field.
You do me mischief. Fye, Demetrius !
Your wrongs do set a scandal on my sex !
We cannot fight for love, as men may do ;
We should be woo'd, and were not made to woo.
I'll follow thee, and make a heaven of hell.
To die upon 9 the hand I love so well.
\_Exeunt Dem. and Hel.
Obe. Fare thee well, nymph : ere he do leave this
grove.
Thou shalt fly him, and he shall seek thy love. —
Re-enter Puck.
Hast thou tlie flower there ? Welcome, wanderer.
Puck. Ay, there it is.
Obe. I pray thee, give it me.
I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,
Where ox-lips > and the nodding violet grows ;
Quite over-canopied with lush « woodbine.
With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine :
There sleeps Titania, some time of the night,
Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight;
And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin.
Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in :
And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes.
And make her full of hateful fantasies.
Take thou some of it, and seek through this grove :
A sweet Atheman lady is in love
With a disdainful youth : anoint his eyes ;
But do it, when the next thing he espies
May be the lady : Thou shalt know the man
By the Athenian garments he hath on.
EflJect it with some care ; that he may prove
' Bring in question.
The greater cowslip.
9 By.
2 Vigorous.
More fond on her, than she upon her love ;
And look thou meet me ere the first cock crow.
Puck. Fear not, my lord, your servant shall do so.
\_Exeunt.
SCENE III. -u Another part of the Wood.
Enter Titania, urUh her train.
Tita. Come, now a roundel 3, and a fairy song ;
Then, for the third part of a minute, hence ;
Some, to kill cankers in tlie musk-rose buds ;
Some, war with rear-mice 4 for their leathern wings.
To make my small elves coats ; and some, keep back
The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots, and wonders
At our quaint spirits ^ : Sing me now asleep ;
Then to your offices, and let me rest.
SONG.
1 Fai.
You spotted snakes, with double tongue.
Thorny hedge-hogs, be not seen ;
Newts ^, and blind- worms 7, do no wrong;
Come not near our fairy queen :
Chorus. Philomel, with melody,
Sing in our sweet lullaby ;
Lulla, lulla, hdlaby ; lulla, luUa, lullaby:
Never harm, nor spell, nor charm,
Come our lovely lady nigh ;
So, good night, with lullaby.
2 Fai.
II.
hence ,
Weaving spiders, come not here ;
Hence, you long-leggd spinners.
Beetles black, approach not near ;
Worm, nor snail, do no offence.
Chorus. Philomel, ivith melody, ^c.
1 Fax. Hence, away ; now all is well :
One, aloof, stand sentinel.
[Exeunt Fairies. Titania sleeps.
Enter Oberon.
Obe. What thou seest, when thou dost wake,
[Squeezes the flower on Titania's eye -lids.
Do it for thy true love take ;
Love, and languish for his sake :
Be it ounce 8, or cat, or bear,
Pard, or boar with bristled hair.
In thy eye that shall appear
When thou wak'st, it is thy dear ;
Wake, when some vile thing is near. {Exit.
Enter Ltsander and Hermia.
Lys. Fair love, you faint with wandering in tl;e
wood;
And to speak troth, I have forgot our way ;
We'll rest us, Hermia, if you tliink it good,
And tarry for the comfort of the day.
Her. Be it so, Lysander : find you out a bed,
For I upon tliis bank will rest my head.
Such separation, as, may well be said.
Becomes a virtuous bachelor and a maid :
So far be distant ; and good night sweet friend .
Tliy love ne'er alter, till thy sweet life end !
Lys. Amen, amen, to that fair prayer, say I ;
And then end life, when I end loyalty !
Here is my bed : sleep give tliee all his rest !
Her. With half tliat wish the wislier's eyes he
press'd! [TltcysUrp.
3 A kind of dance. < Bal«. » Sports.
« EiU. ? Siow.womu. f The small tiger
K 4
136
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.
Act III.
Enter Puck.
Puck. Through the forest have I gone,
But Athenian found I none,
On whose eyes I might approve
This flower's force in stirring love.
Night and silence ! who is here ?
Weeds of Athens he doth wear :
This is he my master said,
Despis'd the Athenian maid ;
And here the maiden, sleeping sound,
On the dank and dirty ground.
Pretty soul ! she durst not lie
Near this lack-love, kill-courtesy.
Churl, upon thy eyes I throw
All the power this charm doth owe 9 :
When thou wak'st let love forbid
Sleep his seat on thy eye-lid.
So awake, when I am gone ;
For I must now to Oberon. [JExit.
Enter Demetrius and Helena, running.
Hel. Stay, though thou kill me, sweet Demetrius.
Dem. I charge thee, hence, and do not haunt me
thus.
Hel, O, wilt thou darkling" leave me? do not
so.
Dem. Stay, on thy peril ; I alone will go.
[Exit Demetrius.
Hel. O, I am out of breath in this fond chase !
The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace.
Happy is Hermia, whereso'er she lies ;
For she hath blessed and attractive eyes.
How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt
tears :
If so, my eyes are oftener wash'd than hers.
No, no, I am as ugly as a bear ;
For beasts that meet me, run away for fear ;
Therefore, no marvel, though Demetrius
Do, as a monster, fly my presence thus :
What wicked and dissembling glass of mine
Made me compare with Hermia's sphery eyne ? —
But who is here ? — Lysander ! on the ground !
Dead ? or asleep ? T see no blood, no wound : —
Lysander, if you live, good sir, awake.
Li/s. And run through fire I will, for thy sweet
sake. [ Waking.
Transparent Helena ! Nature here shows art.
That through thy bosom makes me see thy heart.
Where is Demetrius ? O, how fit a word
Is that vile name to perish on my sword !
Hel. Do not say so, Lysander : say not so :
What though he love your Hermia? O, what though?
Yet Hermia still loves you : then be content.
Lj/s. Content with Hermia ? No : I do repent
The tedious minutes I with her have spent.
Not Hermia, but Helena I love :
Who will not change a raven for a dove ?
The will of man is by his reason sway'd ;
And reason says you are the worthier maid.
Things growing are not ripe until their season :
So I, being young, till now ripe not to reason ;
And touching now the point of human skill.
Reason becomes the marshal to my will,
And leads me to your eyes ; where I o'erlook
Love's stories written in love's richest book.
Hel. Wherefore was I to this keen mockery bom ?
When, at your hands, did I deserve this scorn ?
Is't not enough, is't not enough, young man
That I did never, no, nor never can.
Deserve a sweet look from Demetrius' eye.
But you must flout my insufficiency ?
Good troth, you do me wrong, good sooth, you do.
In such disdainful manner me to woo.
But fare you well : perforce I must confess,
I thought you lord of more true gentleness.
O, that a lady, of one man refus'd,
Should, of another, therefore be abus'd ! [Exit.
Lys. She sees not Hermia : — Hermia, sleep thou
there ;
And never may'st thou come Lysander near !
For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things
The deepest loathing to the stomach brings
Or, as the heresies, that men do leave.
Are hated most of those they did deceive ;
So thou, my surfeit, and my heresy.
Of all be hated ; but the most of me !
And all my powers, address your love and might.
To honour Helen, and to be her knight ! [Edoit.
Her. [Starting.^ Help me, Lysander, help me !
do thy best.
To pluck this crawling serpent from my breast !
Ah me, for pity ! — what a dream was here ?
Lysander, look, how I do quake with fear !
Methought a serpent eat my heart away.
And you sat smiling at his cruel prey : —
Lysander ! what, removed ? Lysander ! lord !
What, out of hearing ? gone ? no sound, no word ?
Alack, where are you ? speak, an if you hear ;
Speak, of all loves 2 ; I swoon almost with fear.
No ? — - then I well perceive you are not nigh :
Either death, or you, I'll find immediately. \_Exit.
ACT III.
SCENE I. — The same. The Queen of Fairies
lying asleep.
Enter Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, and
Starveling.
Bot. Are we all met ?
Q.uin. Pat, pat ; and here's a marvellous conve-
nient place for our rehearsal : This green plot shall
be our stage, this hawthorn brake our tyring-house ;
and we will do it in action, as we will do it before
the duke.
Bot. Peter Quince, —
5 Po5sesf.
> In the dark.
Qxiin. What say'st thou, bully Bottom ?
Bot. There are things in this comedy of Pyramus
and Thisby, that will never please. First, Pyramus
must draw a sword to kill himself; which the ladies
cannot abide. How answer you that ?
Snout. By'rlakin 3, a parlous fear.
Star. I believe, we must leave the killing out,
when all is done.
Bot. Not a whit; I have a device to make all
well. Write me a prologue : and let the prologue
seem to say, we will do no harm with our swords ;
2 By all that is dear.
3 By our ladykin.
SC£N£ I.
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.
137
and that Pyramus is not killed indeed : and for the
more better assurance, tell them, that I Pyramus
am not Pyramus, but Bottom the weaver: This
will put them out of fear.
Quin. Well, we will have such a prologue ; and
it shall be written in eight and six. —
Bot. No, make it two more ; let it be written in
eight and eight.
Snout. Will not the ladies be afeard of the lion ?
Star. I fear it, I promise you.
Bot. Masters, you ought to consider with your-
selves : to bring in a lion among ladies, is a most
dreadful thing ; for there is not a more fearful wild-
fowl than your lion, living ; and we ought to look
to it.
Snout. Therefore, another prologue must tell, he
is not a lion.
Bot. Nay, you must name his name, and half his
face must be seen through the lion's neck ; and he
himself must speak through, saying thus, or to the
same defect, — Ladies, or fair ladies, I would wish
you, or, I would request you, or, I would entreat
you, not to fear, not to tremble : my life for yours.
If you think I come hither as a lion, it were pity
of my life : No, I am no such thing ; I am a man
as other men are : — and there, indeed, let him
name his name ; and tell them plainly, he is Snug
the joiner.
Quitu Well, it shall be so. But there is two hard
things ; that is, to bring the moon-light into a cham-
ber : for you know, Pyramus and Thisby meet by
moon-light.
Snug. Doth the moon shine, that night we play
our play ?
Bot. A calendar, a calendar ! look in the alma-
nack ; find out moon-shine, find out moon-shine.
Quin. Yes, it doth shine that night.
Bot. Why, then you may leave a casement of the
great chamber window, where we play, open j and
the moon may shine in at the casement.
Quin. Ay ; or else one must come in with a bush
of thorns and a lanthorn, and say, he comes to dis-
figure, or to present, the person of moon-shine.
Then, there is another thing : we must have a wall
in the great chamber ; for Pyramus and Thisby, says
the story, did talk through the chinks of a wall.
Snug. You never can bring in a wall. — What
say you. Bottom ?
Bot. Some man or other must present wall : and
let him have some plaster, or some lome, or some
rough-cast about him, to signify wall ; or let him
hold his fingers thus, and tlirough that cranny shall
Pyramus and Thisby wliisper.
Quin. If that may be, then all is well. Come, sit
down, every mother's son, and rehearse your parts.
Pyramus, you begin : when you have spoken your
speech, enter into that brake ■♦ ; and so every one
according to his cue.
Enter Puck behind.
Puck. What hempen home-spuns have we swag-
gering here.
So near the cradle of the fairy queen ?
What, a play toward ? I'll be an auditor ;
An actor too, perhaps, if 1 see cause.
Quin. Speak, Pyramus : — Thisby, stand fortli.
Pyr. Thish/, thejiou^ers of odious savours sweety —
Quin. Odours, odours.
« Thicket
Pyr. odours savours sweet :
So doth thy breath, my dearest Thisby dear. —
But, hark, a voice ! stay thou but here awhile,
j^nd by and by I will to thee appear. [^Exii.
Puck. A stranger Pyramus than e'er play'd here !
\^Aiide. — Exit.
This. Must I speak now ?
Quin. Ay, marry, must you : for you must under-
stand, he goes but to see a noise that he heard, and
is to come again.
This, Most radiant Pyramus, most lily-white of hue,
Of colour like the red rose on triumphant brier.
Most brisky Juvenal ^, and eke most lovely Jew,
As true as truest horse, that yet would never tire',
ril meet thee, Pyramus, at Ninny s tomb.
Quin. Ninus' tomb, man : Why you must not
speak that yet ; that you answer to Pyramus : you
speak all your part at once, cues 6 and all. — Pyra-
mus, enter j your cue is past ; it is, never tire.
Re-enter Puck, and Bottom with an Ass's head.
This. O, — As tru£ as truest horse, thai yet would
never tire.
Pyr. If I were fair, Thisby, I were only Ihine : —
Quin. O monstrous ! O strange ! we are haunted.
Pray, masters ! fly, masters ! help !
{Exeunt Clowns.
Puck. I'll follow you, I'll lead you about a round.
Through bog, through bush, tlirough brake,
tlu-ough brier;
Sometime a horse I'll be, sometime a hound,
A hog, a headless bear, sometime a fire ;
And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and bum,
Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn.
{Exit.
Bot. Why do they run away ? this is a knavery
of them, to make me afeard.
Re-enter Snout.
Snout. O Bottom, thou art changed ! what do I
see on thee? {Exit.
Bot. What do you see ? you see an ass's head of
your own ; Do you ?
Re-enter Quince.
Quin. Bless thee. Bottom ! bless thee ! thou art
translated. {Exit.
Bot. I see their knavery : this is to make an ass
of me ; to fright me, if they could. But I will not
stir from tliis place, do what they can : I will walk
up and down here, and I will sing, tliat they shall
hear I am not afraid. {Sings.
The ousel cock, so Mack of hue,
With orange-tawny bill.
The throstle with his note so true,
Tiie wren with little quill.
Tita. W' hat angel wakes me from my flowery bed ?
[ f raking,
Bot. The finch, tlie sparrow, and tlu: lark.
The jdain-song cuckoo grey,
U'hose note full ywmy a man doth mark.
And dares not answer, nay ; —
or, indeed, who would set his wit to so foolisli a
bird ? who would give a bird the lie, though he cry,
cuckoo, never so ?
Tita. I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again :
Mine car is much enamour'd of thy note,
* Young man.
< The last words of the preceding speech, which sorve as a
hint to him who is to 8|ieak next
138
MIDSUMMER-NIGHTS DREAM.
Act III.
So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape ;
And tliy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me,
On the first view, to say, to swear, I love thee.
Bot. Metliinks, mistress, you should have little
reason for that : And yet, to say the truth, reason
and love keep little company together now-a-days :
The more the pity, that some honest neighbours
will not make them friends. Nay, I can gleek 7 upon
occasion.
Tita. Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.
Bot. Not so, neither ; but if I had wit enough to
get out of this wood, I have enough to serve mine
own turn.
Tita. Out of this wood do not desire to go ;
Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no.
I am a spirit of no common rate :
The summer still doth tend upon my state,
And I do love thee : therefore, go with me ;
I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee;
And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep.
And sing, while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep :
And I will purge thy mortal grossness so,
That thou shalt like an airy spirit go. —
Peas-blossom ! Cobweb ! Moth ! and Mustard-seed !
Ertterfour Fairies.
1 Fai. Ready.
2 Fai. And I.
3 Fai. And I.
4 Fai. Where shall we go ?
Tita. Be kind and courteous to this gentleman ;
Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes ;
Feed him with apricocks and dewberries,
With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries ;
The honey bags steal from the humble-bees,
And, for night-tapers, crop their waxen thighs,
And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes.
To have my love to bed, and to arise ;
And pluck the wings from painted butterflies,
To fan the moon- beams from his sleeping eyes :
Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.
1 Fai. Hail, mortal I
2 Fai. Hail !
3 Fai. Hail !
4 Fai. Hail !
Bot. I cry your worship's mercy, heartily. — I
beseech, your worsliip's name ?
Cob. Cobweb.
Bot. I shall desire you of more acquaintance,
good master Cobweb : If I cut my finger, I shall make
bold with you. — Your name, honest gentleman ?
Peas. Peas-blossom.
Bot. I pray you, commend me to mistress Squashy
your mother, and to master Peascod, your father.
Good master Peas-blossom, I shall desire you of more
acquaintance too. — Your name, I beseech you, sir,
Mas. Mustard-seed.
Bot. Good master Mustard-seed, I know your
patience well : that same cowardly, giant-like ox-
beef hath devoured many a gentleman of your
house ; I promise you, your kindred hath made my
eyes water ere now. I desire you more acquaint-
ance, good master Mustard-seed.
Tita. Come wait upon him; lead him to my bower.
The moon, methinks, looks with a watery eye ;
And when she weeps, weeps every little flower,
Lamenting some enforced chastity.
Tie up my love's tongue, bring him silently.
\_Exeunt.
^ Joke.
SCENE II. — Another part of the Wood.
Enter Oberon.
Obe. I wonder, if Titania be awak'd ;
Then, what it was that next came in her eye,
Which she must dote on in extremity.
Enter Puck.
Here comes my messenger. — How now, mad spirit?
What night-rule now about this haunted grove ?
Puck. My mistress with a monster is in love.
Near to her close and consecrated bower,
While she was in her dull and sleeping hour,
A crew of patches 8, rude mechanicals.
That work for bread upon Athenian stalls.
Were met together to rehearse a play,
Intended for great Theseus' nuptial day.
The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort.
Who Pyramus presented, in their sport
Forsook his scene, and enter'd in a brake :
When I did him at this advantage take,
An ass's nowl I fixed on his head ;
Anon, his Thisbe must be answered,
And forth my mimick comes : When they him spy,
As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye,
Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort.
Rising and cawing at the gun's report
Sever themselves, and madly sweep the sky ;
So, at his sight, away his fellows fly ;
And, at our stamp, here o'er and o'er one falls;
He murder cries, and help from Athens calls.
Their sense, thus weak, lost with their fears, thus
strong.
Made senseless things begin to do them wrong :
For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch ;
Some, sleeves ; some, hats : from yielders all things
catch.
I led them on in this distracted fear.
And left sweet Pyramus translated there :
When in that moment (so it came to pass,)
Titania wak'd, and straightway lov'd an ass.
Obe. This falls out better than I could devise.
But hast thou yet latch'd 9 the Athenian's eyes
With the love-juice, as I did bid thee do ?
Puck. I took him sleeping, — that is finish'd too, —
And the Athenian woman by his side ;
That, when he wak'd, of force she must be ey'd.
Enter Demetrius and Hermia.
Obe. Stand close ; this is the same Athenian.
Puck. Tliis is the woman, but not this the man.
Dem. O, why rebuke you him that loves you so?
Lay breath so bitter on your bitter foe.
Her. Now I but chide, but I should use thee worse;
For thou, I fear, hast given me cause to curse.
If thou hast slain Lysander in his sleep.
Being o'er shoes in blood, plunge in the deep.
And kill me too.
The sun was not so true unto the day.
As he to me : Would he have stol'n away
From sleeping Hermia ? I'll believe as soon.
This whole earth may be bor'd ; and that the moon
May through the centre creep, and so displease
Her brother's noon-tide with the Antipodes.
It cannot be, but thou hast min-der'd him ;
So should a murderer look ; so dead, so grim.
Dem. So should the murder'd look; and so should I,
Pierc'd through the heart with your stern cruelty :
Yet you, the murderer, look as bright, as clear.
As yonder Venus in her glimmering sphere.
8 Simple fellows. ^ InfectetL
Scene II.
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.
139
Her. What's this to my Lysandcr ? where is he ?
Ah, good Demetrius, wilt thou give him me ?
Dent. I had rather give his carcase to my hounds.
Her. Out, dog ! out, cur ! thou driv'st me past
tlie bounds
Of maiden's patience. Hast thou slain him then ?
Henceforth be never number'd among men !
0 ! once tell true, tell true, even for my sake ;
Durst thou have look'd upon him, being awake,
And hast thou kill'd him sleeping ? O brave touch !
Could not a worm, an adder, do so much ?
An adder did it ; for with doubler tongue
Than thine, thou serpent, never adder stung.
Dem. You spend your passion on a mispris'd '
mood:
1 am not guilty of Lysander's blood ;
Nor is he dead, for aught that I can tell.
Her. I pray thee, tell me then, that he is well.
Dem. And if I could, what should 1 get therefore?
Her. A privilege, never to see me more. —
And from thy hated presence part I so :
See me no more, whether he be dead or no. [^Exit.
Dem. There is no following her in this fierce vein :
Here, tlierefore, for a while I will remain.
So sorrow's heaviness doth heavier grow
For debt that bankrupt sleep doth sorrow owe ;
Which now, in some slight measure it will pay,
If for his tender here I make some stay. [Lies doivn.
Obe. What hast thou done? thou hast mistaken quite,
And laid the love-juice on some true love's sight :
Of thy misprision must perforce ensue
Some true-love turn'd, and not a false tum'd true.
Puck. Then fate o'er-rules ; that, one man hold-
ing troth,
A million fail, confounding oath on oath.
Obe. About the wood go swifter than the wind,
And Helena of Athens look thou find :
All fancy-sick 2 she is, and pale of cheer 3,
With sighs of love, that cost the fresh blood dear :
By some illusion see thou bring her here ;
I'll charm his eyes, against she do appear.
Puck. I go, I go ; look how I go ;
Swifter than arrow from the Tartar's bow. [^ExU.
Obe. Flower of this purple die,
Hit with Cupid's archery,
Sink in apple of his eye !
When his love he doth espy,
Let her shine as gloriously
As the Venus of the sky. —
When thou wak'st, if she be by,
Beg of her for remedy.
Re-enter Puck.
Puck. Captain of our fairy band,
Helena is here at hand ;
And the youth, mistook by me,
Pleading for a lover's fee ;
Shall we their fond pageant see ?
O, what fools these mortals be !
Obe. Stand aside : the noise they make.
Will cause Demetrius to awake.
Puck. Then will two at once, woo one ;
That must needs be sport alone ;
And those things do best please me,
That befal preposterously.
Enter Lvsandbr and Helena.
Lys. Why should you think, that I should woo
in scorn ?
Scorn and derision never come in tears :
Mistaken. > Love-sick. ^ Countenance.
Look, when I vow, I weep ; and vows so born,
In their nativity all truth appears.
How can these things in me seem scorn to you,
Bearing the badge of faith, to prove them true ?
Hel. You do advance your cunning more and
more.
When truth kills truth, O matchless holy fray !
These vows are Hermia's : Will you give her o'er ?
Weigh oath with oath, and you will nothing weigh :
Your vows, to her and me, put in two scales,
Will even weigh ; and both as light as tales.
Lys. I had no judgment, when to her I swore.
Hel. Nor none, in my mind, now you give her
o'er.
Lys. Demetrius loves her, and he loves not
you.
Dem. [awaking.'\ O Helen, goddess, nymj)!),
perfect, divine !
To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne ?
Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show
Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow
That pure congealed white, high Taurus' snow,
Fann'd with the eastern wind, turns to a crow,
When thou hold'st up thy hand : O let me kiss
This princess of pure white, this seal of bliss !
Hel. O cruel spite ! I see you all are bent
To set against me, for your merriment.
If you were civil, and knew courtesy,
You would not do me thus much injury.
Can you not hate me, as I know you do.
But you must join, in souls'*, to mock me too?
If you were men, as men you are in show,
You would not use a gentle lady so ;
To vow, and swear, and superpraise my pints.
When, I am sure, you hate me with your liciirts.
You both are rivals, and love Hermia ;
And now both rivals, to mock Helena :
A trim exploit, a manly enterprize,
To conjure tears up in a poor maid's eyes.
With your derision ! none, of noble sort,
Would so offend a virgin ; and extort
A poor soul's patience, all to make you sport.
Lys. You are unkind, Demetrius : be not so ;
For you love Hermia ; this, you know, I know :
And here, with all good will, with all my heart,
In Hermia's love I yield you up my part ;
And yours of Helena to me bequeath,
Whom I do love, and will do to my death.
Hel. Never did mockers waste more idle breath.
Dem. Lysandcr, keep tliy Hermia ; I will none :
If e'er I lov'd her, all that love is gone.
My heart with her but, as guest-wise, sojourn 'd ;
And now to Helen is it home retuni'd.
There to remain.
Lys. Helen, it is not so.
Dem. Disparage not the faith thou dost not know.
Lest, to thy peril, thou aby it dear. * —
Look, where thy love comes ; yonder is tliy dear.
Enter Hkrmia.
Her. Dark night, that from the eye his function
takes,
The ear more quick of apprehension makes
Wherein it doth impair the seeing sense.
It pays tlie hearing double recompense : —
Thou art not by mine eye, Lj-sander, found ;
Mine car, I thank it, brought me to tliy sound.
But why unkindly didst thou leave me so ?
Heartily.
ray dearly for it
140
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.
Act III.
Lys. Why slioiild he stay, whom love doth press
to go?
Her. What love could press Lysander from my
side?
Lys. Lysander's love, that would not let him bide,
Fair Helena : who more engilds the night
Than all yon fiery oes 6 and eyes of light.
Why seek'st thou me ? could not tliis make thee
know,
The hate I bare thee made me leave thee so ?
Her. You speak not as you think ; it cannot be.
Hel. Lo, she is one of tliis confederacy !
Now I perceive they have conjoin'd, all three,
To fashion this false sport in spite of me.
Injurious Hermia : most ungrateful maid !
Have you conspir'd, have you with these contriv'd
To bait me with this foul derision ?
Is all the counsel that we two have shar'd.
The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent,
When we have chid the hasty-footed time
For parting us, — O , and is all forgot ?
All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence ?
We, Hermia, like two artificial 7 gods,
Have with our neelds ^ created both one flower,
Both on one sampler sitting on one cushion.
Both warbling of one song, both in one key ;
As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds.
Had been incorporate. So we grew together.
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted ;
But yet a union in partition.
Two lovely berries moulded on one stem :
So with two seeming bodies, but one heart ;
Two of the first, like coats in heraldry,
Due but to one, and crowned with one crest.
And will you rent our ancient love asunder,
To join with men in scorning your poor friend ?
It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly :
Our sex as well as I, may chide you for it ;
Though T alone do feel the injury.
Her. I am amazed at your passionate words ;
I scorn you not ; it seems that you scorn me.
Hel. Have you not set Lysander, as in scorn,
To follow me, and praise my eyes and face ?
And made your other love, Demetrius,
(Who even but now did spurn me with his foot,)
To call me goddess, nymph, divine, and rare.
Precious, celestial ? Wherefore speaks he this
To her he hates ? and wherefore doth Lysander
Deny your love, so rich within his soul.
And tender me, forsooth, affection ;
But by your setting on, by your consent ?
What though I be not so in grace as you.
So hung upon with love, so fortunate ;
But miserable most, to love unlov'd ?
This you should pity, rather than despise.
Her. I understand not what you mean by this.
Hel. Ay, do, pers^ver, counterfeit sad looks,
Make mows 9 upon me when I turn my back ;
Wink at each other ; hold the sweet jest up :
This sport, well carried, shall be chronicled.
If you have any pity, grace, or manners,
You would not make me svich an argument.
But fare ye well : 'tis partly mine own fault ;
Which death, or absence, soon shall remedy.
Lys. Stay, gentle Helena ; hear my excuse ;
My love, my life, my soul, fair Helena !
Hel. O excellent !
Her. Sweet, do not scorn her so.
" Circles.
^ Needles.
" Ingenious.
3 Wry faces.
Dem. If she cannot entreat, I can compel.
L^ys. Thou canst compel no more than she en-
treat ;
Thy threats have no more strength than her weak
prayers. —
Helen, I love thee ; by my life, I do ;
I swear by that which I will lose for thee.
To prove him false, that says I love thee not.
Dem. I say, I love thee more than he can do.
Lys. If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too.,
Dem. Quick, come, —
Her. Lysander, whereto tends all this.
Lys. Away, you Ethiop !
Dem. No, no, sir : — he will
Seem to break loose ; take on, as you would follow ;
But yet come not : you are a tame man, go !
Lys. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr : vile thing,
let loose ;
Or I will shake thee from me, like a serpent.
Her. Why are you grown so rude ? what chahge
is this.
Sweet love ?
Lys. Thy love ? out, tawny Tartar, out !
Her. Do you not jest?
Hel. Yes, 'sooth ; and so do you.
Lys. Demetrius, I will keep my word with thee.
Dem,. I would, I had your bond; for, I perceive,
A weak bond holds you ; I'll not trust your word.
Lys. What, should I hurt her, strike her, kill her
dead?
Although I hate her," I'll not harm her so.
Her. What, can you do me greater harm, than
hate?
Hate me ! wherefore ? O me ! what news, my love ?
Am not I Hermia ? Are not you Lysander ?
I am as fair now, as I was erewhile.
Since night, you lov'd me ; yet, since night you left
me:
Why, then you left me, — O, the gods forbid ! —
In earnest shall I say ?
Lys. Ay, by my life ;
And never did desire to see thee more.
Therefore, be out of hope, of question, doubt.
Be certain, nothing truer ; 'tis no jest.
That I do hate thee, and love Helena.
Her. O me ! you juggler! you canker blossom ! •
You thief of love ! what, have you come by night.
And stol'n my love's heart from him ?
Hel. Fine, i'faith !
Have you no modesty, no maiden shame.
No touch of bashfulness ? What, will you tear
Impatient answers from my gentle tongue ?
Fie, fie ! you counterfeit, you puppet you !
Her. Puppet ! why so ? Ay, that way goes the
game.
Now I perceive that she hath made compare
Between our statures, she hath urg'd her height ;
And with her personage, her tall personage.
Her height, forsooth, she hath prevail'd with him. —
And are you grown so high in his esteem.
Because I am so dwarfish, and so low ?
How low am I, thou painted maypole ? speak ;
How low am I ? I am not yet so low.
But that my nails can reach unto thine eyes.
Hel. I pray you, though you mock me, gentlemen,
Let her not hurt me : I was never curst - ;
I have no gift at all in shrewishness ;
I am a right maid for my cowardice ;
1 A worm that preys on buds of flowers.
2 Shrewish or mischievous.
\\
SCKNE II.
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.
141
Let her not strike me : You, perhaps, may think.
Because she's something lower than myself,
Tliat I can match her.
Her. Lower ! hark, again.
Hel. Good Ilennia, do not be so bitter with me-
I evermore did love you, Hermia,
Did ever keep your counsels, never wrong'd you ;
Save, that, in love unto Demetrius,
I told him of your stealth unto this wood :
He follow'd you ; for love, I foUow'd him :
But he hath chid me hence ; and threaten'd me
To strike me, spurn me, nay, to kill me too :
And now, so you will let me quiet go,
To Athens will I bear my folly back.
And follow you no further ; Let me go :
You see how simple and how fond 3 I am.
Her. Why, get you gone : Who is't tliat hinders
you ?
Hel. A foolish heart, that I leave here behind.
Her. What, with Lysander?
Hel. With Demetrius.
Lys. Be not afraid : she shall not harm thee,
Helena.
Bern. No, sir; she shall not, though you take
her part.
Hel. O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd :
She was a vixen, when she went to school ;
And, though she be but little, she is fierce.
Her. Little again ? notliing but low and little ? —
Why w ill you suffer her to flout me thus ?
Let me come to her.
Lys. Get you gone, you dwarf;
You minimus, of hind'ring knot-grass ^ made ;
You bead, you acorn.
Dem. You are too officious,
In her behalf that scorns your services.
Let her alone ; speak not of Helena ;
Take not her part : for if thou dost intend ^
Never so little show of love to her,
Thou shalt aby it.
Lys. Now, she holds me not ;
Now follow, if thou dar'st, to try whose right,
Or thine or mine, is most in Helena.
Dem. Follow ? nay, I'll go with thee, cheek by
jole. [Exeunt Lys. and Dem.
Her. You, mistress, all this coil is 'long of you :
Nay, go not back.
Hel. I will not trust you, I ;
Nor longer stay in your curst company.
Your hands, than mine, are quicker for a fray ;
My legs are longer though, to run away. [^ExU.
Her. I am amaz'd, and know not what to say.
\^Exit, pursuing Helena.
Obe. This is thy negligence : still tliou mistak'st,
Or else commit'st tliy knaveries wilfully.
Puck. Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook.
Did not you tell me, I should know the man
By the Athenian garments he had on ?
And so far blameless proves my enterprize,
That I have 'nointed an Athenian's eyes:
And so far am I glad it so did sort,
As this their jangling I esteem a sport.
Obe. Thou seest, these lovers seek a place to fight ;
Hie, therefore, Robin, overcast the night ;
The starry welkin cover thou anon
With drooping fog, as black as Acheron ;
And lead tliese testy rivals so astray,
As one come not within another's way.
' Foolish.
* Annently knot-graM was believed to prevent the growth
ofchiWrca * Pretend.
Like to Lysander sometime frame thy tongue.
Then stir Demetrius up with bitter wrong;
And sometime rail thou like Demetrius;
And from each other look thou lead them thus,
'i'ill o'er their brows death-counterfeiting sleep
With leaden legs and batty wings doth creep :
1'hcn crush this herb into Lysander's eye ;
Whose liquor hath tliis virtuous property.
To take from thence all eiTor, with his might.
And make his eye-balls roll with wonted sight.
When they next wake, all this derision
Shall seem a dream, and fruitless vision ;
And back to Athens shall the lovers wend",
With league, whose date till death shall never end.
Whiles I in this affair do thee employ,
I'll to my queen, and beg her Indian boy ;
And then I will her charmed eye release
From monster's view, and all things shall be peace.
Puck. My fairy lord, this must be done with haste ;
For night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast,
And yonder shines Aurora's harbinger ;
At whose approach, ghosts, wandering here and there,
Troop home to church-yards : and the spirits all.
That in cross-ways and floods have burial,
Already to their wormy beds are gone ;
For fear lest day should look their shames upon,
They wilfully themselves exile from light,
And must for aye consort with black-brow'd niglit.
Obe. But we are spirits of another sort :
I with the Morning's Love ' have oft made sport ;
And, like a forester, the groves may tread,
Even till the eastern gate, all fiery red.
Opening on Neptune with fair blessed beams,
Turns into yellow gold his salt-green streams.
But, notwithstanding, haste ; make no delay :
We may effect this business yet ere day. \^ExU Ob.
Puck. Up and down, up and down ;
I will lead them up and down :
I am fear'd in field and town ;
Goblin, lead them up and down.
Here comes one.
Enter Lysander.
I.ys. Where art thou, proud Demetrius ? speak
thou now.
P^tck. Here, villain ; drawn and ready. Where
art thou ?
Lys. I will be with thee straight.
Puck. Follow me then
To plainer ground.
[Exit Lysander asfoUouing the voice.
Enter Demetrius.
Dem. Lysander ! speak again.
Thou runaway, thou coward, art thou fled ?
Speak. In some bush? Where dost thou hide thy
head?
Puck. Thou coward, art thou bragging to the stars.
Telling the bushes that thou look'st for wars,
And wilt not come ? Come, recreant ; come, thou
child ;
I'll whip thee with a rod : He is defil'd,
That draws a sword on thee.
j)g„i. Yea ; art thou there ?
Puck. Follow my voice ; we'll try no manhood
here. [Exeunt.
Re-enter Lysander.
Lys. He goes before me, and still dares me on ;
When I come where he calls, then he is gone.
• Qo.
7 Cephalus, the paramour of Aurora.
142
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.
Act IV.
The villain is much lighter heel'd than I :
I follow'd fast, but faster he did fly ;
That fallen am I in dark uneven way,
And here will rest me. Come, thou gentle day !
[Lies down.
For if but once thou show me thy grey light,
I'll find Demetrius, and revenge this spite. \_Sleeps.
Re-enter Puck and Demetrius.
Puck. Ho,ho!ho,ho! Coward, why com'st thou not?
Dem. Abide me, if thou dar'st ; for well I wot.
Thou runn'st before me, shifting every place ;
And dar'st not stand, nor look me in the face.
Where art thou ?
Puck. Come hither ; I am here.
Dem. Nay, then thou mock'st me. Thou shalt
buy this dear.
If ever I thy face by daylight see :
Now, go thy way. Faintness constraineth me
To measure out my length on this cold bed. —
By day's approach look to be visited.
[Lies down and sleeps.
Enter Helena.
Hel. O weary night, O long and tedious night.
Abate thy hours : shine, comforts, from the east ;
Tliat I may back to Athens, by day-light.
From these that my poor company detest : —
And, sleep, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye.
Steal me awhile from mine own company. [Sleeps.
Puck. Yet but three ? Come one more ;
Two of both kinds makes up four.
Here she comes, curst and sad : —
Cupid is a knavish lad.
Thus to make poor females mad.
Enter Hermia.
Her. Never so weary, never so in woe.
Bedabbled with the dew, and torn with briers ;
I can no further crawl, no further go ;
My legs can keep no pace with my desires.
Here will I rest me, till the break of day.
Heavens shield Lysander, if they mean a fray !
[Lies donm.
Puck. On the ground
Sleep sound :
I'll apply
To your eye.
Gentle lover, remedy.
[Squeezing the juice on Lysander'^ eye.
When thou wak'st,
Thou tak'st
True delight
In the sight
Of thy former lady's eye :
And the country proverb known,
That every man should take his own,
In your waking shall be shown :
Jack shall have Jill ;
Nought shall go ill ;
The man shall have his mare again, and all shall be
well.
[Exit Puck. — Dem. Hel. ^c. sleep.
ACT IV.
SCENE I. — The same.
Enter Titania and Bottom, Fairies attending ;
Oberon behind unseen.
Tita. Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed,
While I thy amiable cheeks do coy 8,
And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head.
And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy.
Bot. Where's Peas-blossom?
Peas. Ready.
Bot. Scratch my head. Peas-blossom. — Where's
monsieur Cobweb?
Cob. Ready.
Bot. Monsieur Cobweb ; good monsieur, get your
weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hipped
humble-bee on the top of a thistle ; and, good mon-
sieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret your-
self too much in the action, monsieur ; and, good
monsieur, have a care the honey-bag break not : I
would be loath to have you overflown with a honey-
bag, signior. — Where's monsieur Mustard-seed ?
Must. Ready.
Bot. Give me your nief 9, monsieur Mustard-seed.
Pray you, leave your courtesy, good monsieur.
Must. What's your \vill ?
Bot. Nothing, good monsieur, but to help cavalero
Cobweb to scratch. I must to the barber's, mon-
sieur ; for, methinks, I am marvellous hairy about
the face ; and I am such a tender ass, if my hair do
but tickle me, I must scratch.
Tita. What, wilt thou hear some musick, my
sweet love?
^ Stroke. 9 Fist.
Bot. I have a reasonable good ear in musick :
let us have the tongs and the bones.
Tita. Or, say, sweet love, what thou desir'st to eat.
Bot. Truly, a peck of provender ; I could munch
your good dry oats. Methinks, I have a great desire
to a bottle of hay ; good hay, sweet hay, hath no
fellow.
Tita. I have a venturous fairy that shall seek
The squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new nuts.
Bot. I had rather have a handful, or two, of dried
peas. But, I pray you, let none of your people stir
me : I have an exposition of sleep come upon me.
Tita. Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms.
Fairies, begone, and be all ways away.
[Exeunt Fairies.
So doth the woodbine, the sweet honeysuckle.
Gently entwist, — the female ivy so
Enrings the barky fingers of the elm.
O, how I love thee ! how I dote on thee !
[They sleep.
Oberon advances.
Enter Pock.
See'st thou this
Obe. Welcome, good Robin
sweet sight ?
Her dotage now I do begin to pity.
For meeting her of late, behind the wood.
Seeking sweet savours for this hateful fool,
I did upbraid her, and fall out with her :
For she his hairy temples then had rounded
With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers ;
And that same dew, which sometime on the buds
Was wont to swell, like round and orient pearls.
Stood now within the pretty flowrets' eyes,
Scene I.
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.
143
Like tears, that did their own disgrace bewail.
When I had, at my pleasure, taunted her.
And she, in mild terms, begg'd my patience,
I then did ask of her her changeling child ;
Which straight she gave me, and her fairy sent
To bear him to my bower in fairy land.
And now I have tlie boy, I will undo
Tliis hateful imperfection of her eyes.
And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp
From off the head of tliis Athenian swain ;
That he awaking when the others do,
May all to Athens back again repair ;
And think no more of this night's accidents.
But as the fierce vexation of a dream.
But first I will release the fairy queen.
Be, as thou wast wont to be ;
[ Toitching her eyes with an herb.
See, as thou wast wont to see :
Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower
Hath such force and blessed power.
Now, my Titania ; wake you, my sweet queen.
Tita. My Oberon ! what visions have I seen !
Methought, I was enamour'd of an ass.
Obe. There lies your love.
TUa. How came these things to pass?
O, how mine eyes do loath his visage now !
Obe. Silence, a while. — Robin, take off this head.
Titania, musick call ; and strike more dead
'I'han common sleep, of all these five the sense.
TUa. Musick, ho ! musick, such as charmeth
sleep.
Puck. Now, when thou wak'st, with thine own
fool's eyes peep.
Obe. Sound, musick. {StUl mxitick.'\ Come, my
queen, take hands with me.
And rock the ground whereon these sleepers be.
Now thou and I are new in amity ;
And will, to-morrow midnight, solemnly,
Dance in duke Theseus' house triumphantly,
And bless it to all fair posterity :
There shall the pairs of faithful lovers be
Wedded, with Theseus, all in jolity.
Puck. Fairy king, attend and mark ^
I do hear the morning lark.
Obe. Then, my queen, in silence sad.
Trip we after the night's shade :
We the globe can compass soon.
Swifter than the wand'ring moon.
TUa. Come, my lord ; and in our flight,
Tell me how it came this night.
That I sleeping here was found.
With these mortals, on the ground. lExeunt.
\^Homs sound unthin.
Enter Thkskus, Hippolyta, Egeus, and train.
The. Go, one of you, find out the forrester ; —
For now our observation is perform'd ;
And since we have the vaward ' of the day.
My love shall hear the musick of my hounds. —
Uncouple in the western valley ; go : —
Despatch, I say, and find the forester
We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top.
And mark the musical confusion
Of hounds and echo in conjunction.
Hip. I was witli Hercules, and Cadmus, once.
When in a wood of Crete they bay'd the bear
With hounds of Sparta : never did I hear
Such gallant chiding ; for, besides the groves,
ITie skies, the fountains, every region near
' Forepart
Seem'd all one mutual cry : I never heard
So musical a discord, such sweet thunder.
Tfie. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind.
So flew'd 2, so sanded ; and their heads are hung
With ears that sweep away the morning dew ;
Crook-knee'd, and dew-lap'd like Thessalian bulls ;
Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells,
Each under each. A cry more tuneable
Was never holla'd to, nor cheer'd with horn.
In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly :
Judge, when you hear. — But, soft j what, nymphs
are these ?
Ege. My lord, this is my daughter here asleep :
And this, Lysander ; this Demetrius is ;
This Helena, old Ncdar's Helena ;
I wonder of their being here together.
The. No doubt, they rose up early, to observe
The rite of May ; and, hearing our intent.
Came here in grace of our solemnity. —
But, speak, Egeus ; is not this the day
That Hermia should give answer of her choice ?
Ege. It is, my lord.
The. Go, bid the huntsmen wake them with their
horns.
Horns, and shouts wUhin. Demetrius, Lysander,
Hermia, and Helena, waJce and start tip.
The. Good-morrow, friends. Saint Valentine is
past;
Begin these wood-birds but to couple now ?
Lys. Pardon, my lord.
[JSe and the rest kneel to Theseus.
The. I pray you all, stand up.
I know, you are two rival enemies ;
How comes this gentle concord in the world.
That hatred is so far from jealousy.
To sleep by hate, and fear no enmity ?
Lys. My lord, I shall reply amazedly.
Half 'sleep, half waking : But as yet, I swear
I cannot truly say how I came here :
But, as I tliink, (for truly would I speak, —
And now 1 do bethink me, so it is ;)
I came with Hermia hither : our intent
Was, to be gone from Athens, where we might be
Without the peril of the Athenian law.
Ege. Enough, enough, my lord; you have
enough :
I beg the law, the law, upon his head. —
They would have stol'n away, they would, Demetrius,
Thereby to have defeated you and me :
You, of your wife ; and me, of my consent ;
Of my consent that she should be your wife.
JDem. My lord, fair Helen told me of their stealtit.
Of this their purpose hither to this wood ;
And I in fury hither follow'd them ;
Fair Helena in fancy 3 following me.
But, my good lord, I wot not by what power,
(But by some power it is,) my love to Hermia,
Melted as doth the snow, seems to me now
As the remembrance of an idle gawd.
Which in my childhood I did dote upon :
And all the faith, the virtue of my heart.
The object, and the pleasure of mine eye.
Is only Helena. To her, my lord.
Was I betroth *d ere I saw Hermia :
But, like in sickness, did I loath this food :
But, as in health, come to my natural taste,
Now do I wish it, love it, long for it.
And will for evermore be true to it.
* The flewt are the large chap* of a hound.
3 Love
144
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.
Act V.
The. Fair lovers, you are fortunately met :
Of this discourse we more will hear anon. —
Egeus, I will overbear your will ;
For in the temple, by and by with us,
These couples shall eternally be knit.
And, for the morning now is something worn,
Our purpos'd hunting shall be set aside. —
Away, with us, to Athens : Three and three,
"We'll hold a feast in great solemnity. —
Come, Hippolyta.
[Exeunt The. Hip. Ege. and train.
JDem. These things seem small and undistin-
guishable.
Like far-off mountains turned into clouds.
Her. Methinks, I see these things with parted
eye
When every thing seems double.
Hel. So methinks :
And I have fovmd Demetrius like a jewel.
Mine own, and not mine own.
Denu It seems to me,
That yet we sleep, we dream. — Do not you think,
The duke was here, and bid us follow him ?
Her. Yea ; and my father.
Hel, And Hippolyta.
Lys. And he did bid us follow to the temple.
Dem. Why then, we are awake : let's follow
him;
And, by the way, let us recount our dreams.
[Exeunt.
As they go out, Bottom awakes.
Bat. When my cue comes, call me, and I will
answer : — my next is. Most fair Pyramus. — Hey,
ho ! — Peter Quince ! Flute, the bellows-mender !
Snout, the tinker ! Starveling ! Odd's my life !
stolen hence, and left me asleep ! I have had a
most rare vision. I have had a dream, — past the
wit of man to say what dream it was : Man is but
an ass, if he go about to expound this dream.
Methought I was — there is no man can tell what.
Methought I was, and methought I had, — But
man is but a patched fool, if he will offer to say
what methought 1 had. I will get Peter Quince
to write a ballad of this dream : it shall be called
Bottom's Dream, because it hath no bottom ; and
I will sing it in the latter end of the play, before
the duke ! Peradventure, to make it the more gra-
cious, I shall sing it at her death. [Exit.
SCENE II. — Atliens. A Room in Quince's House.
Enter Quince, Flute, Snout, and Starveling.
Quin. Have you sent to Bottom's house ? is he
come home yet?
Star. He cannot be heard of. Out of doubt, he
is transported.
Flu. If lie come not, then the play is marred j
It goes not forward, doth it ?
Quin. It is not possible : you have not a man in
all Athens, able to discharge Pyramus, but he.
Flu. No ; he hath simply the best wit of any
handycraft man in Athens.
Q.uin. Yea, and the best person too : and he is a
very paramour, for a sweet voice.
Flu. You must say, paragon : a paramour is a
thing of nought.
Enter Snug.
Snug. Masters, the duke is coming from the
temple, and there is two or three lords and ladies
more married : if our sport had gone forward, we
had all been made men.
Flu. O sweet bully Buttom ! Thus hath he lost
sixpence a day during his life ; he could not have
'scaped sixpence a-day ; an the duke had not given
him sixpence a-day for playing Pyramus, I'll be
hanged ; he would have deserved it : sixpence
a-day, in Pyramus, or nothing.
Enter Bottom.
Bot. Where are these lads ? whiere are these hearts?
Quin. Bottom ! — O most courageous day ! O
most happy hour !
Bot. Masters, I am to discourse wonders : but ask
me not what ; for, if I tell you, I am no true Athe-
nian. I will tell you every thing, right as it fell out.
Quin. Let us hear, sweet Bottom.
Bot. Not a word of me. All that I will tell you,
is, that the duke hath dined : Get your apparel to-
gether ; good strings to your beards, new ribbons
to your pumps ; meet presently at the palace ;
every man look o'er his part; for, the short and
the long is, our play is preferred. In any case, let
Thisby have clean linen ; and let not him, that
plays the lion pare his nails, for they shall hang
out for the lion's claws. And, most dear actors,
eat no onions, nor garlick, for we are to utter sweet
breath ; and I do not doubt, but to hear them say,
it is a sweet comedy. No more words ; away ; go,
away. [Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I. — An Apartment in the palace o/'Theseus.
Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate, Lords,
and Attendants.
Hip. 'Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers
speak of.
The. More strange than true. I never may believe
These antique fables nor these fairy toys.
Lovers, and madmen, have such seething brains,
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
More than cool reason ever comprehends.
The lunatick, the lover, and the poet,
Are of imagination all compact**:
* Compacted, made.
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold; ,
That is, the madman : the lover, all as frantick.
Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt :
The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling.
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to
heaven.
And, as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation, and a name.
Such tricks hath strong imagination ;
That, if it would but apprehend some joy, .
It comprehends some bringer of that joy ;
Or, in the night, imagining some fear,
How easy is a bush suppos'd a bear?
Scene I.
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.
145
Hip. But all the story of the night told over,
And all their minds transfigur'd so together,
More witnesseth than fancy's images,
And grows to sometliing of great constancy ;
But, howsoever, strange and admirable.
Enter Lysander, Demetrius, Hermia, and
Helena.
The. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth, —
Joy, gentle friends ! joy, and fresh days of love.
Accompany your hearts !
Lys. More than to us
Wait on your royal walks, your board, your bed !
The. Come now ; what masks, what dances shall
we have,
To wear away this long age of three hours,
Between our after-supper, and bed-time ?
Where is our usual manager of mirth ?
What revels are in hand ? Is there no play,
To ease tlue anguish of a torturing hour ?
Call Philostrate.
Philost. Here, miglity Theseus.
Tlie. Say what abridgment * have you for this
evening ?
What mask ? what musick ? How shall we beguile
The lazy time, if not with some delight?
Philost, There is a brief, how many sports are ripe ;
Make choice of which your highness will see first.
[ Giving a paper.
The. \^Reads.'\ Tlie battle with the Centaurs, to be
sung.
By an Athenian songster to the harp.
We'll none of that : tliat have I told my love.
In glory of my kinsman Hercules.
The riot of the tipsy Bacchanals,
Tearing the Thracian singer in their rage.
That is an old device ; and it was play'd
Wlien I from Thebes came last a conqueror.
The thrice three muses mourning for the death
Of learnings late deceased in beggary.
That is some satire, keen, and critical,
Not sorting with a nuptial ceremony.
A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus,
And his love Thisbe ; very tragical mirth.
Merry and tragical ? Tedious and brief?
That i», hot ice, and wonderous strange snow.
How shall we find the concord of this discord?
Philost. A play there is, my lord, some ten words
long;
Which is as brief as I have known a play j
But by ten words, my lord, it is too long ;
Which makes it tedious : for in all the play
There is not one word apt, one player fitted.
And tragical, my noble lord, it is;
For Pyramus therein doth kill himself.
Which, when I saw rehears'd, I must confess,
Made mine eyes water; but more merry tears
The passion of loud laughter never shed.
The. What are they, that do play it ?
Philost. Hard-handed men, that work in Athens
here.
Which never labour'd in their minds till now ;
And now have toil'd their unbrcath'd memories
With this same play, against your nuptial.
The. And we will hear it.
Philost. No, my noble lord,
It is not for you : I have heard it over,
And it is notliing, nothing in tlie world ;
Unless you can find si)ort in tlieir intents,
' rastimc. « Short account
Extremely stretch'd, and conn'd with cruel pain.
To do you service.
The. I will hear that play ;
For never any thing can be amiss.
When simpleness and duty tender it.
Go, bring them in ; — and take your places, ladies.
[Exit Philostrate.
Hip. I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharg'd,
And duty in his service perishing.
Tlie. Why, gentle sweet, you shall see nosuch thing.
Hip. He says, they can do nothing in this kind.
The. The kinderwe,togivethemthanksfornothing.
Our sport shall be, to take what they mistake :
And what poor duty can do.
Noble respect takes it in might, not merit.
Where I have come, great clerks have purposed
To greet me with premeditated welcomes ;
Where I have seen them shiver and look pale,
Make periods in the midst of sentences.
Throttle their practis'd accent in their fears.
And, in conclusion, dumbly have broke off,
Not "paying me a welcome : Trust me, sweet.
Out of this silence, yet, I pick'd a welcome ;
And in the modesty of fearful duty
I read as much, as from tlie rattling tongue
Of sawcy and audacious eloquence.
Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity,
In least, speak most, to my capacity.
Enter Philostrate.
Philost. So please your grace, the prologue is
addrest.7
The. Let him approach. [Flourish of trumpets.
Enter Prologue.
Prol. Jfwe offend, it is tvith our good-will.
That you should think, we come not to offend^
But with good-will. To show our simple skilly
Thai is the true beginning of our end.
Consider then, we come bui in despite.
fVe do not come as minding to content you.
Our true intent is. All for your delight.
We are not here. That you should here repent you.
The actors are at hand ; and, by their show.
You shall know all, that you are like to know.
The. This fellow doth not stand upon points.
Lys. He hath rid his prologue, like a rough colt ;
he knows not the stop. A good moral, my lord :
It is not enough to speak, but to speak true.
Hip. Indeed he hath played on tliis prologue,
like a child on a recorder f^ ; a sound, but not in
government.
The. His speech was like a tangled chain ; no-
thing impaired, but all disordered. Who is next ?
Enter Pyramus and Thisbe, Wall, Moonshine,
and Lion, as in dumb show.
Prol. " Gentles, perchance, you wonder at this
show;
" But wonder on, till truth make all things plain.
" This man is Pyramus, if you would know;
" This beauteous la<ly Thisby is, certain.
" This man, with lime and rough-cast, doth present
" Wall, that vile wall which did these lovers
sunder :
« And through wall's chink, poor souls, they are
content
♦' To whisper; art the which let no man wondir.
Ready.
A musical instrument
./
U6
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.
Act V.
** This man, with lantern, dog, and bush of thorn,
" Presenteth moon-sliine : for, if you will know,
" By moon-shine did these lovers think no scorn
" To meet at Ninus' tomb, there, there to woo.
" This grisly beast, which by name lion hight 9,
" The trusty Thisby, coming first by night,
" Did scare away, or rather did affright :
** And, as she fled, her mantle she did fall ;
" Which lion vile with bloody mouth did stain :
" Anon comes Pyramus, sweet youth, and tall,
" And finds his trusty Thisby's mantle slain :
«« Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade,
" He bravely broach'd his boiling bloody breast;
** And, Thisby tarrying in mulberry shade,
« His dagger drew, and died. For all the rest,
" Let lion, moonshine, wall, and lovers twain,
" At large discourse, while here they do remain."
[Exeunt Prol. Pyr. Thisbe, Lion, and Moonshine.
The. I wonder if the lion be to speak.
Dem. No wonder, my lord : one lion may, when
many asses do.
Wall. " In this same interlude, it doth befall,
" That I, one Snout by name, present a wall :
" And such a wall, as I would have you think,
" That had in it a cranny'd hole, or chink,
" Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby,
" Did whisper often very secretly.
« This loam, this rough-cast, and this stone, doth
show
" That I am that same wall ; the truth is so :
" And this the cranny is, right and sinister,
" Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper."
The. Would you desire lime and hair to speak
better ?
Dem. It is the wittiest partition that ever I heard
discourse, my lord.
The. Pyramus draws near the wall : silence !
Enter Pyramus.
Pi/r. " O grim-look'd night ! O night with hue
so black !
" O night, which ever art, when day is not !
" O night, O night, alack, alack, alack,
" I fear my Thisby's promise is forgot ! —
" And thou, O wall, O sweet, O lovely wall,
" That stand'st between her father's ground and
mine !
*' Thou wall, O wall, O sweet and lovely wall,
" Show me thy chink, to blink through with mine
eyne. [Wall holds up his fingers.
" Thanks, courteous wall : Jove shield thee well for
this !
" But what see I ? No Thisby do I see.
" O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss ;
" Curst be thy stones for thus deceiving me ! "
The. The wall, methinks, being sensible, should
curse again.
Pyr. No, in truth, sir, he should not. Deceiving
niey is Thisby's cue : she is to enter now, and I am
to spy her through the wall. You shall see, it will
fall pat as I told you : — Yonder she comes.
Enter Thisbe.
This. " O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans,
" For parting my fair Pyramus and me :
*• My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones ;
" Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in thee."
Pyr. " I see a voice : now will I to the chink,
*' To spy an I can hear my Thisby's face.
« Thisby ! "
This. ** My love, thou art my love, I think."
Pyr. " Think what thou wilt, I am thy lover's grace ;
" And like Limander am I trusty still."
This. " And I Hke Helen, till the fates me kill."
Pyr. " Not Shafalus to Procrus was so true."
This. " As Shafalus to Procrus, I to you."
Pyr. " O, kiss me through the hole of this vile wall. "
This. " I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all."
Pyr, " Wilt thou at Ninny's tomb meet me
straightway ? "
This. " Tide life, tide death, I come without delay.**
WaJl. " Thus have I, wall, my part discharged so;"
" And, being done, thus wall away doth go."
Exeunt Wall, Pyramus, and Thisbe.
The. Now is the mural down between the two
neighbours.
Dem. No remedy, my lord, when walls are so
wilful to hear without warning.
Hip. This is the silliest stuff that ever I heard.
The. The best in this kind are but shadows : and
the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them.
Hip. It must be your imagination then, and not
theirs.
The. If we imagine no worse of them, than they
of themselves, they may pass for excellent men.
Here come two noble beasts in, a moon and a lion.
Enter Lion and Moonshine.
Lion. " You , ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear
" The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on
floor,
" May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here,
" When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar.
" Then know, that I, one Snug the joiner, am
" A lion fell, nor else no lion's dam :
*' For if I should as lion come in strife
" Into this place, 'twere pity on my life."
The. A very gentle beast and of a good conscience.
Dem. The very best at a beast, my lord, that e'er I
saw.
Lys. This lion is a very fox for his valour.
The. True ; and a goose for his discretion.
Dem. Not so, my lord: for his valour cannot
carry his discretion ; and the fox carries the goose.
The. His discretion, I am sure, cannot carry his
valour ; for the goose carries not the fox. It is
well : leave it to his discretion, and let us listen to
the moon.
Moon. " This lantern doth the horned moon
present : — "
Dem. He should have worn the horns on his head.
The. He is no crescent, and his horns are invisible
vnthin the circumference.
Moon. " Thislantem doth the horned moon present;
" Myself the man i'the moon do seem to be."
The. This is the greatest error of all the rest : the
man should be put into the lantern : How is it else
the man i'the moon ?
Dem. He dares not come there for the candle :
for, you see, it is already in snuff. ^
Hip. I am aweary of this moon : Would, he
would change !
The. It appears, by his small light of discretion,
that he is in the wane : but yet, in courtesy, in all
reason, we must stay the time.
Lys. Proceed, moon.
Moon. All that I have to say, is, to tell you, that
the lantern is the moon ; I, the man in the moon ; this
thorn-bush, my thorn-bush ; and this dog, my d
I In anger ; a quibble.
Scene I.
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM
U7
Dem. Why, all these should be in the lantern ; for
they are in the moon. But, silence; here comes Thisbe.
Enter Thisbe.
This. " This is old Ninny's tomb: Where is my
love ? "
Lion. " Oh. — "
[ The Lion roars. — Thisbe runs off.
Dem. Well roared, lion.
The. Well run, Thisbe.
Bip. Well shone, moon. — Truly, the moon
shines with a good grace.
The. Well moused, lion.
[ The Lion tears Thisbe'a- mantle, and exit.
Dem- And so comes Pyramus.
Lys. And so the lion vanish'd.
Enter Pyramus.
Pyr. " Sweet moon, I tliank thee for thy sunny
beams ;
" I thank tliee, moon, for shining now so bright;
** For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering streams,
" I trust to taste of truest Thisby's sight.
" But stay ; — O spite !
" But mark ; — Poor knight,
" What dreadful dole is here ?
" Eyes, do you see ?
" How can it be ?
** O dainty duck ! O dear !
" Thy mantle good,
" What, slain'd with blood ?
" Approach, ye furies fell !
" O fates ! come, come ;
" Cut thread and thrum ; «
" Quail, crush, conclude, and quell ! "
The. Tliis passion, and the death of a dear friend,
would go near to make a man look sad.
Hip. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man.
Pyr. " O, wherefore, nature, didst thou lions frame ?
" Since lion vile hath here deflour'd my dear :
« Which is — no, no — which was the fairest damo,
« That liv'd, that lov'd, that lik'd, tliat look'd with
" cheer. 3
" Come, tears, confound ;
" Out, sword, and wound
** The pap of Pyramus :
" Ay, that left pap,
" Where heart doth hop :
" Thus die I, thus, thus, thus.
** Now am I dead,
" Now am I fled ;
" My soul is in the sky :
" Tongue, loose Uiy light !
« Moon, take thy flight !
" Now die, die, die, die, die."
{Dies. — Exit Moonshine.
Dem. No die, but an ace, for him ; for he is but one.
Lys. Less than an ace, man ; for he is dead ; he
is notliing.
The. With the help of a surgeon, he might yet
recover, and prove an ass.
Hip. How chance moonshine is gone, before
Thisbe comes back and finds her lover ?
The. She will find him by star-light. — Here she
comes ; and her passion ends the play.
Enter Thisbk.
Hip. Methinks, she should not use a long one,
for such a Pyramus : I hope, she will be brief.
' Coarse yarn. s Countenance.
Dem. A mote will turn the balance, which Py-
ramus, which Thisbe, is the better.
Lys. She hath spied him already with those sweet
eyes.
Dem. And thus she moans, tddelicet. —
Thi<i. " Asleep, my love ?
" What, dead, my dove ?
" O Pyramus, ari'..e,
" Speak, speak. Quite dumb ?
" Dead, dead ? A tomb
" Must cover thy sweet eyes.
" These lily brows,
" This cherry nose,
" These yellow cowslip cheeks,
" Are gone, are gone :
" Lovers, make moan !
•* His eyes were green as leeks.
** O sisters three,
" Come, come, to me,
" With hands as pale as milk ;
" Lay them in gore,
" Since you have shore
" With shears his thread of silk.
" Tongue, not a word ; —
" Come, trusty sword ;
** Come, blade, my breast imbrue :
** And farewell, friends ; ^
« Thus Thisbe ends :
" Adieu, adieu, adieu." [Dies.
The. Moonshine and lion are left to bury the dead.
Dem. Ay, and wall too.
Bot. No, I assure you; the wall is down tliat
parted their fathers. Will it please you to see the
epilogue, or to hear a Bergomask dance, between
two of our company ?
The. No epilogue, I pray you; for your play
needs no excuse. Never excuse ; for when the
players are all dead, there need none to be blamed.
Marry, if he that writ it, had play'd Pyramus and
hanged himself in Thisbe's garter, it would have
been a fine tragedy : and so it is, truly ; and very
notably discharged. But come, your Bergomask :
let your epilogue alone.
[Here a dance of Clowns.
The iron tongue of midnight hath told twelve : —
Lovers, to bed ; 'tis almost fairy time.
I fear we shall outsleep the coming morn.
As much as we this night have overwatch'd.
This palpable gross play hath well beguil'd
The heavy gait of night. — Sweet friends, to bed. —
A fortnight hold we this solemnity.
In nightly revels, and new jollity. [Exeunt.
SCENE XL
Enter Puck.
Puck. Now the hungry lion roars.
And the wolf behowls the moon ;
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores.
All with weary task fordone.^
Now the wasted brands do glow,
Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud,
Puts the wretch, that lies in woe,
In remembrance of a shroud.
Now it is the time of night.
That the graves, all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite,
In the church-way paths to glide :
* Overcome.
L 2
148
MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.
Act V.
And we fairies, that do run
By the triple Hecat's team,
From the presence of the sun.
Following darkness like a dream,
Now are frolick ; not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallow'd house :
I am sent, with broom, before.
To sweep the dust behind the door.
Enter Obe&on and Titania, vnth their Train.
Obe. Through this house give glimmering light.
By the dead and drowsy fire :
Every elf, and fairy sprite.
Hop as light as bird from brier ;
And his ditty, after me,
Sing, and dance it trippingly.
Tito. First, rehearse this song by rote :
To each word a warbling note.
Hand in hand, with fairy grace,
Will we sing, and bless this place.
SONG, AND DANCE.
Obe. Now, until the break of day.
Through this house each fairy stray.
To the best bride-bed will we.
Which by us shall blessed be ;
So shall all the couples three
Ever true in loving be ;
And the blots of nature's hand
Shall not in their issue stand ;
Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar,
Nor mark prodigious *, such as are
Despised in nativity,
Shall upon their children be. —
With this field-dew consecrate,
Every fairy take his gait 6 ;
And each several chamber bless.
Through this palace with sweet peace :
E'er shall it in safety rest.
And the owner of it blest.
Trip away ;
Make no stay ;
Meet me al I by break of day.
[Exeunt Oberon, Titania, and Train.
Puck. If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, {and all is mended,)
That you have but slumbered hei-e,
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,.
Gentles, do not reprehend ;
If you pardon, we will mend.
And, as I am honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to ^scape the serpent's tongue.
We wUl nwke amends, ere long :
Else the Puck a liar call.
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we bejtiends,
And Robin shall restore amends. [Exit.
» Portentous. « Way.
\^
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
Ferdinand, King of Navarre.
BiRON, "1
LoNGAViLLE, \ Lords, attending on the King.
DUMAIN, J
BoYET, \ Lords, attending on the Princess of
Mercade, J France.
Don Adriano de Armado, a fantastical Spaniard.
Sir Nathaniel, a Curate.
Holofernes, a Schoolmaster.
Dull, a Constable.
Costard, a Clown.
Moth, Page to Armado.
A Forester.
Princess of France.
Rosaline, "1
Maria, > Ladies attending on the Princess.
Katharine, J
Jaquenetta, a Country Girl.
Officers and others, attendants on the King and
Princess.
SCENE, Navarre.
rr^-^^.—^TTiT
i^OHK I I,L BKAU TUE UDK THAT I HaVE WHIT.
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST,
ACT I.
SCENE I. — Navarre. A I'ark, with a Palace in it.
Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumain.
King. Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives,
Live register'd upon our brazen tombs,
And then grace us in the disgrace of death ;
When, spite of cormorant devouring time.
The endeavour of this present breath may buy
That honour, which shall bate his scythe's keen
edge.
And make us heirs of all eternity.
Therefore, brave conquerors : — for so you are,
That war against your own affections.
And the huge anny of the world's desires, —
Our late edict shall strongly stand in force :
Navarre shall be the wonder of the world ;
Our court shall be a little Academe,
Still and contemplative in living art.
You three, Biron, Dumain, and Longaville,
Have sworn for three years' term to live with me,
My fellow-scholars, and to keep those statutes,
That are recorded in this schedule here :
Your oaths are past, and now subscribe your names ;
That his own hand may strike his honour down.
That violates the smallest branch herein :
If you are arm'd to do, as sworn to do.
Subscribe to your deep oath, and keep it too.
I.img. I am resolv'd : 'tis but a three years' fast ;
The mind shall banquet, though the body pine :
Fat paunches have lean pates ; and dainty bits
Make rich the ribs, but bank'rout quite the wits.
J)um. My loving lord, Dumain is mortified ;
The grosser manner of these world's delights
He throws upon the gross world's baser slaves :
To love, to wealth, to pomp, I pine and die ;
With all these living in philosophy.
Biron. I can but say their protestation over.
So much, dear liege, I have already sworn,
That is. To live and study here three years.
But there are other strict observances :
As, not to see a woman in that term ;
Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there :
And, one day in a week to touch no food ;
And but one meal on every day beside ;
The which, I hope, is not enrolled there :
And then, to sleep but three hours in the night.
And not be seen to wink of all the day ;
(When I was wont to think no harm all night.
And make a dark night too of half the day ;;
Which, I hope well, is not enrolled there :
O, these are barren tasks, too liard to keep ;
Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep.
A'ing. Your oatli is pass'd to pass away from these.
liiron. Let me say no, my liege, an if you please ?
I only swore, to study with your grace,
And stay here in your court for three years* space.
Long. You swore to that, Biron, and to the rest.
Biron. By yea and nay, sir, tlien I swore in jest. —
W^hat is the end of study ? let me know.
A'ifig. Why, that to know, which else we should
not know.
Biron. Things hid and barr'd, you mc>an, from
common sense?
King. Ay, that i> study's god-like recomp<;nse.
L 3
w
150
LOVES LABOUR'S LOST.
Act I,
Biron. Come on then, I will swear to study so,
To know the thing I am forbid to know :
As thus — To study where 1 well may dine,
When I to feast expressly am forbid ;
Or, study where to meet some mistress fine,
When mistresses from common sense are hid :
Or, having sworn too hard-a-keeping oath,
Study to break it, and not break my troth.
If study's gain be thus, and this be so,
Study knows that, which yet it doth not know :
Swear me to this, and I will ne'er say, no.
King. These be the stops that hinder study quite.
And train our intellects to vain delight.
Biron. Why, all delights are vain ; but that most
vain.
Which, with pain purchas'd, doth inherit pain :
As, painfully to pore upon a book,
To seek the light of truth ; while truth the while
Doth falsely blind the eyesight of his look :
Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile :
So, ere you find where light in darkness lies.
Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.
Study me how to please the eye indeed,
By fixing it upon a fairer eye ;
Who dazzling so, that eye shall be his heed,
And give him light that was it blinded by.
Study is like the heaven's glorious sun,
That will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks ;
Small have continual plodders ever won,
Save base authority from others' books.
These earthly godfathers of heaven's lights,
That give a name to every fixed star.
Have no more profit of their shining nights,
Than those that walk, and wot not what they are.
Too much to know, is, to know nought but fame ;
And every godfather can give a name.
King. How well he's read, to reason against
reading !
Dum. Proceeded well, to stop all good proceeding !
Long. He weeds the corn, and still let's grow
the weeding,
Biron. The spring is near, when green geese are
a breeding.
Dum. How follows that ?
Biron. Fit in his place and time.
Dum. In reason nothing.
Biron. Something then in rhyme.
Long. Biron is like an envious sneaping ' frost,
That bites the first-born infants of the spring.
Biron. Well, say I am ; why should proud
summer boast.
Before the birds have any cause to sing ?
Why should I joy in an abortive birth ?
At Christmas I no more desire a rose
Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows ;
But like of each thing, that in season grows.
So you, to study now it is too late,
Climb o'er the house t' unlock the little gate.
King. Well, sit you out : go home, Biron ; adieu !
Biron. No, my good lord ; I have suorn to stay
with you :
And. though I have for barbarism spoke more,
Than for tliat angel knowledge you can say.
Yet confident I'll keep what I have swore.
And bide the penance of each three years' day.
Give me the papei-, let me read the same ;
And to the strict'st decrees I'll write my name.
King. How well this yielding rescues thee from
shame !
' Nipping.
Biron. \^Reads'\ Item, That no woman shall come
within a mile of my court. —
And hath this been proclaim'd ?
Long. Four days ago.
Biron. Let s see the penalty.
[^Reads.'\ — On pain of losing her tongue. —
Who devis'd this ?
Long. Marry, that did I.
Biron. Sweet lord, and why ?
Long. To fright them hence with that dread pe-
nalty.
Biron. A dangerous law against gentility.
[Reads.} Item, If any man be seen to talk tvilh a
woman within the term of three years, he shall endure
such publicic shame as the rest of the court can possibly
devise —
This article, my liege, yourself must break ;
For, well you know, here comes in embassy
The Frenchking'sdaughter, with yourself to speak, —
A maid of grace, and complete majesty, —
About surrender-up of Aquitain
To her decrepit, sick, and bed-rid father :
Therefore this article is made in vain.
Or vainly comes the admired princess hitlier.
King. What say you, lords ? why, this was quite
forgot.
Biron. So study evermore is overshoot ;
While it doth study to have what it wouhi.
It doth forget to do the thing it should :
And when it hath the thing it hunteth most,
'Tis won, as towns with fire ; so won, so lost.
King. We must, of force, dispense with this decree;
She must be here on mere necessity.
Biron. If I break faith, this word shall speak for
me,
I am forsworn on mere necessity. —
So to the laws at large I write my name .
[Subs{
And he, that breaks them in the least degree
Stands in attainder of perpetual shame :
Suggestions are to others, as to me ;
But, I believe, although I seem so loth,
I am the last that will last keep his oath.
But is there no quick recreation granted ?
King. Ay, that there is: our court, you know, is
haunted
With a refined traveller of Spain ;
A man in all the world's new fashion planted.
That hath a mint of phrases in his brain :
One, whom the musick of his own vain tongue
Doth ravish, like enchanting harmony ;
A man of compliments, whom right and wrong
Have chose as umpire of their mutiny ;
This child of fancy, that Armado hight %
For interim to our studies, shall relate.
In high-born words, the worth of many a knight
From tawny Spain, lost in the world's debate.
How you delight, my lords, I know not, I ;
But, I protest, I love to hear him lie,
And I will use him for my minstrelsy.
Biro7i. Armado is a most illustrious wight,
A man of fire-new words, fashion's own knight.
Long. Costard the swain, and he, shall be oi
sport ;
And, so to study, three years is but short
King. Then go we, lords, to put in practice thai
Which each to other hath so strongly sworn .
[Exeunt King, Longaville, and UuMAislf^
1|
Tcmi)tatioi)s.
3 Calletl.
Scene II. LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
JBiron. I'll lay my head to any good man's hat,
These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn.
lExit.
SCENE II. — Armado's House.
Enter Armado and Moth
Arm. Boy, what sign is it when a man of great
spirit grows melancholy ?
Moth. A great sign, sir, that he will look sad.
Arm. Why, sadness is one and the self-same
thing, dear imp.
Moth. No, no, sir, no.
Arm. How canst thou part sadness and melan-
choly, my tender ju venal ? ^
Moth. By a famih'ar demonstration of the work-
ing, my tough senior.
Arm. Why tough senior ? why tough senior ?
Moth. Why tender juvenal ? why tender juvenal ?
Arm. I spoke it, tender juvenal, as a congruent
epitheton, appertaining to thy young days, which
we may nominate tender.
Moth. And I, tough senior, as an appertinent title
to your old time, which we may name tough.
Arm. Pretty and apt.
Moth. How mean you, sir? I pretty, and my
saying apt ? or, I apt, and my saying pretty ?
Arm. Thou pretty, because little.
Moth. Little pretty, because little: Wherefore apt?
Arm. And therefore apt, because quick.
Moth. Speak you this in my praise, master ?
Arm. In thy condign praise.
Moth. I will praise an eel with the same praise.
Arm. What ? that an eel is ingenious ?
Moth. That an eel is quick.
Arm. I do say, thou art quick in answers : Thou
heatest my blood.
Moth. I am answered, sir.
Arm. I love not to be crossed.
Moth. He speaks the mere contrary, crosses ^ love
not him. lAside.
Arm. I have promised to study three years with
the duke.
Moth. You may do it in an hour, sir.
Arm. Impossible.
Moth. How many is one thrice told ?
Arm. I am ill at reckoning, it fitteth the spirit
of a tapster.
Moth. You are a gentleman, and a gamester, sir.
Arm. I confess both ; they are both the varnish
of a complete man.
Moth. Then, I am sure you know how much the
gross sum of deuce-ace amounts to.
Arvu It doth amount to one more than two.
Moth. Which the base vulgar do call three,
Arm^ True.
Moth. Why, sir, is this such a piece of study?
Now here is three studied, ere you'll thrice wink :
and how easy it is to put years to the word three,
and study three years in two words, the dancing
horse will tell you.
Arm. A most fine figure !
Moth. To prove you a cipher. [Aside.
Arm. I will hereupon confess, I am in love : and
my love is most immaculate white and red.
Moth. Most maculate thoughts, master, are
masked under such colours.
Arm. Define, define, well-educated infant.
Moth. My father's wit, and my mother's tongue
assist me !
* Young maa
* The name of a coin once current
151
Arm. Sweet invocation of a child ; most pretty
and pathetical ! r /»
Moth. If she be made of white and red.
Her faults will ne'er be known ;
For blushing cheeks by faults are bred,
And fears by pale white shown :
Then, if she fear, or be to blame.
By this you shall not know ;
For still her cheeks possess the same,
Which native she doth owe. 6
A dangerous rhyme, master, against the reason of
white and red.
Arm. Is there not a ballad, boy, of the King and
the Beggar? ^
Moth. The world was very guilty of such a ballad
some three ages since : but, I think, now 'tis not to
be found ; or, if it were, it would neither serve for
the writing nor the tune.
Arm. I will have the subject newly writ o'er,
that I may example my digression by some mighty
precedent. Boy, I do love that country girl, that
I took in the park with the rational hind. Costard ;
she deserves well.
Moth. To be whipped ; and yet a better love
than my master. [Aside.
Arm. Sing, boy ; my spirit grows heavy in love.
Moth. And that's great marvel, loving a light
woman.
Arm. I say sing.
Moth. Forbear till this company be past.
Enter Dull, Costard, and Jaquenetta.
Dull. Sir, the duke's pleasure is, that you keep
Costard safe : and you must let him take no delight,
nor no penance ; but a' must fast three days a- week :
For this damsel, I must keep her at the park ; she
is allowed for the day- woman. 7 Fare you well.
Arm. I do betray myself with blushing. — Maid.
Ja/f. Man.
Arm. I will visit thee at the lodge.
Jaq. That's hereby.
Arm. I know where it is situate.
Jag. How wise you are !
Arm. I will tell thee wonders.
Jaq. With that face ?
Arm. I love thee.
Jaq. So I heard you say.
Arm. And so farewell.
Jaq. Fair weather after you !
Dull. Come, Jaquenetta, away.
[Exe^int Dull a7id Jaquenetta.
Arm. Villain, thou shalt fast for thy offences, ere
thou be pardoned.
Cost. Well, sir, I hope, when I do it, I shall do
it on a full stomach.
Arm. Thou shalt be heavily punished.
Cost. I am more bound to you, than your fellows,
for they are but lightly rewarded.
Arm- Take away this villain ; shut him up.
Moth. Come, you transgressing slave ; away.
Cost. Let me not be pent up, sir; I will fast,
being loose.
Moth. No, sir, tliat were fast and loose : thou
shalt to prison.
Cost. Well, if ever I do see the merry days of
desolation ttiat I have seen, some shall see —
Moth. What shall some see ?
Cost. Nay, notliing, master Moth, but what they
look upon. It is not for prisoners to be too silent
^ Of which the it naturally poMcsaed.
L 4
Dairjr-wonuuL
152
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
Act IL
in their words ; and, therefore, I will say nothing :
I have as little patience as another man ; and there-
fore I can be quiet. [Exeunt Moth and Costard.
^rm. I do affect" the very ground, which is base,
where her shoe, which is baser, guided by her foot,
which is basest, doth tread. I shall be forsworn,
(wliich is a great argument of falsehood,) if I love :
And how can that be true love, which is falsely
attempted? Cupid's butt-shafts is too hard for
Hercules* club, and therefore too much odds for a
Spaniard's rapier. The first and second cause will
not serve my turn ; the passado he respects not, the
duello he regards not : his disgrace is to be called
boy ; but his glory is to subdue men. Adieu, va-
lour ! rust, rapier ! be still, drum ! for your manager
is in love ; yea, he loveth. Assist me, some extem-
poral god of rhyme, for, I am sure, I sliall turn
sonneteer. Devise, wit ; write, pen j for I am for
whole volumes in folio.
[ExU.
ACT IL
SCENE 1. — A Pavilion, and Tents at a distance.
Enter the Princess of France, Rosaline, Maria,
Katharine, Boyet, Lords, and other Attendants.
Boyet. Now, madam, summon up your dearest
spirits :
Consider who the king your father sends ;
To whom he sends ; and what's his embassy :
Yourself, held precious in the world f esteem ;
To parley with the sole inheritor
Of all perfections that a man may owe.
Matchless Navarre ; the plea of no less weight
Than Aquitain ; a dowry for a queen.
Be now as prodigal of all dear grace,
As nature was in making graces dear,
When she did starve the general world beside.
And prodigally gave them all to you.
Priti. Good lord Boyet, my beauty, though but
mean,
Needs not the painted flourish of your praise ;
Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye.
Not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues :
I am less proud to hear you tell my worth,
Than you much willing to be counted wise
In spending your wit in the praise of mine.
But now to task the tasker. — Good Boyet,
You are not ignorant, all-telling fame
Doth noise abroad Navarre hath made a vow,
Till painful study shall out-wear three years.
No woman may approach his silent court :
Therefore to us seemeth it a needful course.
Before we enter his forbidden gates.
To know his pleasure ; and, in that behalf.
Bold of your worthiness, we single you
As our best-moving fair solicitor :
Tell him, the daughter of the king of France,
On serious business, craving quick despatch,
Imp6rtunes personal conference with his grace.
Haste, signify so much ; while we attend.
Like humbly-visag'd suitors, his high will.
Boyet. Proud of employment, willingly I go.
{^Exit.
Prin. All pride is willing pride, and yours is so. —
Who are the votaries, my loving lords.
That are vow-fellows with this virtuous duke?
1 Lord. Longaville is one.
Prin. Know you the man ?
Mar. I know him, madam ; at a marriage feast.
Between lord Perigort and the beauteous heir
Of Jaques Falconbridge solemnized.
In Normandy saw I this Longaville :
A man of sovereign parts he is esteem'd ;
Well fitted in the arts, glorious in arms :
* Love. 9 Arrow to shoot at butts with.
Nothing becomes him ill, that he would well.
The only soil of his fair virtue's gloss,
(If virtue's gloss will stain with any soil,)
Is a sharp wit match'd with too blunt a will ;
Whose edge hath power to cut, whose will still wills
It should none spare that come within his power.
Prin. Some merry mocking lord, belrke ; is't so ?
Mar. They say so most, that most his humours
know.
Prin. Such short-liv'd wits do wither as they grow.
Who are the rest ?
Kath. The young Dumain, a well-accomplish'd
youth.
Of all that virtue love for virtue lov'd :
Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill ;
For he hath wit to make an ill shape good.
And shape to win grace though he had no wit.
I saw him at the duke Alen9on's once ;
And much too little of that good I saw,
Is my report, to his great worthiness.
JRo5. Another of these students at that time
Was there with him : if I have heard a truth,
Biron they call him ; but a merrier man,
Within the limit of becoming mirth,
I never spent an hour's talk withal :
His eye begets occasion for his wit ;
For every object that the one doth catch.
The other turns to a mirth-moving jest ;
Which his fair tongue (conceit's expositor)
Delivers in such apt and gracious words.
That aged ears play truant at his tales.
And younger hearings are quite ravished ;
So sweet and voluble is his discourse.
Prin. Heaven bless my ladies ! are they all in love;
That every one her own hath garnished
With such bedecking ornaments of praise ?
Mar. Here comes Boyet.
Re-enter Boyet.
Prin. Now, what admittance, lord ?
Boyet. Navarre had notice of your fair approach j
And he, and his competitors i in oath,
Were all address'd "^ to meet you, gentle lady,
Before I came. Marry, thus much I have learnt.
He rather means to lodge you in the field,
(Like one that comes here to besiege his court,)
Than seek a dispensation for his oath.
To let you enter his unpeopled house.
Here comes Navarre. [Tfie Ladies mask.
Enter King, Longaville, Dumain, Biron, and
Attendants.
King. Fair princess, welcome to the court of
Navarre.
> Confederates. a Preitared,
■
Scene I.
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
153
Prin. Fair, I give you back again ; and, welcome
I have not yet : the roof of this court is too high to
be yours ; and welcome to the wild fields too base
to be mine.
Ji'ing. You shall be welcome, madam, to my court.
Prin. I will be welcome then; conduct me
thither.
ITing. Hear me, dear lady ; I have sworn an oath.
Prin. Our lady help my lord ! he'll be forsworn.
Mng. Not for the world, fair madam, by my will.
Prin. Why, will shall break it ; will, and nothing
else.
I^ing. Your ladyship is ignorant what it is.
Prin. Were my lord so, his ignorance were wise,
Where now his knowledge must prove ignorance.
I hear, your grace hath sworn-out house-keeping :
'Tis deaidly sin to keep that oath, my lord,
And sin to break it :
But pardon me, I am too sudden-bold ;
To teach a teacher ill beseemeth me.
Vouchsafe to read the purpose of my coming,
And suddenly resolve me in my suit. [Gives a paper.
King. Madam, I will, if suddenly I may.
Prin. You will the sooner, that I were away ;
For you'll prove perjur'd. if you make me stay.
liiron. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once?
Ros. Did not I dance with you in Brabant once ?
Biron. I know you did.
Ros. How needless was it then
To ask the question !
Biron. You must not be so quick.
Ros. *Tis 'long of you that spur me witli such
questions.
Biron. Your wit's too hot, it speeds too fast, 'twill
tire.
Ros. Not till it leave the rider in the mire.
Biron. What time o' day ?
Ros. The hour that fools shall ask.
Biron. Now fair befall your mask !
Ros. Fair fall the face it covers !
Biron. And send you many lovers !
Ros. Amen, so you be none.
Biron. Nay, then vnll I be gone.
King. Madam, your father here doth intimate
The payment of a hundred thousand crowns ;
Ik'ing but the one half of an entire sum.
Disbursed by my father in his wars.
I Jut say, that he, or we, (as neither have,)
Receiv'd that sura ; yet there remains unpaid
A hundred thousand more; in surety of the which.
One part of Aquitain is bound to us.
Although not valued to the money's worth.
If then the king your father will restore
But that one half which is unsatisfied,
We will give up our right in Aquitain,
And hold fair friendship with his majesty.
Hut that, it seems, he little purposeth,
I 'or here he doth demand to have repaid
An hundred thousand crowns; and not demands.
On payment of a hundred tliousand crowns,
To have his title live in Aquitain ;
Which we much rather had depart 3 withal.
And have the money by our father lent,
Than Aquitain divided as it is.
Dear princess, were not his requests so far
From reason's yielding, your fair self should make
A yielding, 'gainst some reason, in my breast,
And go well satisfied to France again.
Prin. You do the king my father too much wrong,
3 Part
And wrong the reputation of your name.
In so unseeming to confess receipt
Of that which hath so faithfully been paid.
King. I do protest, I never heard of it ;
And, if you prove it, I'll repay it back,
Or yield up Aquitain.
Prill. We arrest your word : ^
Boyet, you can produce acquittances.
For such a sum, from special officers
Of Charles his father.
King. Satisfy me so.
Boyet. So please your grace, the packet is not
come,
Where that and other specialties are bound ;
To-morrow you shall have a sight of them.
King. It shall suffice me : at which interview,
All liberal reason I will yield unto.
Mean time, receive such welcome at my hand, •
As honour, without breach of honour, may
Make tender of to thy true worthiness :
You may not come, fair princess, in my gates ;
But here without, you shall be so receiv'd,
As you shall deem yourself lodg'd in my heart.
Though so denied fair harbour in my house.
Your own good thoughts excuse me, and farewell :
To-morrow shall we visit you again.
Prin, Sweet health and fair desires consort your
grace !
King. Thy own wish wish I thee in every place !
[Exeunt King and his Train.
Biron. Lady, I will commend you to my own
heart.
Ros. 'Pray you, do my commendations ; I would
be glad to see it.
Biron. I would, you heard it groan.
Ros. Is the fool sick ?
Biron. Sick at heart.
Ros. Alack, let it blood.
Biron. Would that do it good ?
Ros. My physick says, I. "*
Biron. Will you prick't with your eye ?
Ros. No poynt ^, with ray knife.
Biron. Now, heaven save thy life !
Ros. And yours from long living !
Biron. I cannot stay thanksgiving. [Retiring.
Dum, Sir, I pray you, a word : What lady is tliat
sarae?
Boyet. The heir of Alen^on, Rosaline her name.
Dum. A gallant lady ! Monsieur, fare you well.
[Eiit.
Long. I beseech you a word ; What is she in the
white ?
Boyet. A woman sometimes, an you saw her in
the light.
Long. Pray you, sir, whose daughter ?
Boyet. Her mother's, I have heard.
Long. Heaven's blessing on your beard !
Boyet. Good sir, be not offended :
She is an heir of Falconbridge.
Long. Nay, ray choler is ended.
She is a raost sweet lady.
Boyet. Not unlike, sir ; that may be. [Exit Long.
Biron. What's her name in the cap?
Boyet. Katharine, by good hap.
Biron. Is she wedded or no ?
Boyet. To her will, sir, or so.
Biron. You are welcome, sir ; adieu !
Boyet. Farewell to me, sir, and welcome to you.
[Exit Biron. — Ladies unmask.
♦ Ay, ye*. * A French particle of negation.
154
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
Act IlL
Mar. That last is Biron, the merry mad-cap lord ;
Not a word with him but a jest.
Boyet. And every jest but a word.
If my observation, (which very seldom lies,)
By the heart's still rhetorick, disclosed with eyes,
Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.
Pnn. With what?
Boyet. With that which we lovers entitle, affected.
Prin. Your reason ?
Boyet. Why all his behaviours did make their retire
To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire :
His heart, like an agate, with your print impressed.
Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed :
His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see.
Did stumble with haste in his eye-sight to be ;
All senses to that sense did make their repair,
To feel only looking on fairest of fair :
Methought, all his senses were lock'd in his eye,
As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy ;
Who, tend'ring their own worth, from where they
were glass' d,
Did point you to buy them, along as you pass'd.
His face's own margent did quote such amazes,
That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes :
I'll give you Aquitain, and all that is his,
An you give him for my sake but one loving kiss.
Prin. Come, to our pavilion : Boyet is dispos'd —
Boyet. But to speak that in words, which his eye
hath disclos'd :
I only have made a mouth of his eye,
By adding a tongue which I know will not lie.
Ros. Thou art an old love-monger, and speak'st
skilfully.
Mar. He is cupid's grandfather, and learns news
of him.
Ros. Then was Venus like her motner ; for her
father is but grim.
Boyet. Do you hear, my mad girls ?
Mar. No.
Boyet. What then, do you see ?
Ros. Ay, our way to be gone.
Boyet. You are too hard for me.
\_Exeunt7
ACT III.
SCENE 1 The Park, near the Palace.
Enter Arm a do and Moth.
Arm. Warble, child ; make passionate my sense
of hearing.
Moth. Concolinel ^Singing.
Arm. Sweet air ! — Go, tenderness of years ; take
this key, give enlargement to the swain, bring him
festinately 6 hither ; I must employ him in a letter
to my love.
Moth. Master, will you \dn yoiu* love with a
French brawl ? 7
Arm. How mean'st thou ? brawling in French ?
Moth. No, my complete master: but to jig off
a tune at the tongue's end, canary 6 to it with your
feet, humour it with turning up your eye-lids ; sigh
a note, and sing a note; sometime through the
throat, as if you swallowed love vnth singing love ;
sometime through the nose, as if you snuffed up
love by smelling love ; with your hat penthouse-
like, o'er the shop of your eyes ; with your arms
crossed on your thin doublet, like a rabbit on a
spit ; or yoiu- hands in your pocket, like a man after
the old painting; and keep not too long in one
tune, but a snip and away.
Arm. How hast thou purchased this experience ?
Moth. By my penny of observation.
Arm. But O, — but O, —
Moth. — the hobby-horse is forgot.
Arm. Callest thou my love, hobby-horse ?
Moth. No, master; the hobby-horse is but a colt,
and your love, perhaps, a hackney. But have you
forgot your love ?
Arm. Almost I had.
Moth. Negligent student ! learn her by heart.
Arm. By heart, and in heart, boy.
Moth. And out of heart, master : all those three
1 will prove.
Arm. What will that prove ?
6 Hastily. 7 A kind of dance.
s Canary was the name of a sprightly dance.
Moth. A man, if I live ; and this, by, in, and
without, upon the instant : By heart you love her,
because your heart cannot come by her : in heart
you love her, because your heart is in love with
her : and out of heart you love her, being out of
heart that you cannot have her.
Arm, I am all these three.
Moth. And three times as much more, and yet
nothing at all.
Arm. Fetch hither the swain ; he must carry me
a letter.
Moth. A message well sympathised ; a horse to
be embassador for an ass !
Arm. Ha, ha ! what sayest thou ?
Moth. Marry, sir, you must send the ass upon the
horse, for he is very slow gaited : But I go.
Arm. The way is but short ; away.
Moth. As swift as lead, sir.
Arm. Thy meaning, pretty ingenious ?
Is not lead a metal heavy, dull, and slow ?
Moth. Minime, honest master ; or rather, master
Arm. I say, lead is slow.
Moth. You are too swift, sir, to say so
Is that lead slow which is fired from a gun ?
Arm. Sweet smoke of rhetorick :
He reputes me a cannon ; and the bullet, that's he
I shoot thee at the swain.
Moth. Thump then, and I fl
[JExif.
Arm. A most acute Juvenal ; voluble and free of
I
By thy favour, sweet welkin, I must sigh in thy face :
Most rude melancholy, valour gives thee place.
My herald is return'd.
Re-enter Moth and Costard. 1
Moth. A wonder, master; here's a costard
broken in a shin.
9 A head.
Scene I.
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
155
Arm. Some enigpia, some riddle : come, — thy
T envoy ' ; — begin.
Cost. No egma, no riddle, no V envoy ; no salve
in the mail, sir : O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain ;
no t envoy, no t envoy, no salve, sir, but a plantain !
Arm. By virtue, thou enforcest laughter; thy
silly thought, my spleen ; the heaving of my lungs
provokes me to ridiculous smiling : O, pardon me,
my stars! Doth the inconsiderate take salve for
V envoy, and the word, V envoy, for a salve ?
Moth. Do the wise think them other? is not
V envoy a salve ?
Arm. No, page : it is an epilogue or discourse
to make plain
Some obscure precedence that hath tofore been sain.
I will example it :
The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee.
Were still at odds, being but three.
There's the moral : Now the V envoy.
Moth. I will add the Venvoy : Say the moral again.
Arm. The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee.
Were still at odds, being but three :
Moth. Until the goose came out of door,
And stay'd the odds by adding four.
Now will I begin your moral, and do you follow
with my Venvoy.
The fox, the ape, and the humble-bee.
Were still at odds, being but three :
Arm. Until the goose came out of door.
Staying the odds by adding four.
Moth. A good Venvoy, ending in the goose :
Would you desire more ?
Cost. The boy hath sold him a bargain, a goose,
that's flat : —
Sir, your pennyworth is good, an your goose be fat —
To sell a bargain well, is as cunning as fast and loose :
Let me see a fat Venvoy ; ay, that's a fat goose.
Arm. Come hither, come liither : How did this
argument begin ?
Moth. By saying that a Costard was broken in a shin.
Then call'd you for the Venvoy.
Cost. True, and I for a plantain : Thus came
your argument in ;
Then the boy's fat Venvoy, the goose that you bought ;
And he ended the market.
Arm. But tell me ; how was there a Costard
broken in a shin ?
Moth. I will tell you sensibly.
Cost. Thou hast no feeling of it. Moth ; I will
speak that Venvoy :
I, Costard, running out, that was safely within.
Fell over the threshold, and broke my shin.
Arm. We will talk no more of this matter.
Cost. Till there be more matter in the shin.
Arm. Sirrah Costard, I will enfranchise thee.
Cost. O, marry me to one Frances : — I smell
some Venvoy, some goose, in this.
Arm^ I mean, setting thee at liberty, enfreedom-
ing thy person ; thou wert immured, restrained,
captivated, bound.
Cost. True, true ; and now you will let me loose.
Arm. I give thee thy liberty, set thee from dur-
ance ; and, in lieu thereof, impose on thee nothing
but this : Bear this significant to the country maid
Jaquenetta: there is remuneration; [Gitnng him
money.] for the best ward of mine honour, is re-
warding my dependents. Moth, follow. lErit.
'An old French term for concludine verses, which served
either to convey the moral, or to address the poem to some
person. *^
Moth. Like the sequel, I. — Signior Costard,
adieu. [Exit Moth.
Cost. Now will I look to his remuneration. Re-
muneration ! O, that's the Latin word for three
farthings : three farthings — remuneration. — WhaVs
the price of this inkle ? a penyiy : — No, VU give you
a remuneration : why, it carries it, — Remuneration !
Enter Biron.
Biron. O, my good knave Costard ! exceedingly
well met.
Cost. Pray you, sir, how much carnation ribbon
may a man buy for a remuneration ?
Biron. What is a remuneration ?
Cost. Marry, sir, half-penny farthing.
Biron. O, why then, three-fannings-worth of silk.
Cost. I thank your worship : Heaven be with you !
Biron. O, stay, slave ; I must employ thee :
As thou wilt win my favour, good my knave,
Do one thing for me that I shall entreat.
Cost. When would you have it done, sir ?
Biron. O, this afternoon.
Cost. Well, I will do it, sir : Fare you well.
Biron O, thou knowest not"what it is.
Cost. I shall know, sir, when I have done it.
Biron. Why, villain, thou must know first.
Cost. I will come to your worship to-morrow
morning.
Biron. It must be done this afternoon. Hark,
slave, it is but this ; —
The princess comes to hunt here in the park,
And in her train there is a gentle lady ;
When tongues speak sweetly, then Uiey name her
name.
And Rosaline they call her : ask for her ;
And to her white hand see thou do commend
This seal'd up counsel. There's thy guerdon 2 ;
go. [Gives him money.
Cost. Guerdon, — O sweet guerdon ! better than
remuneration ; eleven-pence farthing better : Most
sweet guerdon ! — I will doit,sir,in print.3 — Guer-
don — remuneration. [Exit.
Biron. O ! — And I, forsooth, in love ! I, tliat
have been love's whip ;
A very beadle to a humourous sigh ;
A critick ; nay, a night-watch constable ;
A domineering pedant o'er the boy,
Than whom no mortal so magnificent !
This whimpled ^, whining, purblind, wayward boy;
This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid ;
Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms.
The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans,
Liege of all loiterers and malcontents.
And I to be a corporal of his field.
And wear his colours like a tumbler's hoop !
What? I ! I love ! I sue ! I seek a wife !
A woman, that is like a German clock.
Still a repairing ; ever out of frame ;
And never going aright, being a watch,
But being watch 'd that it may still go right ?
Nay, to be perjur'd, which is worst of all ;
And, among three, to love the worst of all ;
And I to sigh for her ! to watch for her !
To pray for her ! Go to ; it is a plague
That Cupid will impose for my neglect
Of his most mighty dreadful little might.
Well, 1 will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, and groan ;
Some men must love my lady, and some Joan.
[EiU.
' Reward. a With the utmoct exactness.
'* Hooded, veiled.
156
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
Act IV.
ACT IV.
SCENE I. —A Pavilion in the Park.
Enter the Princess, Rosaline, Maria, Katharine,
BoYET, Lords, Attendants, and a Forester.
Prin. Was that the king, that spurred his horse
so hard
Against the steep uprising of the hill ?
Jioi/et. I know not ; but 1 think, it was not he.
Prin. Whoe'er he was, he show'd a mounting
mind.
Well, lords, to-day we shall have our despatch ;
On Saturday we will return to France. —
Then, forester, ray friend, where is the bush.
That we must stand and play the murderer in ?
For. Here by, upon the edge of yonder coppice ;
A stand, where you may make the fairest shoot.
Prin. I thank my beauty, I am fair that shoot,
And thereupon thou speak'st, the fairest shoot.
For. Pardon me, madam, for I meant not so.
Prin. What, what? first praise me, and again
say, no?
O short-liv'd pride ! Not fair ? alack for woe !
For. Yes, madam, fair.
Prin. Nay, never paint me now ;
Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow.
Here, good my glass, take this for telling true ;
[Giving him money.
Fair payment for foul words is more than due.
For. Nothing but fair is that which you inherit.
Prin. See, see, my beauty will be sav'd by merit.
O heresy in fair, fit for these days !
A giving hand, though foul, shall have fair praise.' —
But come, the bow : — Now mercy goes to kill.
And shooting well is then accounted ill.
Thus will I save my credit in the shoot :
Not wounding, pity would not let me do't ;
If wounding, then it was to show my skill,
That more for praise, than purpose, meant to kill.
And, out of question, so it is sometimes ;
Glory grows guilty of detested crimes ;
When, for fame's sake, for praise, an outward part,
We bend to that the working of the heart ;
As I, for praise alone, now seek to spill
The poor deer's blood, tliat my heart means no ill.
Boyet. Do not curst wives hold that self-sove.
reignty
Only for praise' sake, when they strive to be
Lords o'er their lords ?
Prin. Only for praise : and praise we may afford
To any lady that subdues a lord.
ErUer Costard.
Prin, Here comes a member of the common-
wealth.
Cost. Pray you, which is the head lady ?
Prin- Thou shalt know her, fellow, by the rest
that have no heads.
Cost. Which is the greatest lady, the highest ?
Prin. The thickest, and the tallest.
Cost, The thickest, and the tallest! it is so; truth
is truth.
Are not you the chief woman ? you are the thick-
est here.
Prin. What's your will, sir ? what's your will ?
Cost. I have a letter from monsieur Biron, to one
lady Rosaline.
I
Prin. O, thy letter, thy letter ; he's a good friend
of mine :
Stand aside, good bearer Boyet, you can carve ;
Break up this capon.
Boyet. I am bound to serve. —
This letter is mistook, it importeth none here ;
It is writ to Jaquenctta.
Prin. We will read it, I swear :
Break the neck of the wax, and every one give ear.
Boyet. [Reads.] By heaven, that thou art fair, is
most infallible ; true, that thou art beavieous ; truth
itself that thou art lovely : More fairer than fair,
beautiful than beauteous : truer than truth itself, have
commiseration on thy heroical vassal ! The magnan-
imous and mA>st illustrate king Cophetua set eye upon
the pernicious and indubitate beggar Zenelophon;
and he it was that might rightly say, veni, vidi, vici ;
which to anatomize in the vulgar, {Obase and obscure
vulgar ! ) videlicet, he came, saw, and overcame : he
came, one ; saw, two ; overcame, three. Who came ?
the king : Why did he come ? to see : Why did he see ?
to overcome : To whom came he ? to the beggar :
What saw he ? the beggar : Who overcame he ? the
beggar: the conclusion is victory; On whose side? the
king's : The captive is enriched; On whose side ? the
beggars: The catastrophe is a nuptial; On whose
side ? the kings ? — no, on both in one, or one in both,
I am the king ; for so stands the comparison : thou
the beggar ; for so witnesseth thy lowliness. Shall I
command thy love ? I may : Shall I enforce thy love?
I could : Shall I entreat thy love ? I vdll. What
shalt thou exchange for rags ? robes ; For tittles,
titles ; For thyself, me. Thus, expecting thy reply,
I profane my lips on thy foot, my eyes on thy picture,
and my heart on thee.
Thine, in the dearest design of industry,
Don Adriano de Armabo.
Thus dost thou hear the Nemean lion roar
'Gainst thee, thou lamb, that standest as his prey ;
Submissive fall his princely feet before.
And he from forage will incline to play :
But if thou strive, poor soul, what art thou then ?
Food for his rage, repasture for his den.
Prin. What plume of feathers is he, that indited
this letter?
What vane ? what weathercock ? did you ever hear
better ?
Boyet. I am much deceived, but I remember the
Prin. Else your memory is bad, going o er it ere-^B J
while. ^ i^H I
Boyet. This Armado is a Spaniard, that keeps
here in court ;
A phantasm, a Monarcho, and one that makes sport
To the prince, and his book-mates.
Prin. Thou, fellow, a word i
Who gave thee this letter ?
Cost. I told you ; my lord.
Prin. To whom should'st thou give it ?
Cost. From my lord to my lady.
Prin. From which lord, to which lady?
Cost. From my lord Biron, a good master of
mine.
To a lady of France, that he call'd Rosaline.
* Just now.
I
Scene II.
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
157
Prin. Thou hast mistaken his letter. Come,
lords, away.
Here, sweet, put up this ; 'twiU be thine another day.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II. — The same.
Enter Holofernes, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull.
Nath. Very reverent sport, truly ; and done in
the testimony of a good conscience.
Hoi. The deer was, as you know, in sanguis, —
blood ; ripe as a pomewater 6, who now hangeth
like a jewel in the ear ofccelo, — the sky, the welkin,
the heaven; and anon falleth like a crab, on the
face of terra, — the soil, the land, the earth.
Nath. Truly, master Holofernes, the epithets are
sweetly varied, like a scholar at the least : But, sir,
I assure ye, it was a buck of the first head. 7
Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo.
Dull. 'Twas not a haud credo, 'twas a pricket.
Hoi. Most barbarous intimation ! yet a kind of
insinuation, as it were, in via, in way, of explica-
tion ; /acere, as it were, replication, or, rather,
ostentare, to show, as it were, his inclination, — after
his undressed, unpolished, uneducated, unpruned,
untrained, or rather unlettered, or, ratherest, un-
confirmed fashion, — to insert again my haud credo
for a deer.
Dull. I said, the deer was not a haud credo ; 'twas
a pricket.
Hoi. Twice sod simplicity, bis coctus! — O thou
monster ignorance, how deformed dost thou look !
Nath. Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that
are bred in a book ; he hath not eat paper, as it
were ; he hath not drunk ink : his intellect is not
replenished ; he is only an animal, only sensible in
the duller parts ;
And such barren plants are set before us, that we
thankful should be
(Which we of taste and feeling are) for those parts
that do fructify in us more than he.
For as it would ill become me to be vain, indiscreet,
or a fool.
So, were there a patch 8 set on learning, to see him
in a school :
But, omne bene, say I ; being of an old father's mind,
Many can brook the tveather, that love not the wind.
Dull. You two are bookmen : Can you tell by
your wit.
What was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not five
weeks old as yet ?
HoL Dictynna, good man Dull ; Dictynna, good
man Dull.
Dull. What is Dictynna ?
Nath. A title to Phoebe, to Luna, to the moon.
Hoi. The moon was a month old, when Adam
was no more ;
And raught 9 not to five weeks, when he came to
fivescore.
The allusion holds in the exchange.
Dull. 'Tis true indeed; the collusion holds in
tlie exchange.
Hoi. Heaven comfort thy capacity ! I say, the
allusion holds in the exchange.
' A species of apjile.
■ To render some of the allusions in this scene intelligible to
persons who are not acquaintetl with the language of jwrk-
kceiH-rs and foresters, it may be necessary to mention, that a
fawn, when it is a year old, is called by them a pricket ; when
t is two years old, it is a sorel ; when it is three years old, it
- a sore ; when it is four years, it is a buck of the first head ;
.it five vears, it is an old buck.
• A low fellow. » Reached.
Dull. And I say the pollution holds in the ex-
change ; for the moon is never but a month old :
and I say beside, that 'twas a pricket that the prin-
cess kill'd.
Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, will you hear an extemporal
epitaph on the death of the deer? and, to humour
the ignorant, I have call'd the deer the princess
kill'd a pricket.
Nath. Perge, good master Holofernes, perge ;
so it shall please you to abrogate scurrility.
Hoi. I will something attect the letter; for it
argues facility.
The praiseful princess pierced and prick'd a pretty
pleasing pricket ;
Some say a sore ; but not a sore, till now made sore
with shooting.
The dogs did yell; put L to sore, then sorel jumps
from thicket 1
Or pricket, sore, or else sorel ; the people Jail a
hooting.
If sore be sore, then L to sore makes fifty sores ; 0
sore L !
Of one sore I an hundred make, by adding but one
more L.
Nath. A rare talent !
Dull. If a talent be a claw, look how he claws
him with a talent.
Hoi. This is a gift that I have, simple, simple ;
a foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures,
shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revo-
lutions : But the gift is good in those in whom it is
acute, and I am thankful for it.
Nath. Sir, I praise heaven for you ; and so may
my parishioners ; for their sons are well tutor'd by
you, and their daughters profit very greatly under
you : you are a good member of the commonwealth.
Hoi. Mehercle, if their sons be ingenious, they
shall want no instruction : if their daughters be ca-
pable, I will put it to them : But, vir sapit, qui
pauca loquitur : a soul feminine saluteth us.
Enter Jaquenetta arid Costard.
Jaq. Good morrow, master person.
Hoi. Master person, ■^ quasi pers-on. And if one
should be pierced, which is the one ?
Cost. Marry, master schoolmaster, he that is likest
to a hogshead.
Hoi. Of piercing a hogshead ! a good lustre of
conceit in a turf of earth ; fire enough for a flint :
'tis pretty ; it is well.
Jaq. Good master parson, be so good as read me
this letter ; it was given me by Costard, and sent
me from Don Armatho : I beseech you, read it.
Hoi. Fauste, precor gelidd quando j)ecus omne sub
umbra
Ruminat, — and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan :
I may speak of thee as the traveller doth of Venice !
— Vinegia, Vinegia,
Chi non te vede, ei non te pregia-
Old Mantuan ! old Mantuan ! Who understandcth
thee not, loves thee not. — Ut, re, sol, la, mi, fa. —
Under pardon, sir, what are the contents ? or, rather,
as Horace says in his — What, my soul, verses ?
Nnth. Ay, sir, and very learned.
Hoi. Let me hear a staff, a stanza, a verse ; Lege,
domine.
Nath. [Reads.] If love make me forsworn, how
shall I swear to loi^ T
Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed I
158
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
Act IV.
Though to myself forsworn, to thee VU faithful prove ,-
Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers
bowed.
Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes ;
Where all those pleasures live, that art would com-
prehend :
If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice;
Well learned is that tongue, that well can thee
commend :
AU ignorant that soul, that sees thee without wonder ,-
( Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts ad-
mire i)
Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful
thunder.
Which not to anger bent, is musick, and sweet f re.
Celestial, as thou art, oh pardon, love, this wrung.
That sings heaven s praise with such an earthly
tongue !
Hoi. You find not the apostrophes, and so miss
the accent : let me supervise the canzonet. Here
are only numbers ratified; but for the elegancy,
facility, and golden cadence of poesy, caret. Ovidius
Naso was the man : and why, indeed, Naso ; but
for smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy,
the jerks of invention ? Imitari, is notWng : so doth
the hound his master, the ape his keeper, the tired '
horse his rider. But damosella virgin, was this
directed to you ?
Jaq. Ay, sir, from one Monsieur Biron, one of
the strange queen's lords.
Hoi. I will overglance the superscript. To the
snow-ivhite hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosaline.
I will look again on the intellect of the letter, for
the nomination of the party writing to the person
written unto :
Your Ladyship's in all desired employment, Biron.
Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of the votaries with
the king ; and here he hath framed a letter to a
sequent of the stranger queen's, which, accidentally,
or by the way of progression, hath miscarried. —
Trip and go, my sweet; deliver this paper into the
royal hand of the king ; it may concern much : Stay
not thy compliment ; I forgive thy duty ; adieu.
Jaq. Good Costard, go with me.
Cost. Have with thee, my girl.
[Exeunt Cost, and Jaq.
Naih. Sir, you have done this very religiously ;
and, as a certain father saith
Hoi. Sir, tell not me of the father, I do fear co-
lourable colours. But, to return to the verses ; Did
they please you, Sir Nathaniel ?
Nath. Marvellous well for the pen.
Hoi. I do dine to-day at the father's of a certain
pupil of mine ; where if, before repast, it shall please
you to gratify the table with a grace, I will, on my
privilege I have with the parents of the foresaid
child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto ; where
I will prove those verses to be very unlearned,
neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor invention : I
beseech your society.
Nath. And thank you too : for society, (saith
. the text,) is the happiness of life.
Hoi. And, certes^, the text most infallibly con-
cludes it. — Sir, [To Dull.] I do invite you too ;
you shall not say me, nay : pauca verba. Away ;
the gentles are at their game, and we will to our
recreation. \_Exeunt.
Attired, caparisoned.
2 In truth.
SCENE III. — Jmjther pari of the Park.
Enter Birok, with a paper,
Biron. The king he is hunting the deer ; I am
coursing myself. Well, Set thee down, sorrow ! for
so, they say, the fool said, and so say I, and I the
fool. Well proved, wit ! This love is as mad as
Ajax : it kills sheep; it kills me, I a sheep : Well
proved again on my side ! I will not love : if I do,
hang me ; i'faith, I will not. O, but her eye, — by
this light, but for her eye, I would not love her ;
yes, for her two eyes. Well, 1 do nothing in thf
world but lie, and lie in my throat. By heaven, I
do love : and it hatli taught me to rhyme, and to be
melancholy ; and here is part of my rhyme, and
here my melancholy. Well, she hath one o' my son-
nets already ; the clown bore it, the fool sent it, and
the lady hath it : sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest
lady ! By the world, I would not care a pin if the
other three were in : Here comes one with a paper.
[ Gets up into a tree.
Enter the King, with a paper.
Xing. Ah me !
Biron. [Aside.] Shot, by heaven! — Proceed,
sweet Cupid ; thou hast thump'd him with thy bird-
bolt under the left pap : —
^ng. [Reads.] So sweet a kiss the golden sun
gives not
To those fresh morning drops upon the rose
As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote
The night of dew that on my cheeks down fows
Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright
Through the transparent bosom of the deep,
As doth thy face through tears of mine give light ;
Thou shin St in every tecr that I do weep :
No drop, but as a coach doth carry thee.
So ridest thou triumphing in my woe ;
Do but behold the tears that sivell in me.
And they thy glory through my grief will show .
But do not love thyself ; then thou wilt keep
My tears for glasses, and still make me weep.
0 queen of queens, how far dost thou excel !
No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell. —
How shall she know my griefs ? I'll drop the paper ;
Sweet leaves shade folly. Who is he comes here ?
[Stq)S aside.
Enter Longaville, with a paper.
What Longaville ! and reading ! listen, ear.
Biron. Now, in thy likeness, one more fool, ap-
pear ! [Aside.
Long. Ah me ! I am forsworn.
Biron. Why, he comes in like a perjure, wearing
papers. [Aside.
King. In love, I hope : Sweet fellowship in
shame ! [Aside.
Biron, One drunkard loves another of the name.
[Aside.
Long. Am I the first that have been perjured so ?
Biron. [Aside.] I could put thee in comfort ; not
by two, that I know :
Thou mak'st the triumviry, the corner-cap of society,
The shape of love's Tyburn that hangs up simplicity.
Long. I fear, these stubborn lines lack power to
move :
O sweet Maria, empress of my love !
These numbers will I tear, and write in prose.
I
Scene III.
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
159
Biron. ^jlside.'] O, rhymes are guards on wanton
Cupid's hose :
Disfigure not his slop.
Long. This same shall go. —
[He reads the sonnet.
Did not the heavenly rhetorick of thine eye
{'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument)
Persuade my heart to this false perjury ?
Vows, for tliee broke, deserve not pnnishm£nt.
A woman I forswore ; but, I tvill prove.
Thou, being a goddess, I forswore not thee :
My vow was eartldy, thou a heavenly love ;
Thy grace being gaitid, cures all disgrace in m<?.
Voxos are but breath, and breath a vapour is :
Then thou, fair su7i, which on my earth doth
shine,
Exhatsl this vapour vow ; in thee it is :
If broken, then, it is no fault of mine :
If by me broke : What fool is not so wise.
To lose an oath to ivin a paradise 9
Enter Dumain, vnth a paper.
Long. By whom shall I send this ? — Company !
stay. [Step])ing aside.
Biron. [Aside.} All hid, all hid, an old infant
Like a demi-god here sit I in the sky,
And wretched fools' secrets heedfully o'er-eye.
More sacks to the mill ! O heavens, I have my
wish ;
Dumain transform'd : four woodcocks in a dish !
Dum. O most divine Kate !
Biron. O most prophane coxcomb !
[Aside.
Dum. As fair as day.
Biron. Ay, as some days ; but then no sun must
shine. [Aside.
Dunu O that I had my wish !
Long. And I had mine !
[Aside.
King. And I mine too, good lord ! [Aside.
Biron. Amen, so I had mine : Is not that a good
word ? [Aside.
Dum. I would forget her ; but a fever she
Reigns in my blood, and will remember'd be.
Biron. A fever in your blood, why then incision
Would let her out in saucers ; Sweet misprision !
[Aside.
Dum. Once more I'll read the ode that 1 have
writ.
Biron. Once more I'll mark how love can vary
wit. [Aside.
Dum. On a day, {alack the day 1 1
Ixme, whose month is ever May,
Spied a blossom, passing fair.
Playing in the wanton air :
Through the velvet leaves the wind.
All unseen, 'gan passage find ;
That the lover, sick to death,
IFish'd himself the heaven's breath.
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow ;
Air, would I might triumph so !
But, alack, my hand is sworn.
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn :
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet ;
Youth so apt to pluck a sweet.
Do not call it sin in me.
That I amfrrswornfor thee :
Thou for whom even Jove would swear,
Juno but an Ethiop were ,-
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love. —
This will I send ; and something else more plain,
That shall express my true love's fasting pain.
0 would the King, Biron, and Longa^e,
Were lovers too ! Ill to example ill,
Would from my forehead wipe a peijur'd note ;
For none offend, where all alike do dote.
J^ong. Dumain, [Advancing.'] thy love is far from
charity.
That in love's grief desir'st society :
You may look pale, but I should blush, I know.
To be o'erheard, and taken napping so.
King. Come, sir, [Advancing.] you blush ; as
his your case is such ;
You chide at him, offending twice as much :
You do not love Maria ; Longaville
Did never sonnet for her sake compile ;
Nor never lay his wreathed arms athwart
His loving bosom, to keep down his heart.
1 have been closely shrouded in this bush.
And mark'd you both, and for you both did blush.
I heard your guilty rhymes, observ'd your fashion ;
Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your passion :
Ah me ! says one ; O Jove ! the other cries ;
One, her hairs were gold, crystal the other's eyes :
You would for paradise bresJc faith and troth ;
[To Long.
And Jove, for your love, would infringe an oatli.
[To Dumain.
What will Biron say, when that he shall hear
A faith infring'd, which such a zeal did swear ?
How will he scorn ? how will he spend his wit ?
How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it ?
For all the wealth that ever I did see,
I would not have him know so much by me.
Biron. Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy. —
Ah, good my liege, I pray thee pardon me :
[Descends from the tree.
Good heart, what grace hast thou, thus to reprove
These worms for loving, that art most in love ?
Your eyes do make no coaches ; in your tears,
There is no certain princess that appears :
You'll not be perjur'd, 'tis a hateful thing ;
Tush, none but minstrels like of sonneting.
But are you not asham'd ? nay, are you not.
All three of you, to be thus much o'ershot ?
0 what a scene of foolery I have seen,
Of sighs, of groans, of sorrow, and of teen ! '
(> me, with what strict patience have I sat.
To see a king transformed to a gnat !
And Nestor play at push-pin with the boys.
And critick ^ Timon laugh at idle toys !
Where lies thy grief, O tell me, good Dumain ?
And, gentle Longaville, where lies thy pain ?
And where my liege's? all about the breast ; —
A caudle, ho !
King. Too bitter is thy jest.
Are we betray'd thus to thy over-view ?
Biron. Not you by me, but I betray'd to you ;
I, that am honest ; I, that hold it sin
To break the vow I am engaged in ?
1 am betray'd, by keeping company
With moon-like men of strange inconstancy.
When shall you see me write a thing in rhyme?
Or groan for Joan ? or spend a minute's time
In pruning * me ? When shall you hear that I
Will praise a hand, a foot, a face, an eye ?
> Grief.
Cjrnic. * In trimming rayseli.
160
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
Act IV. Scene IU.
Enter Jaquenetta and Costaed.
Jaq. God bless the king !
King. What present hast thou there ?
Cost. Some certain treason.
King. What makes treason here ?
Cost. Nay, it makes nothing, sir.
King. If it mar nothing neither.
The treason, and you, go in peace away together.
Jaq. I beseech your grace, let this letter be read.
Our parson misdoubts it ; 'twas treason, he said.
King. Biron, read it over.
\_Giving him the letter.
Where hadst thou it ?
Jaq. Of Costard.
King. Where hadst thou it ?
Cost. Of Dun Adramadio, Dun Adramadio.
King. How now ! what is in you ? why dost thou
tear it ?
Biron. A toy, my liege, a toy ; your grace needs
not fear it.
Long. It did move him to passion, and therefore
let's hear it.
Dum. It is Biron's writing, and here is his name.
{Picks up the pieces.
Biron. J^h, you loggerhead, [To Costard.] you
were born to do me shame. —
Guilty, my lord, guilty ; I confess, I confess.
King. What?
Biron. That you three fools lack'd me fool to
make up the mess :
He, he, and you, my liege, and I,
Are pick -purses in love, and we deserve to die.
O, dismiss tliis audience, and I shall tell you more.
Dum. Now the number is even.
Biron. True, true ; we are four : —
Will these turtles be gone ?
King- Hence, sirs ; away.
Cost. Walk aside the true folk, and let the traitors
stay. [Exeunt Cost, and Jaq.
King. What, did these rent lines show some love
of thine ?
Biron. Did they, quoth you ? Who sees the
heavenly Rosaline,
That, like a rude and savage man of Inde,
At the first opening of the gorgeous east.
Bows not his vassal head ; and, strucken blind,
Kisses the base ground with obedient breast ?
What peremptory eagle-sighted eye
Dares look upon the heaven of her brow,
That is not blinded by her majesty ?
King. What zeal, what fury hath inspired thee now?
My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon ;
She, an attending star, scarce seen a light.
Biron. My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Biron :
O, but for my love, day would turn to night !
Of all complexions the cull'd sovereignty
Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek ;
Where several worthies make one dignity ;
Where nothing wants, that want itself doth seek.
Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues —
Fye, painted rhetorick ! O, she needs it not ;
To things of sale a seller's praise belongs ;
She passes praise ; then praise too short doth blot.
A wither'd hermit, five-score winters worn.
Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye :
Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born,
And gives the crutch the cradle's infancy.
O, 'tis the sun, that maketh all things shine !
Kitig. By heaven, thy love is black as ebony.
Biron. Is ebony like her ? O wood divine !
A wife of such wood were felicity.
O, who can give an oath ? where is a book ?
That I may swear, beauty doth beauty lack,
If that she learn not of her eye to look :
No face is fair, that is not full so black.
O, if in black my lady's brows be deckt,
It mourns, that painting, and usurping hair,
Should ravish doters with a false aspect ;
And therefore is she bom to make black fair.
Her favour turns the fashion of the days ;
For native blood is counted painting now ;
And therefore red, that would avoid dispraise,
Paints itself black, to imitate her brow.
King. But what of this ? Are we not all in love ?
Biron. Nothing so sure; and thereby all forsworn.
King. Then leave this chat: and, good Biron,
now prove
Our loving lawful, and our faith not torn.
Dum. Ay, marry, there, — some flattery for tliis
evil.
Long. O, some authority how to proceed ;
Some tricks, some quillets 6, how to cheat the devil.
Dum. Some salve for perjury.
Biron. O, 'tis more than need ! —
Have at you then, affection's men at arms :
Consider, what you first did swear unto ; —
To fast, — to study, — and to see no woman ; —
Flat treason 'gainst the kingly state of youth.
Say, can you fast ? your stomachs are too young
And abstinence engenders maladies.
And where that you have vow'd to study, lords,
In that each of you hath forsworn his book :
Can you still dream, and pore, and thereon look ?
For when would you, my lord, or you, or you.
Have found the ground of study's excellence.
Without the beauty of a woman's face ?
From women's eyes this doctrine I derive :
They are the ground, the books, the academes.
From whence doth spring the true Promethean fl
Why, universal plodding prisons up
The nimble spirits in the arteries ;
As motion, and long-during action, tires
The sinewy vigour of the traveller.
N"ow, for not looking on a woman's face,
You have in that forsworn the use of eyes ;
And study too, the causer of your vow :
For where is any author in the world.
Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye ?
Learning is but an adjunct to ourself.
And where we are, our learning likewise is.
Then, when ourselves we see in ladies' eyes,
Do we not likewise see our learning there ?
O, we have made a vow to study, lords ;
And in that vow we have forsworn our books ;
For when would you, my liege, or you, or you.
In leaden contemplation, have found out
Such fiery numbers, as the prompting eyes
Of beauteous tutors have enrich'd you with ?
Other slow arts entirely keep the brain ;
And therefore finding barren practisers,
Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil :
But love, first learned in a lady's eyes.
Lives not alone immured in the brain ;
But with the motion of all elements.
Courses as swift as thought in every power ;
And gives to every power a double power,
Above their functions and their oflSces.
6 Law-chicane.
Act V. Scene I.
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
161
It adds a precious seeing to the eye ;
A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind ;
A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound,
When the suspicious head of theft is stopp'd ;
Love's feeling is more soft, and sensible,
Than are the tender horns of cockled snails ;
Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste :
For valour, is not love a Hercules,
Still climbing trees in the Hesperides?
Subtle as sphinx ; as sweet, and musical.
As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair ;
And, when love speaks, the voice of all the gods
Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony.
Never durst poet touch a pen to write.
Until his ink were temper'd with love's sighs ;
O, then his lines would ravish savage ears,
And plant in tyrants mild humility.
From women's eyes this doctrine I derive ;
They sparkle still the right Promethean fire ;
They are the books, the arts, the academes,
That show, contain, and nourish all the world ;
Else none at all in aught proves excellent :
Then fools you were these women to forswear ;
Or, keeping what is sworn, you will prove fools.
For wisdom's sake, a word that all men love ;
Or for love's sake, a word that loves all men ;
Let us once lose our oaths, to find ourselves,
Or else we lose ourselves to keep our oatlis :
It is religion to be thus forsworn :
For charity itself fulfils the law ;
And who can sever love from charity ?
King. Saint Cupid, then ! and, soldiers, to the
field!
Long. Shall we resolve to woo tliese girls of
France ?
King. And win them too: therefore let us devise
Some entertainment for them in their tents.
Biron. First, from tlie park let us conduct them
thither ;
Then, homeward, every man attach the hand
Of his fair mistress : in the afternoon
We will with some strange pastime solace them.
Such as the shortness of the time can shape ;
For revels, dances, masks, and merry hours,
Fore-run fair Love, strewing her way with flowers.
King. Away, away ! no time shall be omitted.
That will be time, and may by us be fitted.
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I. —A Street.
Enter Holofebnes, Sir Nathaniel, and Dull.
HoL Satis quod siifftcii.
Nalk. Sir, your reasons " at dinner have been
sharp and sententious ; pleasant witliout scurrility,
witty without affection**, audacious without impu-
dency, learned without opinion, and strange without
heresy. I did converse this quondam day with a
companion of the king's, who is intituled, nominated,
or called, Don Adriano de Armado.
Hoi. Novi hominem tanquam te : His humour is
lofly, his discourse peremptory, his tongue filed, his
eye ambitious, his gait majestical, and his general
behaviour vain, ridiculous, and thrasonical. 9 He
is too picked ', too spruce, too affected, too odd, as
it were, too perigrinate, as I may call it.
Nath. A most singular and choice epithet.
[ 2''akes out his table-book.
Hoi. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity
finer than the staple of his argument. I abhor sucli
fanatical phantasms, such insociable and point-de-
vise 5 companions ; such rackers of orthography, as
to speak, dout, fine, when he should say, doubt;
det, when he should pronounce, debt ; d, e, b, t ;
not, d, e, t: he clepeth a calf, cauf; half, hauf;
neighbour, vocatur, nebour, neigh, abbreviated, ne :
This is abhominable, (which he would call abomin-
able,) it insinuateth me of insanie ; Ne intcUigis
domine f to make frantick, lunatick.
Nath. Laus deo, bone inti'lligo.
Hoi. Bone ? bom; for bene : Priscian a little
scratch 'd ; 'twill serve.
Enter Armado, Moth, and Costard.
Nath. Viflesnc quis venit f
Hoi. Vieleo, et gaudeo.
Arnu Chirra! [To Moth.
Discourset.
Overdressed.
AfTcct-iUon. 9 BoantfUl ' A small
Finical exactneM. wine.
Hoi. Quare Chirra, not sirrah?
Arm. Men of peace well encounter'd.
Hal. Most military sir, salutation.
Moth. They have been at a great feast of lan-
guages, and stolen the scraps. [To Costa RDosv/e.
Cost. O, they have lived long in the alms-basket
of words ! I marvel, thy master hath not eaten tliee
for a word ; for thou art not so long by the head as
honorijicabilitudinitatibus : thou art easier swallowed
than a fiap-dragon. 3
Moth. Peace ; the peal begins.
Arm. Monsieur, \_To Hol.] are you not letter'd ?
Moth. Yes, yes ; he teaches boys the horn-book :
— What is a, b, spelt backward with a horn on his
head ?
Hd. Ba, puerilia, with a horn added.
Moth. Ba, most silly sheep, with a horn : — You
hear his learning.
Hol. Qvis, quis, thou consonant?
Moth. The third of the five vowels, if you repeat
them ; or the fifth, if I.
Hol. I will repeat them, a, e, i. —
Moth. The sheep : the other two concludes it ;
o, u.
Arm. Now, by the salt wave of the Meditcrra-
neum, a sweet touch, a quick vencw of wit : snip,
snap, quick and home ; it rejoiceth my intellect :
true wit.
Moth. OfTer'd by a child to an old man.
Co-tt. And 1 had but one penny in the world, thou
shouldst have it to buy gingerbread : hold, there is
the very remuneration I had of thy master, thou
halfpenny purse of wit, thou pigeon-egg of discretion.
Arm. Arts-man, prtBambula ; we will be singled
from the barbarous. Do you not educate youth at
the charge-house * on the top of the mountain ?
Hol. Or, mans, the hill.
Arm^ At your sweet pleasure, for the mountain.
iflammahle substance, iwallowcd in a plass of
* Free-school.
162
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
Act V.
Hoi. I do, sans question.
Arm. Sir, the king is a noble gentleman ; and my
familiar, I do assure you, very good friend : — For
what is inward beween us, let it pass : — I do be-
seech thee, remember thy courtesy ; — I beseech
thee, apparel thy head ; — and among other im-
portunate and most serious designs, — and of great
import indeed, too ; — but let that pass : — for I
must tell thee, it will please his grace (by the world)
sometime to lean upon my poor shoulder ; but sweet
heart, let that pass. By the world, I recount no
fable ; some certain special honours it pleaseth his
greatness to impart to Armado, a soldier, a man of
travel, that hath seen the world : but let that pass.
— The very all of all is, — but, sweet heart, I do
implore secrecy, — that the king would have me
present tlie princess, sweet chuck, with some de-
lightfid ostentation, or show, or pageant, or antick,
or fire-work. Now, understanding tliat the curate
and your sweet self, are good at such eruptions,
and sudden breaking out of mirth, as it were, I have
acquainted you withal, to the end to crave your
assistance.
Hoi. Sir, you shall present before her the nine
worthies. — Sir Nathaniel, as concerning some en-
tertainment of time, to be rendered by our assist-
ance, — the king's command, and this most gallant,
illustrate, and learned gentleman, — before the
princess ; I say, none so fit as to present the nine
worthies.
Nath. Where will you find men worthy enough
to present them?
Hoi. Yourself; myself, or this gallant gentle-
man ; this swain, because of his great limb or joint,
shall pass Pompey the great; the page, Hercules.
Arm. Pardon, sir, error : he is not quantity enough
for that worthy's thumb : he is not so big as the
end of his club.
Hoi. Shall I have audience? he shall present
Hercules in minority : his enter and exit shall be
strangling a snake ; and I will have an apology for
that purpose.
Moth. An excellent device ! so, if any of the
audience hiss, you may cry. Well done, Hercules !
now thou crushest the snake/ that is the way to
make an offence gracious ; though few have the
grace to do it.
Arm. For the rest of the worthies ? —
Hoi. I will play three myself.
Moth. Thrice-worthy gentleman !
Arm. Shall I tell you a thing ?
Hoi. We attend.
Arm. We will have, if this fadge 5 not, an antick.
I beseech you follow.
Hoi. Via ^, goodman Dull ! thou hast spoken no
word all this while.
Hull. Nor understood none neither, sir.
Hoi. Allons ! we will employ thee.
Hull. I'll make one in a dance, or so ; or I will
play on the tabor to the worthies, and let them dance
the hay.
Hoi. Most dull, honest Dull, to our sport, away.
{Exeunt.
SCENE II. — Bef(yre the Princess'^ Pavilion.
Enter the Princess, Katharine, Rosaline, and
Maria.
Prin. Sweet hearts, we shall be rich ere we depart.
If fairings come thus plentifully in :
• Suit. e Courage
A lady wall'd about with diamonds ! —
Look you, what I liave from the loving king.
Ros. Madam, came nothing else along with that ?
Prin. Nothing but tliis ? yes, as much love in
rhyme.
As would be cramm'd up in a sheet of paper,
Writ on both sides the leaf, margent and all ;
That he was fain to seal on Cupid's name.
Ros. That was the way to make his god-head
wax 7 ;
For he hath been five thousand years a boy.
ITath. Ay, and a shrewd unhappy gallows too.
22 OS. You'll ne'er be friends with him ; he kill'd
your sister.
ITath. He made her melancholy, sad, and heavy ;
And so she died : had she been light, like you.
Of such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit.
She might have been a grandam ere she died :
And so may you ; for a light heart lives long.
Ros. What's your dark meaning, mouse ^, of this
light word ?
Xath. A light condition in a beauty dark.
Ros. We need more light to find your meaning
out.
ITath. You'll mar the light, by taking it in snufF" ;
Therefore, I'll darkly end the argument.
Ros. Look, what you do, you do it still i' the
dark.
ITath. So do not you ; for you are a light girl.
Ros. Indeed, I weigh not you ; and therefore light.
ITath. You weigh me not — O, that's you care
not for me.
Ros. Great reason ; for, Past cure is still past care.
Prin. Well bandied both ; a set of wit well play'd.
But, Rosaline, you have a favour too :
Who sent it ? and what is it ?
Ros. I would, you knew :
An if my face were but as fair as yours.
My favour were as great ; be witness this.
Nay, I have verses too, I thank Biron :
The numbers true ; and, were the numb'ring too,
I were the fairest goddess on the ground :
I am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs.
O, he hath drawn my picture in his letter !
Prin. Any thing like ?
Ros. Much, in the letters ; nothing in the praise.
Prin. Beauteous as ink ; a good conclusion.
ITath. Fair as a text B in a copy-book.
Ros. 'Ware pencils ! How ? let me not die your
debtor,
My red dominical, my golden letter :
O, that your face were not so full of O's!
ITath. A plague of that jest ! and beshrew all
shrows !
Prin. But what was sent to you from fairDumain ?
ITath. Madam, this glove.
Prin. Did he not send you twain ?
Xath. Yes, madam ; and moreover.
Some thousand verses of a faithful lover :
A huge translation of hypocrisy.
Vilely compil'd, profound simplicity.
Mar. This, and these pearls, to me sent Lon-
gaville ;
The letter is too long by half a mile.
Prin. I think no less : Dost thou not wish in heart.
The chain were longer, and the letter short ?
Mar. Ay, or I would these hands might never
part.
I
I
II
" Grow.
9 In anger.
^ Formerly a term of endearment.
Scene II.
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
163
Prin. We are wise girls to mock our lovers so.
Itos. Tliey arc worse fools to jjurchase mocking so.
That same Biron I'll torture ere I go.
(), that I knew he were but in by the week !
How I would make him fawn, and beg, and seek ;
And wait the season, and observe the times,
And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes ;
And shape his service wholly to my behests ;
And make him proud to make me proud that jests !
So portent-like would I o'ersway his state,
That he should be my fool, and I his fate.
Prin. None are so surely caught, when they are
catch'd.
As wit turn'd fool : folly, in wisdom hatch'd.
Hath wisdom's warrant, and the help of school ;
And wit's own grace to grace a learned fool.
Mar. Folly in fools bears not so strong a note.
As foolery in the wise, when wit doth dote ;
Since all the power thereof it doth apply,
To prove, by wit, worth in simplicity.
Enter Boyet.
Prin. Here comes Boyet, and mirth is in his face.
Boyet. O, I am stabb'd with laughter ! Where's
her grace ?
Prin. Thy news, Boyet ?
Boyet. Prepare, madam, prepare ! —
Ann, my girls, arm ! encounters mounted are
Against your peace : Love doth approach disguis'd,
Armed in arguments ; you'll be surpris'd :
Muster your wits ; stand in your own defence ;
Or hide your heads like cowards, and fly hence.
Prin. Saint Dennis to saint Cupid ! What are they,
That charge their breath against us ? say, scout, say.
Boyet. Under the cool shade of a sycamore,
I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour :
When, lo ! to interrupt my purpos'd rest.
Toward that shade I might behold addrest
The king and his companions : warily
I stole into a neighbour thicket by,
And overheard what you shall overhear ;
That, by and by, disguis'd they will be here.
Their herald is a pretty knavish page,
That well by heart hath conn'd his embassage :
Action, and accent, did they teach him there ;
Thus must thou speak, and thus thy body bear :
And ever and anon they made a doubt.
Presence majestical would put him out ;
For, quoth the king, an angel shalt thou see ;
Yet fear not thou, but speak atidaciously.
The boy reply'd. An angel is not evil;
I should have fear d her, had she been a devil.
With that all laugh'd, and clapp'd him on the
shoulder ;
Making the bold wag by their praises bolder.
One rubb'd his elbow, thus; and flcer'd, and swore,
A better speech was never spoke before :
Another with his finger and his tliumb,
Cry'd, Via ! we wUl do't, come what will come :
The third he caper'd, and cried. All goes well :
Tlie fourth turn'd on the toe, and down he fell.
W^ith that they all did tumble on the ground.
With such 9 zealous laughter, so profound.
That in this spleen ridiculous appears,
To check their folly, passion's solemn tears.
Prin. But what, but what, come they to visit us ?
Boyet. They do, they do ; and are apparel'd
thus, —
Like Muscovites, or Russians: as I guess,
Their purpose is, to parle, to court, and dance :
And every one his love-feat will advance
Unto his several mistress ; which they'll know
By favours several, which they did bestow.
Prin. And will they so? the gallants shall be
task'd : —
For, ladies, we will every one be mask'd ;
And not a man of them shall have the grace,
Despite of suit, to see a lady's face. —
Hold, Rosaline, this favour thou shalt wear ;
And then tlie king will court thee for his dear ;
Hold, take thou this, my sweet, and give me thine ;
So shall Biron take me for Rosaline. —
And change your favours too ; so shall your loves
Woo contrary, deceiv'd by these removes.
Bos. Come on then; wear the favours most in sight.
Xath. Butj in this changing, wliat is your intent?
Prin. The effect of my intent is, to cross theirs :
They do it but in mocking merriment ;
And mock for mock is only my intent.
Their several counsels they unbosom shall
To loves mistook ; and so be mock'd withal.
Upon the next occasion that we meet,
With visages display'd, to talk, and greet.
Ros. But shall we dance, if they desire us to't?
Prin. No : to the death, we will not move a foot,
Nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace ;
But, while 'tis spoke, each turn away her face.
Boyet. Why, that contempt will kill the speaker's
heart.
And quite divorce his memory from his part.
Prin. Therefore I do it ; and I make no doubt
The rest will ne'er come in, if he be out.
There's no such sport, as sport by sport o'erthrown ;
To make theirs ours, and ours none but our own :
So shall we stay, mocking intended game ;
And they, well mock'd, depart away with shame.
[ Trumpets sound within^
Boyet. The trumpet sounds ; be mask'd, the
maskers come. [TAe Ladies mask.
Enter the King, Birok, Longaville, and Do-
main, in Russian habiis, and masked; Moth,
Musicians, and Attendants.
Moth. All hail, the richest beauties on the earth !
Boyet. Beauties no richer than rich taf!ata.
Moth. A holy parcel of the fairest dames,
[The Ladies turn their backs to him.
That ever turn'd their — backs — to mortal views !
Biron. Their eyes, villain, their eyes.
Moth. Thai ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views !
Out--
Boyet. True ; out, indeed.
Moth. Out of your favours, heavenly spirits^
vouchsafe.
Not to behold —
Biron. Once to behold, rogue.
Moth. Once to behold with your sun-beamed eyes,
• with your sun- beamed eyes —
Boyet. They will not answer to that epithet ;
You were best call it, daughter-l>eamcd eyes.
Moth. They do not mark me, and tliat brings me
out.
Biron. Is this your perfectness? begone, you rogue.
Bos. What would these strangers? know their
minds, Boyet :
If they do speak our language, 'tis our will
Tliat some plain man recount their purposes :
Know what they would.
Boyet. What would you with the princess?
Biron. Nothing but peace and gentle visitation.
M 2
164.
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
Act V.
Ros. What would they, say tliey?
Boyet. Nothing but peace, and gentle visitation.
Ros. Why, that they have ; and bid them so be gone.
JBoyeU She says, you have it, and you may be gone.
King. Say to her, we have measur'd many miles
To tread a measure with her on this grass.
Boyet. They say that they have measur'd many a
mile,
To tread a measure with you on this grass.
Ros. It is not so : ask them how many inches
Is in one mile : if they have measur'd many,
Tlie measure then of one is easily told.
Boyet. If, to come hither you have measur'd miles,
And many miles ; the princess bids you tell,
How many inches do fill up one mile,
Biron. Tell her, we measure them by weary steps.
Boyet. She hears herself.
Ros. How many weary steps,
Of many weary miles you have o'ergone,
Are number'd in the travel of one mile?
Biron. We number nothing that we spend for you ;
Our duty is so rich, so infinite,
That we may do it still without accompt.
Vouchsafe to show the sunshine of your face.
That we, like savages, may worship it.
Ros. My face is but a moon, and clouded too.
King. Blessed are clouds, to do as such clouds do !
Vouchsafe, bright moon, and these thy stars, to shine
(Those clouds remov'd,) upon our wat'ry eyne.
Ros. O vain petitioner ! beg a greater matter ;
Thou now request'st but moonshine in the water.
King. Then, in our measure do but vouchsafe
one change ;
Thou bid'st me beg ; this begging is not strange.
Ros. Play, musick , then : nay, you must do it
soon. {^Musick plays.
Not yet ; — no dance : — thus change I like the moon.
King. Will you not dance ? How come you thus
estrang'd ?
Ros. You took the moon at full ; but now she's
chang'd.
King. Yet still she is the moon, and I the man.
The musick plays ; vouchsafe some motion to it.
Ros. Our ears vouchsafe it.
King. But your legs should do it.
Ros. Since you are strangers, and come here by
chance.
We'll not be nice : take hands ; — we will not dance.
King. Why take we hands then ?
Ros. Only to part friends : —
Court'sy, sweet hearts ; and so the measure ends.
King. More measure of this measure; be not nice.
Ros. We can afford no more at such a price.
King. Prize you yourselves; What buys your
company ?
Ros. Your absence only.
King. That can never be.
Ros. Then cannot we be bought : and so adieu ;
Twice to your visor, and half once to you !
King. If you deny to dance, let's hold more chat.
Ros. In private then.
King. I am best pleas'd with that.
[They converse apart.
Biron. White-handed mistress, one sweet word
with thee.
Prin. Honey, and milk, and sugar ; there is three.
Biron. Nay then, two treys, (an if you grow so
nice,)
Metheglin, wort, and malmsey ; — Well run, dice.
There's half a dozen sweets.
Pri7i. Seventh sweet, adieu !
Since you can cog ', I'll play no more with you.
Biron. One word in secret.
Prin. Let it not be sweet.
Biron. Thou griev'st my gall.
Prin. Gall? bitter.
Biron. Therefore meet.
[ They converse apart.
Dum. Will you vouchsafe with me to change a
word?
Mar. Name it.
Dum. Fair lady, —
Mar. Say you so ? Fair lord, —
Take that for your fair lady.
Dum. Please it you.
As much in private, and I'll bid adieu.
{They converse apart.
Kath. What, was your visor made without a
tongue ?
Long. I know the reason, lady, why you ask.
Kath. O, for your reason ! quickly, sir ; I long.
Long. You have a double tongue within your mask,
And would afford my speechless visor half.
Kath. Veal, quoth the Dutchman ; — Is not veal
a calf?
Long. A calf, fair lady ?
Kath. No, a fair lord calf.
Long. Let's part the word.
Kath. No, I'll not be your half.
Long. One word in private with you, ere I die.
Kath. Bleat softly then, the butcher hears you
cry. {They converse apart.
Boyet. The tongues of mocking damsels are as keen
As is the razor's edge invisible,
Cutting a smaller hair than may be seen ;
Above the sense of sense : so sensible
Seemeth their conference ; their conceits have wings,
Fleeter than arrows, bullets, wind, thought, swifter
things. .
Ros. Not one word more, my maids ; break off,
break off.
Biron. By heaven, all dry-beaten with pure scoff !
King. Farewell, mad damsels ; you have simple wits.
{Exeunt King, Lords, Moth, Musick, and
Attendants.
Prin. Twenty adieus, my frozen Muscovites. —
Will they not, think you, hang themselves to-night ?
Or ever, but in visors, show their faces ?
This pert Biron was out of countenance quite.
Ros. O ! they were all in lamentable cases !
The king was weeping-ripe for a good word.
Pnn. Biron did swear himself out of all suit.
Mar. Dumain was at my service, and his sword :
No point '^i quoth I ; my servant straight was mute.
Kath. Lord Longaville said, I came o'er his heart ;
And trow you, what he call'd me ?
Prin. Qualm, perhaps.
Kath. Yes, in good faith.
Prin. Go, sickness as thou art !
Ros. Well, better wits have worn plain statute-
caps. 3
But vrill you hear ? the king is my love sworn.
Prin. And quick Biron hath plighted faith to me.
Kath. And Longaville was for my service born.
Mar. Dumain is mine, as sure as bark on tree.
Boyet. Madam, and pretty mistresses, give ear :
Immediately they will again be here
1 Falsify dice, lie.
2 A quibble on the French adverb of negation.
3 Better wits may be found among citizens.
I
Scene II.
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
165
In their own shapes ; for it can never be,
They will digest this harsh indignity.
PrtJi. Will they return ?
Boyet. They will, they will, heaven knows ;
And leap for joy, though they are lame with blows :
Therefore, change favours ♦ ; and, when tliey repair,
Blow like sweet roses in this summer air.
Prin. How blow ? how blow ? speak to be un-
derstood.
Boyet. Fair ladies, mask'd, are roses in their bud :
Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shown,
Are angels vailing clouds, or roses blown.
Frin. Avaunt, perplexity ! What shall we do,
If they return in their own shapes to woo ?
Bos. Good madam, if by me you'll be advis'd,
Let's mock them still, as well known, as disguis'd :
Let us complain to them what fools were here,
Disguis'd like Muscovites, in shapeless gear ;
And wonder, what they were; and to what end
Their shallow shows, and prologue vilely penn'd,
A nd their rough carriage so ridiculous.
Should be presented at our tent to us.
Boyet. Ladies, withdraw ; the gallants are at hand.
Prin. Whip to our tents^ as roes run over land.
lExeunt Princess, Ros. Kath. and Maria.
Enter the King, Biron, Longaville, and Dumaik
in their proper habits.
King* Fair sir, heaven save you ! WTiere is the
princess?
Boyet. Gone to her tent : Please it your majesty,
Command me any service to her thither ?
King. That she vouchsafe me audience for one
word.
Boyet. I will j and so will she, I know, my lord.
{Exit.
Biron. This fellow picks up wit, as pigeons peas ;
And utters it again when Jove doth please :
He is wit's pedler ; and retails his wares
At wakes, and wassels ^, meetings, markets, fairs ;
He can carve too, and lisp : Why, this is he,
That kiss'd away his hand in courtesy j
Th's is the ape of form, monsieur the nice,
That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice
In honourable terms ; nay, he can sing
A mean '^ most meanly ; and, in ushering.
Mend him who can : the ladies call him, sweet ;
The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet :
This is the flower that smiles on every one.
To show his teeth as white as whales' bone 7 :
And consciences, that will not die in debt,
Pay him the due of honey-tongued Boyet.
King. A blister on his sweet tongue, with my
heart.
That put Arm ado's page out of bis part !
Enter the Princess, ushered by Botet ; Rosaline,
Maria, Katharine, otuI Attendants.
Biron. See where it comes ! — Behaviour, what
wert thou.
Till this man show'd thee ? and what art thou now ?
King. All hail, sweet madam, and fair time of day !
Prin. Fair, in all hail, is foul as I conceivp.
King. Construe my speeches better, if you may.
Prin. Then wish me better, I will give you leave.
King. We came to visit you ; and purpose now
To lead you to our court : vouchsafe it then.
* Features, countenances.
Rustic merry-meetings. " The tcuor in miuick.
The tooth of the horse-whale.
Prin. This field shall hold me; and so hold your
vow :
Nor heaven, nor I, delight in perjur'd men.
King Rebuke me not for that which you provoke ;
The virtue of your eye must break my oath.
Prin. You nick-name virtue: vice you should
have spoke ;
For virtue's office never breaks men's troth.
Now by my maiden honour, yet as pure
As the unsullied lily, I protest,
A world of torments though I should endure,
I would not yield to be your house's guest :
So much I hate a breaking-cause to be
Of heavenly oaths, vow'd with integrity.
King. O, you have liv'd in desolation here,
Unseen, unvisitcd, much to our shame.
Prin. Not so, my lord ; it is not so, I swear ;
We have had pastimes here, and pleasant game ;
A mess of Russians left us but of late.
R^i7ig. How, madam ? Russians ?
Prin. Ay, in truth, my lord ;
Trim gallants, full of courtship, and of state.
Bos. Madam, speak true : — It is not so, my lord ;
My lady, (to the manner of the days 8,)
In courtesy, gives undeserving praise.
We four indeed, confronted here with four
In Russian habit : here they stay'd an hour,
And talk'd apace ; and in that hour, my lord.
They did not bless us with one happy word.
I dare not call them fools ; but this I think.
When they are thirsty, fools would fain have drink.
Biron. This jest is dry to me — Fair, gentle,
sweet,
Your wit makes wise things foolish ; when we greet
With eyes best seeing heaven's fiery eye,
By light we lose light : Your capacity
Is of that nature, that to your huge store
Wise things seem foolish, and rich things but poor.
Bos. This proves you wise and rich ; for in my
eye, —
Biron. I am a fool, and full of poverty.
Bos. But that you take what doth to you belong.
It were a fault to snatch words from my tongue.
Biron. O, I am yours, and all that I possess.
Bos. All the fool mine ?
Biron. I cannot give you less.
Bos. Which of the visors was it, that you wore ?
Biron. Where ? when ? what vizor ? why demand
you this ?
Bos. There, then, that vizor ; that superfluous
case.
That hid the worse, and show'd the better face.
King. We are descried : they'll mock us now
downright.
Dum. Let us confess, and turn it to a jest.
Pfin. Amaz'd, my lord ? Why looks your high-
ness sad ?
Bos. Help, hold his brows ! he'll swoon ! Why
look you pale ? —
Sea-sick, 1 think, coming from Muscovy.
Biron. Thus pour the stars down plagues for
perjury.
Can any face of brass hold longer out ? —
Here stand I, lady ; dart thy skill at me ;
Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a
flout;
Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance ;
Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit ;
• After the fashion of the times.
M 3
[66
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
Act V.
And I will wish thee never more to dance,
Nor never more in Russian habit wait.
0 ! never will I trust to speeches penn'd,
Nor to the motion of a school-boy's tongue ;
Nor never come in visor to my friend ;
Nor woo in rhyme, like a blind harper's song :
TafFata phrases, silken terms precise,
Three-pil'd hyperboles, spruce affectation,
Figures pedantical ; these summer-flies
Have blown me full of maggot ostentation :
1 do forswear them : and I here protest,
By this white glove, (how white the hand,
heaven knows!)
Henceforth my wooing mind shall be express'd
In russet yeas, and honest kersey noes :
And, to begin, girl, — so heaven help me, la ! —
My love to thee is sound, sans crack er flaw.
Ros. Sans sans, I pray you.
Biron. Yet I have a trick
Of the old rage : — bear with me, I am sick ;
I'll leave it by degrees. Soft, let us see ; —
Write, heaven have mercy on us, on those three ;
They are infected, in their hearts it lies ;
They have the plague, and caught it of your eyes :
These lords are visited ; you are not free,
For the Lord's tokens on you do I see.
Prin. No, they are free, that gave these tokens to us.
Biron. Our states are forfeit, seek not to undo us.
Ros. It is not so ; For how can this be true.
That you stand forfeit, being those that sue ?
Biron. Peace ; for I will not have to do with you.
Ros. Nor shall not, if I do as I intend.
Biron. Speak for yourselves, my wit is at an end.
King. Teach us, sweet madam, for our rude
transgression
Some fair excuse.
Prin. The fairest is confession.
Were you not here, but even now, disguis'd ?
King. Madam, I was.
Prin. And were you well advis'd ?
King. I was, fair madam.
Prin. When you then were here,
What did you whisper in your lady's ear ?
King. That more than all the world I didrespect her.
Prin. When she shall challenge this, you will
reject her.
King. Upon mine honour, no.
Prin. Peace, peace, forbear ;
Your oath once broke, you force 9 not to forswear.
King. Despise me, when I break this oath of mine.
Prin. I will ; and therefore keep it : — Rosaline,
What did the Russian whisper in your ear ?
Ros> Madam, he swore, that he did hold me dear
As precious eye-sight; and did value me
Above this world : adding thereto, moreover.
That he would wed me, or else die my lover.
Prin. Heaven give thee joy of him ! the noble lord
Most honourably doth uphold his word.
King. What mean you, madam ? by my life, my
troth,
I never swore this lady such an oath.
Ros. By heaven you did ; and to confirm it plain
You gave me this : but take it, sir, again.
King. My faith, and this, the princess I did give ;
I knew her by this jewel on her sleeve.
Prin. Pardon me, sir, this jewel did she wear ;
And lord Biron, I thank him, is my dear : —
What ; will you have me, or your pearl again ?
Biron. Neither of either; I remit both twain. —
9 Make no difficulty.
I see the trick on't ; — Here was a consent ',
(Knowing aforehand of our merriment,)
To dash it like a Christmas comedy :
Some carry-tale,some please-man, some slight zany ^ ,
Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some
Dick, —
That smiles his cheek in years ; and knows the trick
To make my lady laugh, when she's dispos'd, —
Told our intents before : which once disclos'd,
Tlie ladies did change favours ; and then we.
Following the signs, woo'd but the sign of she.
Now, to our perjury to add more terror,
We are again forsworn ; in vnW, and error.
Much upon this it is : — And might not you,
[To BOYET.
Forestal our sport, to make us thus untrue ?
Do not you know my lady's foot by the squire %
And laugh upon the apple of her eye ?
And stand between her back, sir, and the fire.
Holding a trencher, jesting merrily ?
You leer upon me, do you ? there's an eye.
Wounds like a leaden sword.
Boyet, Full merrily
Hath this brave manage, this career, been run.
Biron. Lo, he is tilting straight ! Peace ; I have
done.
Enter Costard.
Welcome, pure wit ! thou partest a fair fray.
Cost. O, sir, they would know,
Whether the three worthies shall come in, or no.
Biron. What, are there but three?
Cost. No, sir ; but it is vara fine.
For every one pursents three.
Biron. And three times thrice is nir^.
Cost. Not so, sir ; under correction, sir ; I hope,
it is not so :
You cannot beg us, sir, I can assure you, sir ; we
know what we know :
I hope, sir, three times thrice, sir, —
Biron. Is not nine.
Cost. Under correction, sir, we know whereuntil
it doth amount.
Biron. By Jove, I always took three threes for
nine.
Cost. O, sir, it were pity you should get your
living by reckoning, sir.
Biron. How much is it ?
Cost. O, sir, the parties themselves, the actors,
sir, will show whereuntil it doth amount : for ray
own part, I am, as they say, but to parfect one
man, — e'en one poor man ; Pompion the great, sir.
Biron. Art thou one of the worthies ?
Cost. It pleased them, to think me worthy of
Pompion the great : for mine own part, I know not
the degree of the worthy : but I am to stand for him.
Biron. Go, bid them prepare.
Cost. We will turn it finely off, sir ; we will take
some care. {_Exit Costard.
King. Biron, they will shame us, let them not
approach.
Biron. We are shame-proof, my lord ; and 'tis
some policy
To have one show worse than the king's and his
company.
King. I say, they shall not come.
Prin. Nay, my good lord, let me o'er-rule you
now;
That sport best pleases, that doth least know how :
I
2 Buffoon.
3 Square, rule.
Scene II.
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
167
Where zeal strives to content, and the contents
Die in the zeal of them which it presents,
Their form confounded makes most form in mirth ;
When great things labouring perish in their birth.
Biron. A right description of our sport, my lord.
Enter Arm ado.
Arm. Anointed, I implore so much expence of
thy royal sweet breath, as will utter a brace of words.
[Arm ADO converses mth the King, and de-
livers him a paper.
That's all one, my faii:, sweet, honey monarch :
for, I protest, the schoolmaster is exceeding fantas-
tical ; too, too vain ; too, too vain : But we will
put it, as they say, to fortuna delta guerra. I wish
you the peace of mind, most royal couplement !
[Exit Armado.
£ing. Here is like to be a good presence of wor-
thies: He presents Hector of Troy; the swain,
Pompey the great ; the parish curate, Alexander ;
Armado's page, Hercules j the pedant, Judas Ma-
chabaeus.
And if these four worthies in their first show thrive.
These four will change habits, and present the other
five.
Biron. There is five in the first show.
Xing. You are deceiv'd, 'tis not so.
Biron. The pedant, the braggart, the hedge-
priest, the fool, and the boy : —
Abate a throw at novum * ; and the whole world
again.
Cannot pick out five such, take each one in his vein.
H^ng. The ship is under sail, and here she comes
amain.
[Seats brought/or the King, Princess, ^c.
Pageant of the Nine Worthies.
Enter Costard arm* d for Pompey.
Cost. / Pompey am,
Boyet. You lie, you are not he.
Cost. I Pompey am,
Boyet. With libbard's head on knee.
Biron. Well said, old mocker ; I must needs be
friends with thee.
Cost. 7 Pompey am, Pompey sumam'd the big,—
Dum. Tlie great.
Cost. It is great, sir; — Pompey sumam'd the
great ;
That oft in f eld, vuith targe and shield, did make my
foe to sweat :
And, travelling along this coast, I here am come by
chance ,-
And lay my arms before the feet of this s^eet lass of
France.
If your ladyship would say, Thanks, Pompey, I had
done.
Prin. Great thanks, great Pompey.
Cost. 'Tis not so much worth ; but, I hope, I was
perfect : I made a little fault in great.
Biron. My hat to a halfpenny, Pompey proves
the best worthy.
Enter Nathanikl arm'd, for Alexander.
Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's
comviander,
£y cast, west, north, and toutht I spread my conquer-
ing might :
* A game with dice.
My 'scutcheon plain declares, that I am Alimnder.
Boyet. Your nose says, no, you are not ; for it
stands too right.
Prin. The conqueror is dismay'd . Proceed, good
Alexander.
Nath. When in the world I liv'd, I was the world's
commander J —
Boyet. Most true, 'tis right ; you were so, Ali-
sander.
Biron. Pompey the great,
Cost. Your servant, and Costard.
Biron. Take away the conqueror, take away Ali-
sander.
Cost. O, sir, [To Nath.] you have overthrown
Alisander the conqueror ! You will be scraped out
of the painted cloth for this. A conqueror, and
afeard to speak ! run away for shame, Alisander.
[Nath. retires.] There, an't shall please you ; a
foolish mild man ; an honest man, look you, and
soon dash'd ! He is a marvellous good neighbour,
insooth ; and a very good bowler : but, for Alisan-
der, alas, you see, how 'tis ; — a little o'erparted :
— But there are worthies a coming will speak tlieir
mind in some other sort.
Prin. Stand aside, good Pompey.
Enter Holofernes arm'd, and Moth arm'd, for
Hercules.
Hoi. Great Hercules is presented by this imp.
Whose club kUl'd Cerberus, that three-headed
can us ;
And when he was a babe, a child, a shrimp,
Thus did he strangle serpents in his manus
Quoniam, he seemeth in minority ;
Ergo, / come with this apology. —
Keep some state in thy exit, and vanish.
[Exit Moth.
Hoi. Judas I am, ycleped Machabaeus.
Dum. Judas Machabseus dipt, is plain Judas.
Hoi. I will not be put out of countenance.
Biron. Because thou hast no face.
Hoi. What is tins?
Boyet. A cittern head.
Dum. The head of a bodkin.
Biron. A death's face in a ring.
Long. The face of an old Roman coin, scarce seen.
Boyet. The pummel of Caesar's faulchion.
Dum. The carv'd-bone face on a flask.
Biron. St. George's half-cheek in a brooch.
Dum. Ay, in a brooch of lead.
Biron. Ay, and worn in the cap of a tooth-
drawer:
And now, forward ; for we have put thee in coun-
tenance.
Hoi. You have put me out of countenance.
Biron. False ; we have given thee faces.
Hoi. But you have out-fac'd them all.
Biron. An thou wert a lion, we would do so.
Boyet. Therefore, as he is, an ass, let him go.
[Exit HOLOFERKU.
Enter Armado arm'd, for Hector.
Biron. Hide thy head, Achilles; here comes
Hector in arms.
Dunu Though my mocks come home by me, I
will now be merry.
ITing. Hector was but a Trojan in respect of this.
Boyet. But is this Hector ?
Dum. I think. Hector was not so clean-timber'd.
Long. His leg is too big for Hector.
M 4
168
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
Act V.
Dum. More calf, certain.
Boyel. No ; he is best indued in the small.
Biron. This cannot be Hector.
Dum. He's a painter ; for he makes faces.
Arm. The armipotcnt Mars, of lances the mighty.
Gave Hector a gift, —
Bum. A gilt nutmeg.
JSiron. A lemon.
Long. Stuck with cloves.
Dum. No, cloven.
Arm. Peace!
Tlie armipotent Mars, of lances the mighty,
Gave Hector a gift, the heir of Ilion ;
A man so breath'd, that certain he would fight, yea
From morn till night, out of his pavilion.
I am that fiower, —
Dum, That mint.
Loiig. That columbine.
Ar7n. Sweet lord Longaville, rein thy tongue.
Long. I must rather give it the rein ; for it runs
against Hector.
Dum. Ay, ajid Hector's a greyhound.
Arm. The sweet war-man is dead ; sweet chucks,
beat not the bones of the buried : when he breath'd,
he was a man. — But I will forward with my device :
Sweet royalty, [To the Princess.] bestow on me the
sense of hearing. [Bihon whispers Costard.
Prin. Speak, brave Hector j we are much de-
lighted.
Arm. I do adore thy sweet grace's slipper.
Boyet. Loves her by the foot.
Arm. This Hector far surmounted Hannibal, —
Cost. The party is gone, fellow Hector, she is gone.
Arfn. Dost thou infamonize me among poten-
tates ? thou shalt die.
Cost. Then shall Hector be hanged, for Pompey
that is dead by him.
Dum. Most rare Pompey !
Boyet. Renowned Pompey !
Biron. Greater than great, great, great, great
Pompey ! Pompey the huge !
Dum. Hector trembles.
Biron. Pompey is mov'd : — More Ates ^, more
Ates ; stir them on ! stir them on !
Dum. Hector will challenge hhn.
Biron. Ay, if he have no more man's blood in
him than will sup a flea.
Arm. By the north pole, I do challenge thee.
Cost. I will not fight with a pole, like a northern
man ; I'll slash ; I'll do it by the sword : — I pray
you, let me borrow my arms again,
Dum. Room for the incensed worthies.
Enter Meecade.
Mer. Heaven save you, madam !
Prin. Welcome, Mercade ;
But that thou interrupt'st our merriment.
Mer. I am sorry, madam ; for the news I bring.
Is heavy in my tongue. The king your father —
Prin. Dead, for my life.
Mer. Even so ; my tale is told.
Biron. Worthies, away ; the scene begins to
cloud.
Arm. For mine own part, I breathe free breath :
I have seen the day of wrong through the little hole
of discretion, and I will right myself like a soldier.
[Exeunt Worthies.
King. How fares your majesty ?
Prin. Boyet, prepare ; I will away to-night.
'•' Aii. was the goddess of discord.
King. Madam, not so ; I do beseech you, stay.
Prin. Prepare, 1 say. — I thank you, gracious
lords.
For all your fair endeavours ; and entreat,
Out of a new-sad soul, that you vouchsafe
In your rich wisdom, to excuse or hide.
The liberal ^ opposition of our spirits :
If over-boldly we have borne ourselves
In the converse of breath, your gentleness
Was guilty of it. — Farewell, worthy lord !
A heavy heart bears not an humble tongue :
Excuse me so, coming so short of thanks
For my great suit so easily* obtain'd.
King. The extreme parts of time extremely form
All causes to the purpose of his speed j
And often, at his very loose, decides
That which long process could not arbitrate :
And though the morning brow of progeny
Forbid the smiling courtesy of love.
The holy suit which fain it would convince ;
Yet, since love's argument was first on foot.
Let not the cloud of sorrow justle it
From what it purpos'd ; since, to wail friends lost,
Is not by much so wholesome, profitable.
As to rejoice at friends but newly found.
Prin. I understand you not; my griefs are double.
Biron. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of
grief; —
And by these badges understand the king.
For your fair sakes have we neglected time,
Play'd foul play with our oaths ; your beauty, ladies.
Hath much deform'd us, fashioning our humours
Even to the opposed end of our intents :
And what in us hath seem'd ridiculous, —
As love is full of unbefitting strains ;
All wanton as a child, skipping, and vain ;
Form'd by the eye, and, therefore, like the eye
Full of strange shapes, of habits, and of fonns,
Varying in subjects as the eye doth roll
To every varied object in his glance :
Which party-coated presence of loose love
Put on by us, if, in your heavenly eyes.
Have misbecom'd our oaths and gravities,
Those heavenly eyes, that look into these faults.
Suggested us to make : Therefore, ladies.
Our love being yours, the error that love makes
Is likewise yours : we to ourselves prove false.
By being once false for ever to be true
To those that make us both, — fair ladies, you :
And even that falsehood, in itself a sin,
Thus purifies itself, and turns to grace.
Prin. We have receiv'd your letters, full of love j
Your favours, the embassadors of love ;
And, in our maiden council, rated them
At courtship, pleasant jest, and courtesy,
As bombast, and as lining to the time :
But more devout than this, in our respects,
Have we not been ; and therefore met your loves
In their own fashion, like a merriment.
Dum. Our letters, madam, show'd much more
than jest.
Long. So did our looks.
Ros. We did not quote 7 them so.
King. Now, at the latest minute of the hour.
Grant us your loves.
Prin. A time, methinks, too short
To make a world-without-end bargain in :
No, no, my lord, your grace is perjur'd much,
I
II
Free to excess.
Regard.
Scene II.
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
169
Full of dear guiltiness ; and therefore this, —
If for my love (as there is no sucli cause)
You will do aught, this shall you do for me :
Your oatli I will not trust ; but go with speed
To some forlorn and naked hermitage,
Remote from all the pleasures of the world ;
There stay, until the twelve celestial signs
Have brought about their annual reckoning ;
If this austere insociable life
Change not your offer made in heat of blood ;
If frosts, and fasts, hard lodging, and thin weeds 8,
Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love,
But that it bear this trial, and last love ;
Then, at the expiration of the year.
Come challenge, challenge me by these deserts.
And, by this virgin palm, now kissing tliine,
I will be thine ; and, till that instant, shut
My woeful self up in a mourning house ;
Raining the tears of lamentation.
For the remembrance of my father's death.
If tliis thou do deny, let our hands part ;
Neither intitled in the other's heart.
£ing. If this, or more than this, I would deny,
To flatter up these powers of mine with rest.
The sudden hand of death close up mine eye !
Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast.
Biron. And what to me, my love? and what to
me ?
Ros. You must be purged too, your sins are rank;
You are attaint with faults and perjury ;
Therefore, if you my favour mean to get,
A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest,
But seek the weary beds of people sick.
Dum. But what to me, my love ? but what to me?
Kath. A Avife! — A beard, fair health, and ho-
nesty ;
With three-fold love I wish you all these three.
Dum. O, shall I say, I thank you, gentle wife ?
Kath. Not so, my lord ; — a twelvemonth and a day
I'll mark no words that smooth-fac'd wooers say :
Come when the king doth to my lady come,
Then, if I have much love, I'll give you some.
Dum, I'll serve thee true and faithfully till then.
Kath. Yet swear not, lest you be forsworn again.
Long. What says Maria ?
Mar. At the twelvemonth's end,
I'll change my black gown for a faithful friend.
Long. I'll stay with patience ; but the time is long.
Mar. The liker you ; few taller are so young.
Biron. Studies my lady ? mistress, look on me.
Behold the window of my heart, mine eye.
What humble suit attends thy answer there ;
Impose some service on me for thy love.
Ros, Oft have I heard of you, my lord Biron,
Before I saw you : and the world's large tongue
Proclaims you for a man replete with mocks ;
Full of comparisons and wounding flouts ;
Which you on all estates will execute.
That He within the mercy of your wit :
To weed this wormwood from your fruitful brain ;
And, therewithal, to win me, if you please,
(Without the which I am not to be won,)
You shall this twelvemonth term from day to day
Visit the speechless sick, and still converse
With groaning wretches ; and your task shall be,
With all the fierce endeavour of your wit,
To enforce the pained impotent to smile.
Biron. To move wild laughter in the throat of
death?
« Clothing.
It cannot be ; it is impossible :
Mirth cannot move a soul in agony.
Ros. Why, that's the way to choke a gibing spirit,
Whose influence is begot of that loose grace,
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools :
A jest's prosperity lies in the ear
Of him that hears it, never in the tongue
Of him that makes it : then, if sickly ears,
Deaf'd with the clamours of their own dear
groans.
Will hear your idle scorns, continue then.
And I will have you, and that fault withal ;
But, if they will not, throw away that spirit,
And I shall find you empty of that fault.
Right joyful of your reformation.
Biron, A twelvemonth? well, befal what will
befal,
I'll jest a twelvemonth in an hospital.
Prin. Ay, sweet my lord : and so I take my
leave. [To the Kino.
King. No, madam : we will bring you on your
way.
Biron. Our wooing doth not end like an old play j
Jack hath not Jill : these ladies' courtesy
Might well have made our sport a comedy.
King, Come, sir, it wants a twelvemonth and a day,
And then 'twill end.
Biron. That's too long for a play.
Enter Akmado.
jlrm. Sweet majesty, vouchsafe me, —
Prin. Was not that Hector ?
Dum, The worthy knight of Troy.
Arm, I vrill kiss thy royal finger and take leave :
I am a votary ; I have vowed to Jaquenetta to hold
the plough for her sweet love three years. But,
most esteemed greatness, will you hear the dialogue
that the two learned men have compiled, in praise
of the owl and the cuckoo ? it should have followed
in the end of our show.
King. Call them forth quickly, we will do so.
Arm, Holla! approach.
Enter Holoferkes, Nathakiel, Moth, Costard,
and others.
This side is Hieras, winter ; this Ver, the spring ;
the one maintain'd by the owl, the other by the
cuckoo. Ver, begin.
SONG.
I.
Spring. IVlien daisies yied, and violets biiie,
And lady-smocks all silver-white^
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue.
Do paint the meadows with ddight.
The cuckoo then, on every tree.
Mocks married men, for thtis sings he,
Cuckoo ;
Cuckoo, cuckoo, — 0 word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear I
II.
When shepherds pipe on oaten straxia.
And merry larks are plotighmcn's clocks.
When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws.
And maidens bleach their summer smocks,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men, for thus sings he,
Cuckoo ;
170
LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.
jVct v.
Cuckoo, cuckoo — 0 word offeaVf
Unpleasing to a married ear !
III.
Winter. IVlien icicles hang by the wall.
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail.
And Tom bears logs into the hall.
And milk comes frozen home in pail.
When blood is nipped, and ways befoul,
IVien nightly sings the staring owl,
To-who ;
Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note.
While greasy Joan doth keel ^ the pot.
» Scum. ^
IV.
When all aloud the wind doth blow.
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow.
And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs ' hiss in tlie bowl.
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
To-who ;
Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note.
While greasy Joan dath keel the pot.
Arm. The words of Mercury are harsh after the
songs of Apollo. You, that way ; we, this way.
\E.xeunt.
' Wild apples.
I
ry^
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
o, I
.N, /
Suitors to Portia.
Old GoBBO, Father to Launcelot.
Salerio, a Messenger from Venice.
Leonardo, Servant to Bassanio.
Balthazar, "| _ . ^ t» ^'
c J- Servants to Portia.
Stephano, J
Duke of Venice
Prince of Morocco
Prince of Arrago
ANTOXio, the Merchant of Venice.
Bassanio, his Friend.
Salanio, ~j
Salarino, I- Friends to Antonio and Bassanio.
Gratiano, J
Lorenzo, in love with Jessicj.
Shylock, a Jew.
Tubal, a Jew, his Fi-iend.
Launcelot Gobbo, a Clovm, Servant to Shylock.
SCENE, partly at Venice, and partly at Belmont, the Seat of Portia, on the Continent
Portia, a rich Heiress.
Nerissa, her Waiting-Maid.
Jessica, Daughter to Shylock.
Magnificoes (f Venice, Officers of the Court ofJuLSticei
Gaoler, Servants, and other Attendants.
Ol-VB all TOOK HAMI). BA33ANIO ; FARB YOO WEI,!,!
.>RIKVB NOT TDiT 1 AM fAULRN TO THIS FOR TOD.
MERCHANT OF VENICE,
ACT I.
SCENE I. — Venice. ^ Street.
Enter Antonio, Salarino, nnd Salanio.
Ant. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad ;
It wearies me ; you say it wearies you ;
But how I caught it, found it, or came by it,
What stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born,
I am to learn ;
And such a want-wit sadness makes of me.
That I have much ado to know myself.
Salar. Your mind is tossing on the ocean ;
There, where your argosies ' with portly sail, —
Like signiors and rich burghers of the flood.
Or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, —
Do overpeer the petty traffickers,
That curt'sy to them, do them reverence,
As they fly by them with their woven wings.
Saliin. Kelieve me, sir, had I such venture forth,
Tlie better })art of my affections would
He with my hopes abroad. I should be still
Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind ;
Peering in maps, for ports, and piers, and roads;
And every object, that might make me fear
^Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt.
Would make me sad.
Salar. My wind, cooling my broth,
Would blow me to an agxie, when I thought
What harm a wind too great might do at sea.
I should not see tlie sandy hour-glass run,
' Ships of large Imrden.
But I should think of shallows and of flats ;
And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand,
Vailing* her high-top lower than her ribs,
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church.
And see the holy edifice of stone.
And not bethink me straight of dangerous rock-; ?
Which touching but my gentle vessel's side,
Would scatter all her spices on the stream ;
Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks;
And, in a word, but even now worth this,
And now worth nothing ! Shall I have the thought
To think on this ; and shall I lack tJie thought,
j That such a thing, bechanc'd, would make me sad?
But, tell not me; I know, Antonio
Is sad to think upon his merchandize.
Ant. Believe me, no : I thank my fortune for it.
My ventures are not in one bottom trusted.
Nor to one place ; nor is my whole estate
Upon the fortune of this present year :
Therefore, my merchandize makes me not sad.
Satan. Why then you are in love.
Ant. Fyc, fye !
SfUan. Not in love neither? Then let's say, you
are sad.
Because you are not merry : and 'twere as easy
For you, to laugh, and leap, and say. you are merry,
Because you are not sad. Now, by two-headed Janus.
Nature hath fram'd strange fellows in her time :
Some that will evenriore peep through their eyes,
And laugh, like parrots, at a bag-piper;
I * Ix.wcring.
172
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
Act 1.
And other of such vinegar aspect,
That they'll not show their teeth in way of smile,
Though Nestor swear the jest be laughable.
Enter Bassanio, Lorenzo, and Gratiano.
Solan. Here comes Bassanio, your most noble
kinsman ,
Gratiano, and Lorenzo : Fare you well ;
We leave you now with better company.
Snlar. I would have staid till I had made you merry,
If worthier friends had not prevented me.
Ant. Your worth is very dear in my regard.
I take it, your own business calls on you,
And you embrace the occasion to depart.
Salar. Good morrow, my good lords.
Bass. Good signiors both, when shall we laugh ?
Say, when ?
You grow exceeding strange : Must it be so ?
Salar. We'll make our leisures to attend on yours.
[Exeunt Salarino and Salanio.
Lor. My lord Bassanio, since you have found
Antonio,
We two will leave you : but, at dinner-time,
I pray you, have in mind where we must meet.
Bass. I will not fail you.
Gra. You look not well, signior Antonio ;
You have too much respect upon the world :
They lose it, that do buy it with much care.
Believe me, you are marvellously chang'd.
Ant. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano ;
A stage, where every man must play a part,
And mine a sad one.
Gra. Let me play the Fool :
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come ;
And let my liver rather heat with wine.
Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.
Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster ?
Sleep when he wakes ? and creep into the jaundice
By being peevish ? 1 tell thee what, Antonio, —
I love thee, and it is my love that speaks ;
There are a sort of men, whose visages
Do cream and mantle, like a standing pond ;
And do a wilful stillness 3 entertain.
With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit ;
As who should say, / am sir Oracle,
And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark !
O, my Antonio, I do know of these,
That therefore only are reputed wise,
For saying nothing ; who, I am very sure.
If they should speak, would almost dam those ears.
Which, hearing them, would call their brothers, fools.
I'll tell thee more of this another time :
But fish not, with this melancholy bait,
For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion. —
Come, good Lorenzo : — Fare ye well, a while ;
I'll end my exhortation after dinner.
Lor. Well, we will leave you then till dinner-time :
I must be one of these same dumb wise men.
For Gratiano never lets me speak.
Gra. Well, keep me company but two years more.
Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.
Ant. Farewell : I'll grow a talker for this gear.
[Exeunt Gratiano and Lorenzo.
Bass. Gratiano speaks an infinite deal of nothing,
more than any man in all Venice : His reasons are
as two grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff;
3 Obstinate silence
I you shall seek all day ere you find them : and, when
you have them, they are not worth the search.
Ant. Well ; tell me now, what lady is this same
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage,
That you to-day promis'd to tell me of?
Bass. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,
How much I have disabled mine estate.
By something showing a more swelling port
Than my faint means would grant continuance ;
Nor do I now make moan to be abridg'd
From such a noble rate ; but my chief care
Is, to come fairly off from the great debts.
Wherein my time, something too prodigal,
Hath left me gag'd : To you, Antonio,
I owe the most, in money, and in love ;
And from your love I have a warranty
To unburthen all my plots, and purposes.
How to get clear of all the debts I owe.
Ant. I pray you, good Bassanio, let me know it;
And, if it stand, as you yourself still do,
Within the eye of honour, be assured.
My purse, my person, my extremest means,
Lie all unlock'd to your occasions.
Bass. In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft]
I shot his fellow of the self-same flight
The self-same way, with more advised watch.
To find the other forth ; and by advent'ring both,
I oft found both : I urge this childhood proof,
Because what follows is pure innocence.
I owe you much ; and, like a wilful youth.
That which I owe is lost : but if you please
To shoot another arrow that self way
Which you did shoot the first, I do not doubt,
As I will watch the aim, or to find both.
Or bring your latter hazard back again.
And thankfully rest debtor for the first.
Ant. You know me well ; and herein spend but
time,
To wand about my love with circumstance ;
And, out of doubt, you do me now more wrong,
In making question of my uttermost.
Than if you had made waste of all I have :
Then do but say to me what I should do,
That in your knowledge may by me be done,
And I am prest "* unto it : therefore, speak.
Bass. In Belmont is a lady richly left.
And she is fair, and, fairer than that word.
Of wond'rous virtues ; sometimes^ from her eyes
I did receive fair speechless messages :
Her name is Portia ; nothing undervalued
To Cato's daughter, Brutus' Portia.
Nor is the wide world ignorant of her worth ;
For the four winds blow in from every coast
Renowned suitors : and her sunny locks
Hang on her terajjles like a golden fleece ;
Which makes her seat of Belmont, Colchos' strand.
And many Jasons come in quest of her.
0 my Antonio, had I but the means
To hold a rival place with one of them,
1 have a mind presages me such thrift.
That I should questionless be fortunate.
Ant. Thou know'st, that all my fortunes are at sea;
Nor have I money, nor commodity
To raise a present sum : therefore go forth.
Try what my credit can in Venice do ;
That shall be rack'd, even to the uttermost,
To furnish thee to Belmont, to fair Portia.
Go presently inquire, and so will I,
■• Ready. * Formerly.
SCKNE II.
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
173
Where money is ; and I no question make,
To have it of my trust, or for my sake. [Exeunt.
SCENE II Belmont. A Roo in in Fortia,' s House.
Enter Portia and Nerissa.
For. By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is
a-wcary of this great world.
Ner. You would be, sweet madam, if your mi-
series were in the same abundance as your good
fortunes are : And yet, for aught I see, they are as
sick, that surfeit with too much, as they that starve
with nothing : It is no mean happiness, therefore,
to be seated in the mean ; superfluity comes sooner
by white hairs, but competency lives longer.
For. Good sentences, and well pronounced.
Ner. They would be better, if well followed.
For. If to do were as easy as to know what were
good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor
men's cottages, princes' palaces. It is a good divine
that follows his own instructions : I can easier teach
twenty what were good to be done, than be one of
the twenty to follow mine own teaching. But this
reasoning is not in the fashion to choose me a hus-
l)and : — O me, the word choose ! I rilay neither
choose whom I would, nor refuse whom I dislike ;
^ \< thp i.jl) r.f^<i i:.n«,. rini.gUf^j- f;uj|]'fl hy thpwjll
of :i dead father : — Is it not hard, Nerissa, that!
cannot choose one, nor refuse none ?
Nor. Your father was ever virtuous ; and holy
Jen, at tlieir death, have good inspirations ; there-
fore, the lottery, that he hath devised in these three
chests, of gold, silver, and lead, (whereof who
chooses his meaning, chooses you,) will, no doubt,
never be chosen by any rightly, but one who you
shall rightly love. But what warmth is there in
your aflfection towards any of these princely suitors
that are already come ?
For. I pray thee, over-name them ; and as thou
namest them, I will describe them ; and, according
to my description, level at my afiection.
Ner. First, there is the Neapolitan prince.
For. Ay, that's a colt, indeed, for he doth nothing
but talk of his horse ; and he makes it a great ap-
propriation to his own good parts, that he can shoe
him liimself.
Ner. Then, is there the county ^ Palatine.
For. He doth nothing but frown ; as who should
say. An if you xvill not have me, choose j he hears
merry tales, and smiles not : I fear he will prove
the weeping philosopher when he grows old, being
so full of unmannerly sadness in his youth. I had
rather be married to a death's head with a bone in
his mouth, than to either of these. Heaven defend
me from these two !
iVt'r. How say you by the French lord, monsieur
Le Bon?
For. Heaven made him, and therefore let him
pass for a man. In truth, I know it is a sin to be a
mocker : But, he ! why, he hath a horse better than
the Neapolitan's; a better bad habit of frowning
than the count Palatine : he is every man in no man :
if a throstle sing, he falls straight a capering; he
will fence with his own shadow ; If I should marry
him, I should marry twenty husbands : If he would
despise me, I would forgive him ; for if he love me
to matlness, I shall never requite him.
Ner. What say you then to Faulconbridge, tlie
young baron of England ?
For. You know, I say nothing to him ; for he
understands not me, nor I him : he hath neither
Latin, French, nor Italian ; and you will come into
the court and swear, that I have a poor penny wortli
in the English. He is a proper man's picture ; But,
alas ! who can converse with a dumb show ? How
oddly he is suited ! I think he bought his doublet
in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in
Germany, and his behaviour every where.
Ner. What think you of the Scottish lord, his
neighbour ?
For. That he hath a neighbourly charity in him ;
for he borrowed a box of the ear of the Englishman,
and swore he would pay him again, when he was
able : I think, the Frenchman became liis surety,
and sealed under for another.
Ner. How like you the young German, the duke
of Saxony's nephew ?
For. Very vilely in the morning, when he is
sober ; and most vilely in the afternoon, when he is
drunk : when he is best, he is a little worse than a
man ; and when he is worst, he is little better than
a beast : an the worst fall that ever fell, I hope, I
shall make shift to go without him.
Ner. If he should offer to choose, and choose the
right casket, you should refuse to perform your
father's will, if you should refuse to accept him.
For. Therefore, for fear of the worst, I pray thee,
set a deep glass of Rhenish wine on the contrary
casket ; for, if the devil be within, and that tempt-
ation without, I know he will choose it. I will do
any thing, Nerissa, ere I will be married to a spunge.
Ner. You need not fear, lady, tlie having any of
these lords; they have acquainted me with their
determinations : which is indeed, to return to their
home, and to trouble you with no more suit ; unless
you may be won by some other sort than your fa-
ther's imposition, depending on the caskets.
For. If I live to be as old as Sibylla, I will die
as chaste as Diana, unless I be obtained by the man-
ner of my father's will : I am glad tliis parcel of
wooers are so reasonable ; for there is not one among
them but I dote on his very absence, and I wish them
a fair departure.
Ner. Do you not remember, lady, in your father's
time, a Venetian, a scholar, and a soldier, that came
hither in company of the Marquis of Montferrat ?
For. Yes, yes, it was Bassanio ; as I think, so
was he called.
Ner. True, madam ; he of all the men that ever
my foolish eyes looked upon, was tlie best deserving
a fair lady.
For. I remember him well ; and I remember him
worthy of thy praise. — How now ! what news ?
Enter a Servant.
Serv. The four strangers seek for you, madam,
to take their leave : and there is a fore-runner come
from a fifth, the prince of Morocco ; who brings
word, the prince, his master, will be here to-night.
For. If I could bid the fifth welcome with so
good heart as I can bid the other four farewell, I
should be glad of his approach : if he have the con-
dition 7 of a saint, and the complexion of a devil, I
had rather he should shrive me than wive me.
Come, Nerissa. — Sirrah, go before. — Whiles we
shut the gate upon one wooer, another knocks at
the door. [Exeunt.
7 Temper, qualities.
174
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
Act I. Scene III.
SCENE III. — Venice. A Public Place.
Enter Bassanio and Shylock.
Sky. Three thousand ducats, — well.
Bass. Ay, sir, for three months.
Shy. For three months, — well.
Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall
be bound.
Shy. Antonio shall become bound, — well.
Bass. May you stead me ? Will you pleasure me ?
Shall I know your answer ?
Shy. Three thousand ducats, for three months,
and Antonio bound.
Bass. Your answer to that.
Shy. Antonio is a good man.
Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the con-
trary ?
Shy. Ho, no, no, no, no ; — my meaning, in say-
ing he is a good man, is to have you understand me,
that he is sufficient: yet his means are in supposition ;
he hath an argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the
Indies ; I understand moreover upon the Rialto, he
hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England,
and other ventures he hath, squander'd abroad :
But ships are but boards, sailors but men ; there be
land-rats, and water-rats, water-thieves, and land-
thieves ; I mean, pirates ; and then, there is the
peril of waters, winds, and rocks : The man is, not-
withstanding, sufficient ; — three thousand ducats ;
— I think I may take his bond.
Bass. Be assured you may.
Shy. I will be assured, I may ; and, that I may
be assured, 1 will bethink me : May I speak with
Antonio ?
Bass. If it please you to dine with* us.
Shy. Yes, to smell pork : I will buy with you,
sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so
following ; but I will not eat with you, drink with
you, nor pray with you. What news on the Rialto ?
— Who is he comes here ?
Enter Antonio.
^055. This is signior Antonio.
Shy. {Aside.'] How like a fawning publican he
looks !
I hate him for he is a Christian :
But more, for that, in low simplicity.
He lends out money gratis, and brings down
The rate of usance here with us in Venice.
If I can catch him once upon the hip,
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
He hates our sacred nation ; and he rails,
Even there where mercliants most do congregate.
On me, my bargains, and my well won thrift,
Which he calls interest : Cursed be my tribe.
If I forgive him !
Bass. Shylock, do you hear ?
Shy. I am debating of my present store ;
And, by the near guess of my memory,
I cannot instantly raise up the gross
Of full three thousand ducats : What of that ?
Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tribe.
Will furnish me : But soft ; How many months
Do you desire ? — Rest you fair, good signior ;
[To Antokio.
Your worship was the last man in our mouths.
Ant. Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor borrow,
By taking, nor by giving of excess,
Yet to supply the ripe wants ^ of my friend,
8 Wants which admit no longer delay.
I'll break a custom : — Is he yet possess'd 9,
How much you would?
Shy. Ay, ay, three thousand ducats.
Ant. And for three months.
Shy. I had forgot, — three months, you told me so.
Well then, your bond ; and, let me see, But
hear you ;
Methought, you said, you neither lend nor borrow.
Upon advantage.
Ant. I do never use it.
Shy. Three thousand ducats, — 'tis a good round
sum.
Three months from twelve, then let me see the rate.
Ant. Well, Shylock, shall we be beholden to you ?
Shy. Signior Antonio, many a time and oft.
In the Rialto you have rated me
About my monies, and my usances ' :
Still have I borne it with a patient shrug ;
For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe :
You call me — misbeliever, cut-throat dog.
And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine.
And all for use of that which is mine own.
Well then, it now appears, you need my help :
Go to then ; you come to me, and you say,
Shylock, we would have monies ; You say so ;
You, that did void your rheum upon my beard.
And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur
Over your threshold ; monies is your suit.
What should I say to you ? Should I not say.
Hath a dog money ? is it possible,
A cur caji lend three thousand ducats 9 or
Shall I bend low, and in a bondman's key.
With 'bated breath, and whispering humbleness,
Say this,
Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last ;
You spurned me such a day ; another time
You calVd me — dog; and for these courtesies
Ell lend you thus much monies.
Ant. I am as like to call thee so again.
To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too.
If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not
As to thy friends ; (for when did friendship take
A breed for barren metal of his friend ?)
But lend it rather to thine enemy ;
Who if he break, thou may'st with better face
Exact the penalty.
Shy. Why, look you, how you storm !
I would be friends with you, and have your love,
Forget the shames that you have stain'd me with.
Supply your present wants, and take no doit
Of usance for my monies, and you'll not hear me
This is kind I offer.
Ant. This were kindness.
Shy. This kindness will I show]
Go with me to a notary, seal me there
Your single bond ; and, in a merry sport.
If you repay me not on such a day.
In such a place, such sum, or sums, as are
Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit
Be nominated for an equal pound
Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken
In what part of your body pleaseth me.
Ant. Content, in faith; I'll seal to such a bond
And say, there is much kindness in the Jew.
Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for me,
I'll rather dwell in my necessity.
Ant. Why, fear not, man : I will not forfeit it ;
Within these two months, that's a month before
» Informed. ' Interest.
Act II. Scene I.
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
175
This bond expires, I do expect return
Of thrice three times the value of tliis bond.
Shy. O father Abraham, what these Christians are;
Whose own hard dealings teaches tliem suspect
The thoughts of others ! Pray you, tell me this ;
If he should break his day, what should I gain
By the exaction of the forfeiture ?
A pound of man's flesh, taken from a man,
Is not so estimable, profitable neither,
As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say
1 o buy his favour, I extend this friendship :
If he will take it, so ; if not, adieu ;
And, for my love, I pray you, wrong me not.
Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.
Shy. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's ;
Give him direction for this merry bond,
And I will go and purse the ducats straight;
See to my house, left in the fearful guard
Of an unthrifty knave ; and presently
I will be with you. [Exit.
Ant. Hie thee, gentle Jew.
This Hebrew will turn Christian ; he grows kind.
Bass. I like not fair terms, and a villain's mind.
Ant. Come on : in tliis there can be no dismay,
My ships come home a month before the day.
[^Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I. — Belmont. A Room in Portia's
House.
Flourish of Comets. Enter the Prince of Morocco
and his Train; Portia, Nkrissa, and other of her
Attendants.
Mor. Mislike me not for my complexion.
The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun,
I'o whom I am a neighbour, and near bred.
Bring me the fairest creature northward born,
Where Phoebus' fire scarce thaws the icicles,
And let us make incision "^ for your love.
To prove whose blood is reddest, his, or mine.
I tell thee, lady, this aspj^ct of mine
Hath fear'd 3 the valiant ; by my love, I swear,
The best regarded virgins of our clime
Have lov'd it too : I would not change this hue.
Except to steal your thoughts, my gentle queen.
For. In terms of choice I am not solely led
By nice direction of a maiden's eyes :
Besides, the lottery of my destiny
Bars me the right of voluntary choosing :
But, if my father had not scanted me,
And hedg'd me by his wit, to yield myself
His wife, who wins me by that means I told you.
Yourself, renowned prince, then stood as fair.
As any comer I have look'd on yet.
For my affection.
Mor. Even for that I thank you ;
Therefore, I pray you, lead me to the caskets.
To try my fortune. By this scimitar, —
'ITiat slew the Sophy, and a Persian prince.
That won three fields of sultan Solyman, —
I would out-stare the sternest eyes that look,
Out-brave the heart most daring on the earth,
Pluck the young sucking cubs from the she bear,
Yt-a, mock tiie lion when he roars for prey,
To win thee, lady : But, alas the while !
If Hercules, and Lichas, play at dice
Which is the better man, the greater throw
May turn by fortune from the weaker hand :
So is Alcides beaten by his page ;
And so may I, blind fortune leading me.
Miss that which one unworthier may attain.
And die with grieving.
Por. You must take your chance ;
And either not attempt to clioose at all,
Or swear, before you choose, — if you choose wrong,
' AlUiMon to the Eastern custom for lovers to testify their
paMiiin hy cutting themselves in their mislrcsscs' sight
3 Terrified.
Never to speak to lady afterward
In way of marriage ; therefore be advis'd.
Mor. Nor will not ; come, bring me unto my
chance.
Por. First, forward to the temple ; after dinner
Your hazard shall be made.
Mor. Good fortune then ! [Cornets.
To make me bless't or cursed'st among men.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II. — Venice. A Street.
Enter LAUNCEtoT Gobbo.
Laun. Certainly my conscience will serve me to
run from this Jew, my master : The fiend is at
mine elbow ; and tempts me, saying to me, Gobbo,
Launcelot Gobbo, good Launcelot, or good Gobbo,
or good Launcelot Gobbo, use your legs, take the
start, run away : My conscience says, — no ; take
heed, honest Launcelot ,- take lieed, honest Gobbo ;
or, as aforesaid, honest Launcelot Gobbo ; do not
run; scorn running with thy heels: Well, tlie most
courageous fiend bids me pack ; via ! says the
fiend ; away ! says the fiend ; rouse up a brave
mind, says the fiend, a7id run. Well, my conscience,
hanging about the neck of my heart, says very
wisely to me, — my honest friend Launcelot, being
an honest m,an^s son, budge not ; budge, says the
fiend ; budge not, says my conscience : Conscience,
say I, you counsel well ; fiend, say I, you counsel
well : to be ruled by my conscience, I should stay
with the Jew my master, who is a kind of devil ;
and, to run away from the Jew, I should be ruled
by the fiend, who, saving your reverence, is tlie
devil himself: Certainly, the Jew is tlie very devil
incarnation ; and, in my conscience, my conscience
is but a kind of hard conscience, to offer to counsel
me to stay with the Jew : The fiend gives tlie more
friendly counsel : I will run, fiend ; my heels are
at your commandment, I will run.
Enter old Gobbo, unlh a Basket.
Gob. Master, young man, you, I pray you;
which is the way to master Jew's ?
Lau7i. [Aside.] O heavens, tliis is my true-be-
gotten father ! who, being more than sand-blind,
high-gravel blind, knows mc not : — I w ill try con-
clusions * with him.
Gob. Master, young gentleman, I pray you,
which is the way to master Jew's ?
* Experiments.
176
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
Act II.
Laun. Turn up on your right hand, at the next
turning, but, at the next turning of all, on your
left ; marjy, at tlie very next turning, turn of no
hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's house.
Gob. 'Twill be a hard way to hit. Can you tell
me whether one Launcelot, that dwells with him,
dwell with him, or no ?
Lnun. Talk you of young master Launcelot? —
Mark me now ; I Aside.} now will I raise the waters :
— Talk you of young master Launcelot ?
Gob. No master, sir, but a poor man's son ; his
father, though I say it, is an honest exceeding poor
man, and, God be thanked, well to live.
Laun. Well, let his father be what he will, we
talk of young master Launcelot.
Gob. Your worship's friend, and Launcelot, sir.
Laun. But I pray you ergo, old man, ergo, I
beseech you ; Talk you of young master Launcelot?
Gob. Of Launcelot, an't please your mastership.
Laun. Ergo, master Launcelot; talk not of
master Launcelot, father ; for the young gentleman
(according to fates and destinies, and such odd
sayings, the sisters three, and such branches of
learning,) is indeed deceased.
Gob. Marry, God forbid ! the boy was the very
staff of my age, my very prop.
Laun. Do I look like a cudgel, or a hovel-post,
a staff, or a prop ? — Do you know me, father ?
Gob. Alack the day, I know you not, young
gentleman ; but, I pray you, tell me, is my boy alive
or dead?
Laun. Do you not know me, father ?
Gob. Alack, sir, I am sand-blind, I know you not.
Laun. Nay, indeed, if you had your eyes, you
might fail of the knowing me : it is a wise father,
that knows his own child. Well, old man, I will
tell you news of your son : Give me your blessing :
truth will come to light; murder cannot be hid
long, a man's son may ; but, in the end, truth will
out.
Gob. Pray you, sir, stand up ; I am sure, you are
not Launcelot, my boy.
Laun. Pray you, let's have no more fooling about
it, but give me your blessing; I am Launcelot,
your boy that was, your son that is, your child that
shall be.
Gob. I cannot think, you are my son.
Laun. I know not what I shall think of that :
but I am Launcelot, the Jew's man ; and, I am
sure, Margery, your wife, is my mother.
Gob. Her name is Margery, indeed : I'll be
sworn, if thou be Launcelot, thou art mine own
flesh and blood. What a beard hast thou got ! thou
hast got more hair on thy chin, than Dobbin my
thill-horse ' has on his tail.
Laun. It should seem, then, that Dobbin's tail
grows backward ; I am sure he had more hair on
his tail, than I have on my face, when I last saw
him.
Gob. Lord, how art thou changed ! How dost
thou and thy master agree? I have brought him
a present ; How 'gree you now ?
Laun. Well, well ; but for mine own part, as I
have set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest
till I have run some ground : my master's a very
Jew : Give him a present ! give him a halter : I am
famish'd in his service ; you may tell every finger I
have with my ribs. Father, I am glad you are
come ; give me your present to one master Bassa-
* Shaft-horse.
nio, who, indeed, gives rare new liveries ; if I
serve not him, I will run as far as there is any
ground. — O rare fortune ! here comes the man ; —
to him, father ; for I am a Jew, if I serve tlie Jew
any longer.
Enter Bassanio, with Leonardo, and other
Followei-s.
Bass. You may do so; — but let it be so hasted,
that supper be ready at the farthest by five of tlie
clock : See these letters deliver'd ; put the liveries
to making ; and desire Gratiano to come anon to
my lodging. [Ei-U a Servant.
Laun. To him, father
Gob, God bless your worship !
Bass. Gramercy ; Wouldst thou auglit with me ?
Gob. Here's my son, sir, a poor boy, — —
Laun. Not a poor boy, sir, but the rich Jew's
man ; that would, sir, as my father shall specify,
Gob. He hath a great infection, sir, as one would
say, to serve — —
Laun. Indeed, the short and the long is, I serve
the Jevf, and I have a desire, as my father shall
specify,
Gob. His master and he, (saving your worship's
reverence,) are scarce cater-cousins :
Laun. To be brief, the very truth is, that the
Jew having done me wrong, doth cause me, as my
father, being I hope an old man, shall frutify unto
you,
Gob. I have here a dish of doves, that I would
bestow upon your worship ; and my suit is,
Laun. In very brief, the suit is impertinent to
myself, as your worship shall know by this honest
old man ; and, though 1 say it, tliough an old man,
yet, poor man, my father.
Bass. One speak for both ; — What would you ?
Laun. Serve you, sir.
Gob. This is the very defect of the matter, sir.
Bass. I know thee well, thou hast obtain'd thy
suit :
Shylock, thy master, spoke with me this day.
And hath preferr'd thee, if it be preferment.
To leave a rich Jew's service, to become
The follower of so poor a gentleman.
Laun. The old proverb is very well parted be-
tween my master Shylock and you, sir ; you have
grace, sir, and he hath enough.
Bass. Thou speak'st it well : Go, father, with
thy son : —
Take leave of thy old master, and enquire
My lodging out : — Give him a livery
[To his Fallowers.
More guarded ^ than his fellows' : See it done.
Laun. Father, in : — I cannot get a service, no ;
— I have ne'er a tongue in my head Well, father,
come ; I'll take my leave of the Jew in the twinkling
of an eye. [Exeunt Launcelot a7id old Gobbo.
Bass. I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this ;
These things being bought, and orderly bestow'd.
Return in haste, for I do feast to-night
My best- esteem 'd acquaintance ; hie thee, go.
Leon. My best endeavours shall be done herein.
Enter Gratiano.
Gra. Where is your master ?
Leon. Yonder, sir, he walks.
[Exit Leonardo.
Gra. Signior Bassanio, — —
6 Ornamented.
Scene III.
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
177
Bass. Gratiano !
Gra. I have a suit to you.
Bass. You have obtain'd it.
Gra. You must not deny me ; I must go with
you to Belmont.
Bass. Why, then you must ; — But hear thee,
Gratiano ;
Thou art too wild, too rude, and bold of voice ; —
Parts, that become thee happily enough,
And in such eyes as ours appear not faults ;
But where thou art not known, why, there they show
Something too liberal ' ; — pray thee take pain
To allay with some cold drops of modesty
Thy skipping spirit; lest, through thy wild be-
haviour,
I be misconstmed in the place I go to,
And lose my hopes.
Gra. Signior Bassanio, hear me :
If I do not put on a sober habit.
Talk with respect, and swear but now and then,
Wear prayer-books in my pocket, look demurely ;
Nay more, while grace is saying, hood mine eyes
Thus with my hat, and sigh, and say, amen ;
Use all the observance of civility,
Like one well studied in a sad ostent 8
To please his grandam, never trust me more.
Bass. Well, we shall see your bearing. 9
Gra. Nay, but I bar to-night; you shall not
gage me
By what we do to-night.
Bass. No, that were pity ;
I would entreat you rather to put on
Your boldest suit of mirth, for we have friends
That purpose merriment : But fare you well,
I have some business.
Gra. And I must to Lorenzo, and the rest ;
But we will visit you at supper-time. \^Exeunt.
SCENE III.— A Room in Shylock's House.
Enter Jessica and Launcelot.
Jes. I am sorry, thou wilt leave my father so ;
Our house is sad, but thou, a merry devil,
Didst rob it of some taste of tediousness :
But fare thee well ; there is a ducat for thee.
And, Launcelot, soon at supper shalt thou see
Lorenzo, who is thy new master's guest :
Give him this letter ; do it secretly,
And so farewell ; I would not have my father
See me talk with thee.
Laun. Adieu! — tears exhibit my tongue. —
Most beautiful pagan, — most sweet Jew ! If a
Christian do not play the knave, and get thee, I
am much deceiv'd : But, adieu ! these foolish drops
do somewhat drown my manly spirit ; adieu ! [Exit.
Jes. Farewell, good Launcelot. —
Alack, what heinous sin it is in me,
To be asham'd to be my father's child !
Hut though I am a daughter to his blood,
I am not to his manners : O Lorenzo,
If thou keep promise, I shall end this strife ;
Become a Christian, and thy loving wife. [Eait.
SCENE IV. — A Street.
Enter Gratiano, Lorenzo, Salarino, and
Salanio.
Lor. Nay, we will slink away in supper-time ;
' Licentious. « Showof staid and serious demeanour.
■ Carriage, deportment.
Disguise us at my lodging, and return
All in an hour.
Gra. We have not made good preparation.
Salar. We have not spoke us yet of torch-bearers.
Solan. 'Tis vile, unless it maybe quaintly order'd;
And better, in my mind, not undertook.
Lor. 'Tis now but four o'clock ; we have two
hours
To furnish us : —
Enter Launcelot, tuith a Letter.
Friend Launcelot, what's the news ?
Laun. An it shall please you to break up this, it
shall seem to signify.
Lor. I know the hand : in faith, 'tis a fair hand ;
And whiter than the paper it writ on,
Is the fair hand that writ.
Gra. Love-news, in faith.
Laun. By your leave, sir.
Lor. W^hither goest thou ?
Laun. Marry, sir, to bid my old master the Jew
to sup to-night with my new master the Christian.
Lor. Hold here, take this : — tell gentle Jessica,
I will not fail her ; — speak it privately ; go. —
Gentlemen, [Exit Launcelot.
Will you prepare you for this masque to-night ?
I am provided of a torch-bearer.
Salar. Ay, marry, I'll be gone about it straight.
Salan. And so will I.
Xor. Meet me, and Gratiano,
At Gratiano's lodging some hour hence.
Salar. 'Tis good we do so.
[Exeunt Salar. and Salan.
Gra. Was not that letter from fair Jessica ?
Lor. I must needs tell thee all : She hath directed,
How I shall take her from her father's house ;
What gold, and jewels, she is furnish'd with ;
What page's suit she hath in readiness.
Come, go with me ; peruse this, as thou goest :
Fair Jessica shall be my torch-bearer. [Exeunt.
SCENE V. — Before Shylock'5 House.
Enter Shylock and Launcelot.
Shy. Well, thou shalt see, thy eyes shall be thy
judge,
The diflference of old Shylock and Bassanio : —
What, Jessica ! — thou shalt not gormandize.
As thou hast done with me : — What, Jessica ! —
And sleep and snore, and rend apparel out ; —
Why, Jessica, I say !
Laun. Why, Jessica !
Shy. Who bids thee call ? I do not bid thee call.
Laun. Your worship was wont to tell me, I could
do nothing without bidding.
Enter Jessica.
Jes. Call you ? What is your will ?
Shy. I am bid • fortli to supper, Jessica ;
There are my keys : — But wherefore should I go ?
I am not bid for love ; they flatter me :
But yet I'll go in hate, to feed upon
The prodigal Christian. -:- Jessica, my girl,
Look to my house : — I am right loth to go ;
There is some ill a brewing towards my rest.
For I did dream of money-bags to-night.
Laun. I beseech you, sir, go ; my young master
doth expect your reproach.
Shy. So do I bis.
> Invited.
N
178
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
Act II.
Laun. And they have conspired together, — I
will not say, you shall see a masque ; but if you do,
then it was not for nothing that my nose fell a
bleeding on Black- Monday last, at six o'clock i'the
morning.
Sliif. What ! are there masques ? Hear you me,
Jessica :
Lock up my doors ; and when you hear the drum,
And the vile squeaking of the wry-neck'd fife,
Clamber not you up to the casements then,
Nor thrust your head into the public street.
To gaze on Christian fools with varnish'd faces :
But stop my house's ears, I mean my casements ;
Let not the sound of shallow foppery enter
My sober house. — By Jacob's staff', I swear
I have no mind of feasting forth to-night :
But I will go. — Go you before me, sirrah ;
Say, I will come.
Laun. I will go before, sir. —
Mistress, look out at window, for all this ;
There will come a Christian by,
Will be worth a Jewess' eye, [^Exii Laun.
Shy. What says that fool of Hagar's offspring,
ha?
Jes. His words were. Farewell, mistress ; nothing
else.
Shy. The patch is kind enough ; but a huge feeder.
Snail-slow in profit, and he sleeps by day
More than the wild-cat ; drones hive not with me ;
Therefore I part with him ; and part with him
To one that I would have him help to waste
His borrow'd purse. — Well, Jessica, go in ;
Perhaps, I will return immediately ;
Do, as I bid you.
Shut doors after you : Fast bind, fast find ;
A proverb never stale in thrifty mind. \^Ent.
Jes. Farewell : and if my fortune be not crost,
I have a father, you a daughter, lost. \_E3it.
SCENE VI. — The same.
Enter Gratiano and Salarino, masked.
Gra. This is the pent-house, under which Lorenzo
Desir'd us to make stand.
Salnr. His hour is almost past.
Gra. And it is marvel he out-dwells his hour,
For lovers ever run before the clock.
Salar. O, ten times faster Venus' pigeons fly
To seal love's bonds new made, than they are wont.
To keep obliged faith unforfeited !
Gra. That ever holds : Who riseth from a feast.
With that keen appetite that he sits down ?
Where is the horse that doth untread again
His tedious measures with the unbated fire
That he did pace them first? All things that are,
Are with more spirit chased than enjoy'd.
How like a younker, or a prodigal.
The scarfed bark puts from her native bay.
How like the prodigal doth she return ;
With over-weatlier'd ribs, and ragged sails.
Enter Lorehzo.
Salar. Here comes Lorenzo ; — more of this
hereafter.
Lor. Sweet friends, your patience for my long
abode ;
Not I, but my affairs, have made you wait ;
When you shall please to play the thieves for wives,
I'll watch as long for you then. — Approach ;
Here dwells my father Jew : — Ho ! who's within?
Enter Jessica, above, in Boy's clothes.
Jes Who are you ? Tell me, for more certainty,
Albeit I'll swear that I do know your tongue.
Lor. Lorenzo, and thy love.
Jes. Lorenzo, certain ; and my love, indeed ;
For who love I so much ? And now who knows,
But you, Lorenzo, whether I am yours?
Lor. Heaven, and thy thoughts, are witness that
thou art.
Jes. Here, catch this casket, it is worth the pains.
I am glad 'tis night, you do not look on me.
For I am much asham'd of my exchange :
But love is blind, and lovers cannot see
The pretty follies that themselves commit :
For if they could, Cupid himself would blush
To see me thus transformed to a boy.
Lor. Descend, for you must be my torch-bearer.
Jes. What, must I hold a candle to my shames ?
They in themselves, good sooth, are too too light.
Why, 'tis an oflSce of discovery, love ;
And I should be obscur'd.
Lor. So are you, sweet,
Even in the lovely garnish of a boy.
But come at once ;
For the close night doth play the run-away.
And we are staid for at Bassanio's feast.
Jes. I will make fast the doors, and join you
straight. \^Eont,Jrom above.
Gra. Now, by my hood, a Gentile, and no Jew
Lor. Beshrew me, but 1 love her heartily :
For she is wise, if I can judge of her ;
And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true ;
And true she is, as she hath prov'd herself;
And therefore, like herself, wise, fair, and true.
Shall she be placed in my constant soul.
Enter Jessica, below.
What, art thou come ? — On, gentlemen, away ;
Our masquing mates by this time for us stay.
[Exit with Jessica and Salarino.
Enter Antonio.
Ant. Who's there ?
Gra. Signior Antonio ?
Ant. Fye, fye, Gratiano ! where are all the rest ?
'Tis nine o'clock : our friends all stay for you : —
No masque to-night ; the wind is come about,
Bassanio presently will go aboard :
I have sent twenty out to seek for you.
Gra. I am glad on't ; I desire no more delight.
Than to be under sail, and gone to-night. [Exeunt.
SCENE VII. — Belmont. A Room in Portia's
House.
Flourish of Cornets. Enter Portia, with the Prince
of Morocco, and both tfieir Trains.
For. Go, draw aside the curtains, and discover
The several caskets to this noble prince —
Now make your choice.
Mor. The first, of gold, who this inscription
bears ; —
Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire.
The second ; silver, which this promise carries ; —
JVho chooseth me, shall get as much as he deserves.
This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt ; —
JVho chooseth me, must give and hazard all he hath.
How shall I know if I do choose the right ?
For. The one of them contains my picture, prince;
If you choose that, then I am yours withal.
I
Scene VII.
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
179
Mor. Some god direct my judgment ! Let me sec,
I will survey the inscriptions back again :
What says this leaden casket ?
Who chooseth vie, viust give and hazard all he hath,
Must give — For what ? for lead ? hazard for lead ?
This casket threatens ; Men, that hazard all.
Do it in hope of fair advantages :
A golden mind stoops not to shows of dross ;
I'll then nor give, nor hazard, aught for lead.
What says the silver, with her virgin hue ?
lHio chooseth vie, shall get as much as he deserves.
As much as he deserves ? — Pause there, Morocco.
And weigh thy value with an even hand :
If thou be'st rated by thy estimation,
Thou dost deserve enough ; and yet enough
May not extend so far as to the lady ;
And yet to be afeard of my deserving.
Were but a weak disabling of myself.
As much as I deserve ! — Why, that's the lady :
I do in birth deserve her, and in fortunes.
In graces, and in qualities of breeding ;
But more than these, in love I do deserve.
What if I stray'd no further, but chose here ? —
Let's see once more this saying grav'd in gold :
Who chooseth me, shall gain what viany men desire.
Why, that's the lady ; all the world desires her :
From the four comers of the earth they come,
To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint.
Tlie Hyrcanian deserts, and the vasty wilds
Of wide Arabia, are as through-fares now.
For princes to come view fair Portia :
The watery kingdom, whose ambitious head
Spits in the face of heaven, is no bar
To stop the foreign spirits ; but they come.
As o'er a brook, to see fair Portia.
One of these three contains her heavenly picture.
Is't like, that lead contains her ? 'Twere a sin
To think so base a thought ; it were too gross
To rib '- her cerecloth in tlie obscure grave.
Or shall I think, in silver she's immur'd,
Being ten times undervalued to try'd gold?
O sinful thought ! Never so rich a gem
Was set in worse than gold. They have in England
A coin that bears the figure of an angel
Stamped in gold ; but that's insculp'd 3 upon ;
But here an angel in a golden bed
Lies all within. — Deliver me the key ;
Here do I choose, and thrive I as I may !
For. There, take it, prince, and if my form lie
there.
Then I am yours. \^He unlocks the golden cas\et.
Mor. What have we here ?
A carrion death, within whose empty eye
'Diere is a written scroll? I'll read die writing.
All that glisters is not goldj
Often have you heard that told :
Many a man his life hath sold,
But my outside to behold :
Gilded tombs do worms infold.
Had you been as tvise as bold,
Young in limbs, in judgment old.
Your answer had not been inscroCd :
Fare you well; your suit is cold.
Cold, indeed ; and labour lost :
Then, farewell, heat; and, welcome, frost. —
Portia, adieu ! I have too griev'd a heart
To take a tedious leave : thus losers part. [Exit.
« Enclo&e.
3 Engraven.
For. A gentle riddance ; Draw the curtains
go; ■
Let all of his complexion choose me so. \^Exeunt.
SCENE VIII. — Venice. A Street.
Enter Salarino ani Salanio.
Salar. Why, man, I saw Bassanio under sail ;
With him is Gratiano gone along ;
And in their ship, I am sure, Lorenzo is not.
Salan. The villain Jew with outcries rais'd the
duke;
Who went with him to search Bassanio's ship.
Salar. He came too late, the ship was under sail ;
But there the duke was given to understand,
That in a gondola were seen together
Lorenzo and his amorous Jessica :
Besides, Antonio certify'd the duke,
They were not with Bassanio in his ship.
Salan. I never heard a passion so confus'd,
So strange, outrageous, and so variable.
As the dog Jew did utter in the streets :
My daughter ! 0 my ducats ; — 0 my daughter !
Fled with a Christian ? — 0 my christian ducats —
Justice ! the law ! my ducats, and my dnighter f
A sealed bag, two sealed bags of ducat Sy
Of double ducats, stoCnfroin me by my daughter !
Ami jewels ; a stone, a rich and precious stone,
SloVn by my daughter ! — Justice / fnd the ff,rl !
She hath the stone upon her, and the ducats !
Salar. Why, all the boys in Venice follow him,
Crying, — his stone, his daughter, and his ducats.
Salan. Let good Antonio look he keep his day,
Or he shall pay for this.
Salar. Marry, well remem!)er*d :
I reason'd ^ with a Frenchman yesterday ;
Who told me, — in the narrow seas, that part
The French and English, there miscarried
A vessel of our country, richly fraught :
I thought upon Antonio, when he told me;
And wish'd in silence, that it were not his.
Salan. You were best to tell Antonio what you
hear;
Yet do not suddenly, for it may grieve him.
Salar. A kinder gentleman treads not the earth.
I saw Bassanio and Antonio part ;
Bassanio told him, he woidd make some speed
Of his return ; he answer'd — Do not so.
Slubber * not business for my sake, Bassanio,
But stay the very riping of the time ;
And for the Jew^s bond, which he hath of me.
Let it not enter in your mind of love :
Be merry ; and employ your chiifest thoughts
To courtship, and such fair ostenls ^ of love
As shall conveniently become you there :
And even there, his eye being big with tears,
Turning his face, he put his hand behind him,
And with aflection wondrous sensible
He wrung Bassanio's hand, and so they parted.
Salan. I tliink he only loves the world for him.
I pray thee, let us go, and find him out.
And quicken his embraced heaviness ^
With some delight or other.
Salar. Do we so. [Ereunt.
SCENE IX.— Belmont. A Room «« Portia's //oi/se.
Enter Nbrissa, with a Servant.
Ner. Quick, quick, I pray tliee, draw the curtain
straight ;
* To slubber is to do a thing rarplessly.
* Conversed.
6 Shows, tokens.
N 2
rhe heaviness he is fond ^4,
180
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
Act III.
The prince of Arragon hath ta'en his oath,
And comes to his election presently.
Flourish of Cornets. Enter the Prince of Arragon,
Portia, and their Trains.
For. Behold, there stand the caskets, noble prince :
K you choose that wherein I am contain'd,
Straight shall our nuptial rites be solemniz'd ;
But if you fail, without more speech, my lord,
You must be gone from lience immediately.
Ar. I am enjoin'd by oath to observe three things:
First, never to unfold to any one
Which casket 'twas I chose ; next, if I fail
Of the right casket, never in my life
To woo a maid in way of marriage ; lastly,
If I do fail in fortune of my choice.
Immediately to leave you and be gone.
For. To these injunctions every one doth swear,
That comes to hazard for my worthless self.
Ar. And so have I address'd*^ me : Fortune now
To my heart's hope ! — Gold, silver, and base lead.
Who chooseth tne, must give and hazard all he hath :
You shall look fairer, ere I give, or hazard.
What says the golden chest ? ha ! let me see : —
Who chooseth me, shall gain what many men desire.
What many men desire. — That many may be meant
By the fool multitude, that choose by show.
Not learning more than the fond eye doth teach :
Which pries not to the interior, but, like the martlet,
Builds in the weatlier on the outward wall,
Even in the force and road of casualty.
I will not choose what many men desire.
Because I will not jump 9 with common spirits,
And rank me with the barbarous multitudes.
Why, then to thee, thou silver treasure house ;
Tell me once more what title thou dost bear :
Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves ;
And well said too ; For who shall go about
To cozen fortune, and be honourable
Without the stamp of merit? Let none presume
To wear an undeserved dignity.
O, tliat estates, degrees, and offices.
Were not deriv'd corruptly ! and that clear honour
Were purchas'd by the merit of the wearer !
How many then should cover that stand bare ?
How many be commanded, that command ?
How much low peasantry v/ould then be glean'd
From the true seed of honour? and how much honour
Pick'd from the chaff and ruin of the times,
To be new varnish'd ? Well, but to my choice :
Who chooseth me shall get as viiich as he deserves :
I will assume desert ; — Give me a key for this.
And instantly unlock my fortunes here.
For. Too long a pause for that which you find
there.
Ar. What's here ? the portrait of a blinking idiot,
Presenting me a schedule ! I will read it.
How much unlike art thou to Portia !
How much unlike my hopes, and my deservings !
Who chooseth me shall have as much as he desei ves.
Did I deserve no more than a fool's head ?
Is that my prize ? are my deserts no better ?
For. To offend, and judge, are distinct offices,
And of opposed natures.
Ar. What is here ?
Thejire seven tiTnes tried this .
Si-ven times tried that judgment is,
That did never choose amiss :
Some there be, that shadows Iciss :
Such have hut a shadow's bliss :
There befools alive, I uis ',
Silver d o'er ; and so was this.
Take what wife you will to bed,
I will ever be your head :
So begone, sir, you are sped.
Still more fool I shall appear.
By the time I linger here :
With one fool's head I came to woo.
But I go away with two.
Sweet, adieu ! I'll keep my oath,
Patiently to bear my wroth.
{Exeunt An-agon, and Train,
For. Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth.
O these deliberate fools ! when they do choose,
They have tlie wisdom by their wit to lose.
N'er. The ancient saying is no heresy ; —
Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.
For. Come, draw the curtain, Nerissa.
Enter a Servant.
Sei^j. Where is my lady ?
l^or. Plere ; what wovdd my lord ?
Sei'v. Madam, there is alighted at your gate
A young Venetian, one that comes before
To signify the approaching of his lord :
From whom he bringeth sensible regrets ? ;
To wit, besides commends, and courteous breath,
Gifts of rich value ; yet I have not seen
So likely an embassador of love :
A day in April never came so sweet.
To show how costly summer was at hand.
As this fore-spurrer comes before his lord.
For. No more, I pray thee ; I am half afeard,
Thou wilt say anon, he is some kin to thee.
Thou spend'st such high-day wit in praising him —
Come, come, Nerissa ; for I long to see
Quick Cupid's post, tliat comes so maimerly.
[Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I. — Venice. A Street.
Enter Salanio and Salarino.
Salan. Now, what news on the Rialto ?
Salar. Why, yet it lives there uncheck'd, that
Antonio hath a ship of rich lading wreck'd on the
narrow seas ; the Goodwins, I think they call the
• Prepared.
a Agiee.
place ; a very dangerous flat, and fatal, where the
carcases of many a tall sliip lie buried, as they say,
if my gossip report be an honest woman of her word.
Salan. I would she were as lying a gossip in that
as ever knapp'd ginger, or made her neighbours
believe she wept for the death of a third husband :
But it is true, — without any slips of prolixity, or
' Know.
2 Salutations.
Scene I
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
181
crossing the plain high-way of talk, — that the good
Antonio, the honest Antonio, O that I had a
title good enough to keep his name company ! —
Sal(ir. Come, the full stop.
Salan. Ha, — what say'st thou ? — Why the end
is, he hatii lost a ship.
Sular. I would it might prove the end of his
losses I
Salan. Let me say amen betimes, lest tlie devil
cross my prayer ; for here he comes in the likeness
of a Jew. —
Enter Shylock.
How now, Shylock ? what news among the mer-
chants ?
Shy. You knew, none so well, none so well as
you, of my daughter's flight.
Siilar. That's certain ; I, for my part, knew the
tailor tliat made the wings she flew withal.
Salan. And Shylock, for his own part, knew the
bird was fledg'd.
S/ii/. INIy own flesh and blood to rebel !
Salar. There is more difference between thy flesh
and hers, tlian between jet and ivory ; more between
your bloods, than there is between red wine and
Rhenish : — But tell us, do you hear whether An-
tonio have had any loss at sea or no ?
Shy. There I have another bad match : a bank-
rupt, a prodigal, who dare scarce show his head on
the Rialto ; — a beggar, that used to come so smug
upon the mart ; — let him look to his bond : he was
wont to call me usurer; — let him look to his bond :
he was wont to lend money for a Christian courtesy ;
— let him look to his bond.
Salar. Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt
not take his flesh ; What's that good for ?
Shy. To bait fish withal : if it will feed nothing
else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced
me, and hindered me of half a million ; laughed at
my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation,
thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated
mine enemies ; and what's his reason ? I am a Jew :
Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs,
dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with the
same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to
the same diseases, healed by the same means,
warmed and cooled by the same winter and sum-
mer, as a Christian is ? if you prick us, do we not
bleed ? if you tickle us, do we not laugh ? if you
poison us, do we not die ? and if you wrong us,
shall we not revenge? if we are like you in the
rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong
a Christian, what is his humility ? revenge ; If a
Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance
be by Christian example ? why, revenge. The vil-
lainy you teach me, I will execute ; and it shall go
hard, but I will better the instruction.
Enter a Servant.
Serv. Gentlemen, my master Antonio is at his
house, and desires to speak with you both.
Salar. We have been up and down to seek him.
EtUct Tubal.
Salan. Here comes another of the tribe ; a third
cannot be matched, unless the devil himself turn
Jew. [Exeunt Salan. Salar. and Servant.
Shy. How now. Tubal, what news from Genoa ?
hast thou found my daughter ?
Tub. I often came where I did hear of her, but
cannot find her.
Shy. Why there, there, there, there ! a diamond
gone, cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort !
The curse never fell upon our nation till now ; I
never felt it till now : — two thousand ducats in
that; and other precious, precious jewels. — I would,
my daughter were dead at my foot, and the jewels
in her ear ! 'would she were hears'd at my foot, and
the ducats in her coffin ! No news of them ? — Why,
so : — and 1 know not what's spent in the search :
Why, thou loss upon loss ! the thief gone with so
much, and so much to find the thief; and no satis-
faction, no revenge : nor no ill luck stirring, but
what lights o' my shoulders ; no sighs, but o' my
breathing ; no tears, but o' my shedding.
Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too; Antonio,
as I heard in Genoa, —
Shy. What, what, what ? ill luck, ill luck ?
7'u6. — hath an argosy cast away, coming from
Tripolis.
Shy. Is it true ? is it true ?
Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that es-
caped the wreck.
Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal ; — Good news,
good news : ha ! ha ! — Where ? in Genoa ?
Tub. Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard,
one night, fourscore ducats.
Shy. Thou stick'st a dagger in me : T shall
never see my gold again : Fourscore ducats at a
sitting ! fourscore ducats.
Tub. ITiere came divers of Antonio's creditors
in my company to Venice, that swear he cannot
choose but break.
Shy. I am very glad of it : I'll plague him ; I'll
torture him ; I am glad of it.
Tub. One of them showed me a ring, that he had
of your daughter for a monkey.
Shy. Out upon her ! Thou torturest me. Tubal ;
it was my torquoise-* ; I had it of Leah, when I was
a bachelor : I would not have given it for a w ilder-
ness of monkeys.
Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone.
Shy. Nay, that's true, that's very true : Go,
Tubal, fee me an officer, bespeak him a fortnight"
before : I will have the heart of him, if he forfeit ;
for were he out of Venice, I can make what mer-
chandize T will ; Go, go. Tubal, and meet me at
our synagogue ; go, good Tubal ; at our syna-
gogue, Tubal. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. — Belmont. A Room in Portia'*
House.
Enter Bassanio, Portia, Gratiano, Nerissa, a»(i
Attendants. The caskets are set out.
Par. I pray you, tarry ; pause a day or two.
Before you hazard ; for in choosing wrong,
I lose your company ; therefore, forbear a while :
There's something tells me, (but it is not love,)
I would not lose you ; and you know yourself,
Hate counsels not in such a quality :
But lest you should not understand me well,
( And yet a maiden hath no tongue but thought,)
I would detain you here some month or two,
Before you venture for me. I could teach you.
How to clioose right, but then I am forsworn ;
So will I never be : Beshrew your eyes,
'lliey have o'er-look'd me, and divided me ;
One half of me is yours ; tlic other lialf yours, —
< A precious stone
N 3
182
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
Act III.
Mine own, I would say ; but if mine, then yours,
And so all yours : O ! these naughty times
Put bars between the owners and their rights ;
And so, tliough yours, not yours. — Prove it so,
Let fortune bear the blame of it, — not I.
I speak too long : but 'tis to peize * the time ;
To eke it, and to draw it out in length,
To stay you from election.
Bass. Let me choose ;
For, as I am, I live upon the rack.
For. Upon the rack, Bassanio ? then confess
What treason there is mingled with your love.
Bass. None, but that ugly treason of mistrust,
Which makes me fear the enjoying of my love :
Tliere may as well be amity and life
'Tween snow and fire, as treason and my love.
For. Ay, but, I fear, you speak upon the rack.
Where men enforced do speak any thing.
Bass. Promise me life, and I'll confess the truth.
For. Well then, confess and live.
Bass. Confess and love.
Had been the very sum of my confession :
0 happy torment, when my torturer
Doth teach me answers for deliverance !
But let me to my fortune and the caskets.
For. Away then : I am lock'd in one of them ;
If you do love me, you will find me out. —
Nerissa, and the rest, stand all aloof. —
Let musick sound while he doth make his choice.
Then, if he lose, he makes a swan-like end.
Fading in musick : that the comparison
May stand more proper, my eye shall be the stream.
And wat'ry death -bed for him : He may win ;
And what is musick then ? then musick is
Even as the flourish when true subjects bow
To a new-crowned monarch : such it is,
As are those dulcet sounds in break of day.
That creep into the dreaming bridegroom's ear,
And summon him to marriage. Now he goes.
With no less presence ^, but with much more love.
Than young Alcides, when he did redeem
The virgin tribute paid by howling Troy
To the sea-monster : I stand for sacrifice, ■
The rest aloof are the Dardanian wives.
With bleared visages, come forth to view
The issue of the exploit. Go, Hercules !
Live thou, I live : — With much much more dismay
1 view the fight, than thou that mak'st the fray.
Musick, whilst Bassanio comments on the caskets
to himself.
SONG.
I. Tell me, where isfancy'J bred,
Or in the heart or in the head 9
How begot, hoio nourished ?
Reply. 2. It is engender' d in the eyes,
With gazing fed ; and fancy dies
In the cradle where it lies :
Let us all ringfancy^s knell ;
JVZ begin it, — Ding, dong, bell.
All. Ding, dong, bell,
Bass. — So may the outward shows be least
themselves ; .
The world is still deceiv'd with ornament.
In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt,
But, being season'd with a gracious voice.
Delay.
6 Dignity of mien.
Obscures the show of evil? In religion.
What dangerous error, but some sober brow
Will bless it, and approve it with a text.
Hiding tlie grossness with fair ornament?
There is no vice so simple, but assumes
Some mark of virtue on his outward parts.
How many cowards, whose hearts are all as false
As stairs of sand, wear yet upon their chins
The beards of Hercules, and frowning Mars ;
Who, inward search'd, have livers white as milk ?
And these assume but valour's countenance,
To render them redoubted. Look on beauty.
And you shall see 'tis purchas'd by the weight;
Which therein works a miracle in nature.
Making them lightest that wear most of it :
So are those crisped 8 snaky golden locks.
Which make such wanton gambols with the wind.
Upon supposed fairness, often known
To be the dowry of a second head,
The scull that bred them, in the sepulchre
Thus ornament is but the guiled 9 shore
To a most dangerous sea ; the beauteous scarf
Veiling an Indian beauty ; in a word.
The seeming truth which cunning times put on
To entrap the wisest. Therefore, thou gaudy gold.
Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee :
Nor none of thee, thou pale and common drudge
'Tween man and man : but thou, thou meagre lead.
Which rather threat'nest than dost promise aught.
Thy plainness moves me more than eloquence.
And here choose I : Joy be the consequence !
For. How all the other passions fleet to air.
As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embrac'd despair.
And shudd'ring fear and green-ey'd jealousy.
0 love, be moderate, allay thy ecstasy.
In measure rein thy joy, scant this excess ;
1 feel too much thy blessing, make it less.
For fear I surfeit !
Bass. What find I here ?
[Opening the leaden casket.
Fair Portia's counterfeit ? What demi-god
Hath come so near creation ? Move these eyes ?
Or whether, riding on the balls of mine,
Seem they in motion ? Here are sever'd lips.
Parted with sugar breath ; so sweet a bar
Should sunder such sweet friends : Here in her hairs
The painter plays the spider ; and hath woven
A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men.
Faster than gnats in cobwebs : But her eyes, —
How could he see to do them ? having made one,
Methinks, it should have power to steal both his.
And leave itself unfurnish'd : Yet look, how far
The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow
In underprizing it, so far this shadow
Doth limp behind the substance, — Here's the scroll.
The continent and summary of my fortune.
You that choose not by the view.
Chance as fair and choose as true!
Since this fortune falls to you,
Be contejit and seek no new.
If you be well pleas' d with this.
And hold your fortune for your bliss,
Turn you where your lady is.
And claim her with a loving kiss.
A gentle scroll ; — Fair lady, by your leave ;
[Kissing her,
I come by note, to give and to receive.
Curled.
Treacherous.
Scene II.
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
183
Like one of two contending in a prize,
That thinks he hath done well in people's eyes,
Hearing applause and universal shout,
Giddy in spirit, still gazing, in a doubt
Whether those peals of praise be his or no :
So, thrice fair lady, stand I, even so ;
As doubtful whether what I see be true,
Until confinn'd, sign'd, ratified by you.
Por. You see me, lord Bassanio, where I stand,
Such as I am : though, for myself alone,
I would not be ambitious in my wish,
To wish myself much better ; yet, for you,
I would be trebled twenty times myself ;
A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times
More rich :
That only to stand high on your account,
I might in virtues, beauties. Livings, friends,
Exceed account : but the full sum of me
Is sum of something ; which, to term in gross,
Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractis'd :
Happy in this, she is not yet so old
But she may learn ; and happier than this,
She is not bred so dull but she can learn ;
Happiest of all, is, tliat her gentle spirit
Commits itself to yours to be directed.
As from her lord, her governor, her king.
Myself and what is mine, to you, and yours
Is now converted : but now I ^as the lord
Of this fair mansion, master of my servants,
Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now,
This house, these servants, and this same myself.
Are yours, my lord ; I give them with this ring ;
Which when you part from, lose, or give away.
Let it presage the ruin of your love.
And be my vantage to exclaim on you.
Buss. ]Madam, you have bereft me of all words,
Only my blood speaks to you in my veins :
And there is such confusion in my powers,
As, after some oration fairly spoke
By a beloved prince, there doth appear
Among the buzzing pleased multitude ;
Where every something, being blent ' together.
Turns to a wild of nothing, save of joy,
Express'd and not express'd : But when tliis ring
Parts from this finger, then parts life from hence ;
O, then be bold to say, Bassanio's dead.
Ner. My lord and lady, it is now our time.
That have stood by, and seen our wishes prosper.
To cry, good joy ; Good joy, my lord and lady !
Gra. My lord Bassanio, and my gentle lady,
I wish you all the joy tliat you can wish ;
For, I am sure, you can wish none from me ;
And, when your honours mean to solemnize
The bargain of your faith, I do beseech you.
Even at that time I may be married too.
Bass. With all my heart, so thou canst get a wife.
Gra. I thank your lordship; you have got me one.
My eyes, my lord, can look as swift as yours :
You saw the mistress, I beheld the maid ;
You lov'd, I lov'd ; for intermission
No more pertains to me, my lord, than you.
Your fortune stood upon the caskets there ;
And so did mine too, as the matter falls :
For wooing here, until I sweat again ;
And swearing, till my very roof was dry
With oatJis of love ; at last, — if promise last, —
I got a promise of this fair one here,
To have her love, provided that your fortune
Achiev'd her mistress.
For. Is this true, Nerissa ?
Ner. Madam, it is, so you stand plcas'd withal.
Jiass. And do you, Gratiano, mean good faith?
Gra. Yes, 'faith, ray lord.
Bass. Our feast shall be much honour'd in your
marriage.
Gra. But who comes here? Lorenzo, and his
infidel.
What, my old Venetian friend, Salerio ?
Enter Lorenzo, Jessica, and Salerio.
Bass. Lorenzo and Salerio, welcome hither ;
If that the youth of my new interest here
Have power to bid you welcome : — By your leave,
I bid my very friends and countrymen.
Sweet Portia, welcome.
Por. So do I, my lord ;
They are entirely welcome.
Lor. I thank your honour : — For my part, my lord,
My purpose was not to have seen you here ;
But meeting with Salerio by the way,
He did entreat me, past all saying nay.
To come with him along.
Sale. I did, my lord.
And I have reason for it. Signior Antonio
Commends him to you. [Gives Bassanio a letter.
Bass. Ere I ope this letter,
I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth
Sale. Not sick, my lord, unless it be in mind;
Nor well, unless in mind: his letter there
Will show you his estate.
Gra. Nerissa, cheer yon' stranger ; bid her welcome.
Your hand, Salerio : What's tlie news from Venice ?
How doth that royal merchant, good Antonio?
I know, he will be glad of our success ;
We are the Jasons, we have won the fleece.
Sale Would you had won the fleece that he hath lost !
Por. There are some shrewd contents in yon'
same paper.
That steal the colour from Bassanio's cheek :
Some dear friend dead ; else nothing in the world
Could turn so much the constitution
Of any constant man. What, worse and worse ? —
With leave, Bassanio ; I am half yourself,
And I must freely have the half of any thing
That this same paper brings you.
Bass. O sweet Portia,
Here are a few of the unpleasant'st words.
That ever blotted paper ! Gentle lady.
When I did first impart my love to you,
I freely told you, all the wealtli I had
Ran in my veins, I was a gentleman ;
And then I told you true : and yet, dear lady.
Rating myself at nothing, you shall see
How much I was a braggart : When I told you
My state was nothing, I should then have told you
That I was worse than nothing ; for, indeed,
I have engag'd myself to a dear friend,
Engag'd my friend to his mere enemy.
To feed my means. Here is a letter, lady ;
The paper as the body of my friend.
And every word in it a gaping wound,
Issuing life-blood. — But is it true, Salerio ?
Have all his ventures fail'd ? What, not one hit ?
From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England,
From Lisbon, Barbary, and India?
And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touch
Of mercliant-marring rocks ?
Sale. Not one, my lord.
Besides, it should appear, that if he had
N 4
184
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
Act III. Scene IV.
The present money to discharge the Jew,
He would not take it : never did I know
A creature, that did bear the shape of man,
So keen and greedy to confound a man :
He plies the duke at morning, and at night ;
And doth impeach the freedom of the state,
If they deny him justice : twenty merchants,
The duke himself, and the magnificoes 2
Of greatest port, have all persuaded with him ;
But none can drive him from the envious plea
Of forfeiture, of justice, and his bond.
Jes. When I was with him, I have heard himswear,
To Tubal, and to, Chus, his countrymen.
That he would rather have Antonio's flesh.
Than twenty times the value of the sum
That he did owe him : and I know, my lord.
If law, authority, and power deny not,
It will go hard with poor Antonio.
For. Is it your dear friend, that is thus in trouble ?
Bass. The dearest friend to me, the kindest man,
The best condition'd and unwearied spirit
In doing courtesies ; and one in whom
The ancient Roman honour more appears,
Than any that draws breath in Italy.
For. What sum owes he the Jew ?
Bass. For me, three thousand ducats.
For. What, no more?
Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond ;
Double six thousand, and then treble that.
Before a friend of this description
Shall lose a hair through my Bassanio's fault.
First, go with me to church, and call me wife :
And then away to Venice to your friend ;
For never shall you lie by Portia's side
With an unquiet soul. You shall have gold
To pay the petty debt twenty times over ;
When it is paid, bring your true friend along :
My maid Nerissa, and myself, mean time.
Will live as maids and widows. Come, away ;
For you shall hence upon your wedding-day :
Bid your friends welcome, show a merry cheer 3 ;
Since you are dear bought, I will love you dear. —
But let me hear the letter of your friend.
Bass. [Reads.] Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all
miscarried, my creditors grow cruel, my estate is very
low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit ; and since, in jmy-
ing it, it is impossible I should live, all debts are
cleared between you and I, if I might but see you at
my death : notwithstanding, use your pleasure : if
your love do not persuade you to come, let not my
letter.
For. O love, despatch all business, and be gone.
Bass. Since I have your good leave to go away,
1 will make haste : but till I come again.
No bed shall e'er be guilty of my stay.
No rest be interposer 'twixt us twain.
\^Exeunt,
SCENE III. Venice. A Street.
Enter Shylock, Salakio, Antonio, and Gaoler.
Shy. Gaoler, look to him ; — Tell not me of
mercy ;
This is the fool that lent out money gratis ; —
Gaoler, look to him.
Ant. Hear me yet, good Shylock.
Shy. I'll have my bond; speak not against my bond;
I have sworn an oath, that I will have my bond :
Thou call'st me dog, before thou hadst a cause :
2 The chief men. 3 Face.
But, since I am a dog, beware my fangs :
The duke sJiall grant me justice. — I do wonder.
Thou naughty gaoler, that thou art so fond *
To come abroad with him at his request.
Ant. I pray thee, hear me speak.
Shy. I'll have my bond; I will not hear thee speak :
I'll have my bond ; and therefore speak no more.
I'll not be made a soft and duU-ey'd fool.
To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield
To Christian intercessors. Follow not ;
I'll have no speaking ; I'll have my bond.
lExit Shylock.
Solan, It is the most impenetrable cur.
That ever kept with men.
Ant. Let him alone ;
I'll follow him no more with bootless prayers.
He seeks my life ; his reason well I know ;
I oft deliver'd from his forfeitures
Many that have at times made moan to me
Therefore he hates me.
Salan. I am sure the duke
Will never grant this forfeiture to hold.
Ant. The duke cannot deny the course of law ;
For the commodity that strangers have
With us in Venice, if it be denied.
Will much impeach the justice of the state ;
Since that the trade and profit of the city
Consisteth of all nations. Therefore, go :
These griefs and losses have so 'bated me.
That I shall hardly spare a pound of flesh
To-morrow to my bloody creditor. — —
Well, gaoler, on : — Pray God, Bassanio come
To see me pay his debt, and then I care not !
\^Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — Belmont. ARoominVortWsHouse.
Enter Portia, Nerissa, Lorenzo, Jessica, and
Balthazar.
Lor. Madam, although I speak it in your pre-
sence,
You have a noble and a true conceit
Of god-like amity ; which appears most strongly
In bearing thus the absence of your lord.
But if you knew to whom you show this honour.
How true a gentleman you send relief.
How dear a lover of my lord your husband,
I know, you would be prouder of the work.
Than customary bounty can enforce you.
For. I never did repent for doing good.
Nor shall not now : for in companions
That do converse and waste the time together
Whose souls do bear an equal yoke of love.
There must be needs a like proportion
Of lineaments, of manners, and of spirit ;
Which makes me think, that this Antonio,
Being the bosom lover of my lord.
Must needs be like my lord : If it be so.
How little is the cost I have bestow'd.
In purchasing the semblance of my soul
From out the state of hellish cruelty?
This comes too near the praising of myself;
Therefore, no more of it : hear other things. —
Lorenzo, I commit into your hands
Tlie husbandry and manage of my house,
Until my lord's return ; for mine own part,
I have toward heaven breath'd a secret vow,
To live in prayer and contemplation.
Only attended by Nerissa here,
Until her husband and my lord's return :
< Foolish.
I
Act IV. Scene I.
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
185
There is a monastery two miles off,
And there we will abide. I do desire you,
Not to deny this imposition ;
The which my love, and some necessity,
Now lays upon you.
Lor. Madam, with all my heart ;
I shall obey you in all fair commands.
For. My people do already know my mind,
And will acknowledge you and Jessica
I n place of lord Bassanio and myself.
So fare you well, till we shall meet again.
Lor. Fair thoughts, and happy hours, attend on
you.
Jes. I wish your ladyship all heart's content.
For. I thank you for your wish, and am well
pleas'd
To wish it back on you : fare you well, Jessica. —
[Exeutit Jessica and Lorenzo.
Now, Balthazar,
As I have ever found thee honest, true.
So let me find thee still : Take this same letter,
And use thou all the endeavour of a man,
In speed to Padua ; see thou render this
Into my cousin's hand, doctor Bellario ;
And, look what notes and garments he doth give
thee,
Bring them, I pray tlice, with imagin'd speed
Unto the tranect, to the common ferry
Which trades to Venice : — waste no time in words,
But get thee gone ; I shall be there before thee.
Balth' Madam, I go with all convenient speed.
[Exit.
For. Come on, Nerissa ; I have work in hand.
That you yet know not of: we'll see our hus-
bands.
Before they think of us.
Ner. Shall they see us ?
For. They shall, Nerissa ; but in such a habit,
That they shall think we are accomplished
With what we lack. I'll hold thee any wager.
When we are both accoutred like young men,
I'll prove tlie prettier fellow of the two.
And wear my dagger with the braver grace ;
And speak, between the change of man and boy.
But come, I'll tell thee all my whole device,
"NVhen I am in my coach, which stays for us
At the park gate ; and therefore haste away,
For we must measure twenty miles to-day.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V. A Garden.
Enter Lorenzo, Jessica, and Launcelot.
Lor. Go in, sirrali ; bid them prepare for dinner.
Laun. That is done sir ; they have all stomachs.
Lor. What a wit-snapper are you ! then bid them
prepare dinner
Laun. That is done too sir ; only, cover is the word.
Lor. "Will you cover then, sir ?
Latin. Not so, sir, neither ; I know my duty.
Lor. Yet more quarrelling with occasion ! Wilt
thou show the whole wealth of thy wit in an in-
stant? I pray thee, understand a plain man in his
plain meaning : go to thy fellows ; bid them cover
the table, serve in the meat, and we will come
in to dinner.
Laun. For the table, sir, it shall be served in ;
for the meat, sir, it shall be covered ; for your coming
in to dinner, sir, why, let it be as humours and con-
ceits shall govern. [Exit Launcelot.
Lor. O dear discretion, how his words are suited !
The fool hath planted in his memory
An army of good words ; And I do know
A many fools, that stand in better place,
Gamish'd like him, that for a tricksy word
Defy the matter. How cheer'st thou, Jessica ?
And now, good sweet, say thy opinion,
How dost thou like the lord Bassanio's wife ?
Jes. Past all expressing : It is very meet,
The lord Bassanio live an upright life j
For, having such a blessing in his lady.
He finds the joys of heaven here on earth ;
And, if on earth he do not mean it, it
Is reason he should never come to heaven.
Why, if two gods should play some heavenly match..
And on the wager lay two earthly women.
And Portia one, there must be something else
Pawn'd with the other ; for the poor rude world
Hath not her fellow.
Lor. Even such a husband
Hast thou of me, as she is for a wife.
Jes. Nay, but ask my opinion too of that.
Lor. I will anon ; first, let us go to dinner.
Jes. Nay, let me praise you, while I have a
stomach.
Lor. No, pray thee, let it serve for table-talk ;
Then, howsoe'er thou speak'st, 'mong other things
I shall digest it.
Jes. Well, I'll set you forth. [Exeunt.
ACT IV.
SCENE I. — Venice. A Court of Justice.
Enter the Duke, the Mngnificoes ; Antonio, Bas-
sanio, Gratiano, Salarino, Salanio, and
others.
Duke. What, is Antonio here ?
j4nt. Ready, so please your grace.
Duke. I am sorry for thee; thou art come to
answer
A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch
(incapable of pity, void and empty
From any dram of mercy.
^ AtU. I have heard,
Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify
His rigorous course ; but since he stands obdurate,
And that no lawful means can carry me
Out of his envy's reach, I do oppose
My patience to his fury ; and am arm'd
To suffer, with a quietness of spirit.
The very tyranny and rage of his.
Duke. Go one, and caJl the Jew into the court.
Salan. He's ready at the door: he comes, my
lord.
Enter Shtlock.
Duke. Make room, and let him stand before our
face. —
Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too,
TImt thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice
To tlie last hour of act ; and tlien, 'tis thought,
186
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
Act IV.
Thou'lt show thy mercy, and remorse'', more strange
Than is thy strange apparent cruelty :
And where 6 thou now exact'st the penalty,
(Which is a pound of tliis poor merchant's flesh,)
Thou wilt not only lose the forfeiture.
But touch'd with human gentleness and love.
Forgive a moiety of the principal ;
G lancing an eye of pity on las losses,
That have of late so huddled on his back ;
Enough to press a royal merchant down.
And pluck commiseration of his state
From brassy bosoms, and rough hearts of flint,
From stubborn Turks, and Tartars, never train'd
To oflSces of tender courtesy.
We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.
Shy. I have possess'd your grace of what I purpose ;
And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn.
To have the due and forfeit of my bond :
If you deny it, let the danger light
Upon your charter, and your city's freedom.
You'll ask me, why I rather choose to have
A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive
Three thousand ducats : I'll not answer that :
But, say, it is my humour ; Is it answer'd ?
What if my house be troubled with a rat.
And I be pleas'd to give ten thousand ducats
To have it baned ? What, are you answer'd yet ?
Some men there are, love not a gaping pig ;
Some, that are mad, if they behold a cat ; —
As there is no firm reason to be render'd.
Why he cannot abide a gaping pig ;
Wily he, a harmless necessary cat ;
So can I give no reason, nor I will not.
More than a lodg'd hate, and a certain loathing,
I bear Antonio, that I follow thus
A losing suit against him. Are you answer'd ?
Bass. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man,
To excuse the current of thy cruelty.
Shy. I am not bound to please thee with my
answer.
Bass. Do all men kill the things they do not love ?
Shy. Hates any man the thing he would not kill ?
Bass. Every offence i§ not a hate at first.
Shy. What, would'st thou have a serpent sting
thee twice ?
Ant. I pray you, think you question with the Jew :
You may as well go stand upon the beach.
And bid the main flood bate his usual height ;
You may as well use question with the wolf.
Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb ;
You may as well forbid the mountain pines
To wag their high tops, and to make no noise,
When they are fretted with the gusts of heaven ;
You may as well do any thing most hard,
As seek to soften that (than which what's harder ?)
His Jewish heart : — Therefore, I do beseech you.
Make no more oflTers, use no further means.
But, with all brief and plain conveniency,
Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will.
Bass. For thy three thousand ducats here are six.
Shy. If eveiy ducat in six thousand ducats
Were in six parts, and every part a ducat,
I would not draw them, I would have my bond.
Duke. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rend'ring
none?
Shy. What judgment shall I dread, doing no
wrong ?
You have among you many a purchas'd slave.
Pity.
6 Whereas.
Which, like your asses, and your dogs, and mules,
You use in alvject and in slavish parts,
Because you bought them : — Shall I say to you.
Let them be free, marry them to your heirs ?
Why sweat they under burdens ? let their beds
Be made as soft as yours, and let their palates
Be season'd with such viands ? You will answer,
The slaves are ours : — So do I answer you :
The pound of flesh, which I demand of him.
Is dearly bought, is mine, and I will have it :
If you deny me, fye upon your law !
There is no force in the decrees of Venice :
I stand for judgment : answer ; shall I have it ?
Duke. Upon my power, I may dismiss this cour
Unless Bellario, a learned doctor.
Whom I have sent for to determine this.
Come here to-day.
Salar My lord, here stays without
A messenger with letters from the doctor.
New come from Padua.
Duke. Bring us the letters ; Call the messengerj
Bass. Good cheer, Antonio ! What, man ? cou.«
rage yet !
The Jew shall have my flesh, blood, bones, and
Ere thou shalt lose for me one drop of blood.
Ant. I am a tainted wether of the flock,
Meetest for death ; the weakest kind of fruit
Drops earliest to the ground, and so let me :
You cannot better be employ'd, Bassanio,
Than to live still, and write mine epitaph.
Enter Nerissa, dressed like a Lawyers Clerk.
Duke. Came you from Padua, from Bellario ?
Her. From both, my lord : Bellario greets your
grace. [Presents a letter.
Bass. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly ?
Shy. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt
there.
Gra. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew,
Thou mak'st thy knife keen : but no metal can.
No, not the hangman's ax, bear half the keenness
Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee ?
Shy. No, none that thou hast wit enough to make.
Gra. O, be thou curst, inexorable dog !
And for thy life let justice be accus'd.
Thou almost mak'st me waver in my faith.
To hold opinion with Pythagoras,
That souls of animals infuse themselves
Into the trunks of men : thy currish spirit
Govern'd a wolf, who, hang'd for human slaughter.
Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet.
And, whilst thou lay'st in thy unhallow'd dam,
Infus'd itself in thee ; for thy desires
Are wolfish, bloody, starv'd, and ravenous.
Shy. Till thou canst rail the seal from off my bond.
Thou but ofFend'st thy lungs to speak so loud :
Repair thy wit, good youth, or it will fall
To cureless ruin. — I stand here for law.
Duke. This letter from Bellario doth commend
A young and learned doctor to our court : —
Where is he ?
Ner. He attendeth here hard by,
To know your answer, whether you'll admit him.
Duke. With all my heart : — some three or four
of you.
Go give him courteous conduct to this place. —
Mean time, the court shall hear Bellario's letter.
[Clerk reads.] Your grace shall understand, that,
at the receipt of your letter, I am very sick : but in
the instant that your messenger came, in loving visit-
I
I
Scene I.
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
187
fUion was with me a young doctor of Rome ; his name
is Bdlthasar : I acquainted him with the cause in
co?Uroversi/ between the Jew and Antonio the mer-
chant : we turned o'er many books together : he i^
furnish' d with my opinion; which, better d with his
oivn learning, {t/ie greatness whereof I cannot
enough commend,) comes with him, at my impor-
tunity, to fUl v.p your grace's request in my stead.
I beseech you, let his lack of years be no impediment
to let him lack a reverend estimation ; for I never
knew so young a body uith so old a head. I leave
him to your gracious acceptance, whose trial shall
better publish his commendation.
Duke. You hear the learn'd Bellario, what he
writes :
And here, I take it, is tlie doctor come. —
Enter Portia, dressed like a Doctor of Laws.
Give me your hand : Came you from old Bellario ?
For. I did, my lord.
Duke. You are welcome : take your place.
Are you acquainted with the difference
That holds this present question in the court ?
For. I am informed throughly of the cause.
Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew ?
Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth.
For. Is your name Shylock ?
Shy. Shylock is my name.
For. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow ;
Yet in such rule, that the Venetian law
Cannot impugn 7 you, as you do proceed. —
You stand within his danger », do you not ?
[To Antonio.
Ant. Ay, so he says. •
For. Do you confess the bond ?
Ant. I do.
For. Tlien must the Jew be merciful.
Shy. On what compulsion must I ? tell me that.
For. The quality of mercy is not strain'd ;
It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven.
Upon the place beneath : it is twice bless 'd ;
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes :
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes
The tlironed monarch better than his crown :
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power.
The attribute to awe and majesty.
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ;
But mercy is above his scepter'd sway.
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
Though justice be thy plea, consider this, —
That, in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy ;
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
riie deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much,
I'o mitigate the justice of thy pleaj
Which, if tliou follow, this strict court of Venice
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there.
Shy. My deeds upon my head ! I crave the law,
The penalty and forfeit of my bond.
For. Is he not able to discharge the money ?
Bass. Yes, here I tender it for him in the court ;
Yea, twice tlie sum : if that will not suffice,
I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er.
On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart ;
If tins will not suffice, it must appear
Oi»posc.
* Reach or controu-
That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you,
Wrest once the law to your authority :
To do a great right, do a little wrong :
And curb this cruel devil of his will.
For. It must not be ; there is no power in Venice
Can alter a decree established :
'Twill be recorded for a precedent;
And many an error, by the same example.
Will rush into the state : it cannot be.
Shy. A Daniel cometojudgment ! yea a Daniel ! —
O wise young judge, how do I honour thee !
For. I pray you, let me look upon the bond.
Shy. Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is.
For. Shylock, tliere's thrice thy money off*er'd
thee.
Shy. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven :
Shall I lay perjury upon my soul ?
No, not for Venice.
For. Why, this bond is forfeit ;
And lawfully by this the Jew may claim
A pound of flesh J to be by him cut oft'
Nearest the merchant's heart : — Be merciful ;
Take thrice thy money ; bid me tear the bond.
Shy. When, it is paid according to the tenour. —
It doth appear, you are a M'orthy judge ;
You know the law, your exposition
Hath been most sound : I charge you by the law,
Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar.
Proceed to judgment : by my soul I swear.
There is no power in the tongue of man
To alter me : I stay here on my bond.
A7it. Most heartily I do beseech the court
To give the judgment.
For. Why then, thus it is.
You must prepare your bosom for his knife :
Shy. O noble judge ! O excellent young man !
For. For the intent- and purpose of the law
Hath full relation to the penalty.
Which here appeareth due upon the bond.
Shy. 'Tis very true : O wise and upright judge !
How much more elder art thou than thy looks !
For. Therefore, lay bare your bosom.
Shy. Ay, his breast :
So says the bond ; — Doth it not, noble judge ? —
Nearest his heart, those are the very words.
For. It is so. Are there balance here, to weigh
The flesh.
Shy. I have them ready.
For. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your
charge.
To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death.
Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond ?
For. It is not so express'd : But what of that ?
'Twere good you do so much for charity.
Shy. I cannot find it ; 'tis not in tlie bond.
For. Come, merchant, have you any tiling to say?
Ant. But little ; I am arm'd, and well prepar'd.—
Give me your hand, Bassanio ; fare you well !
Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you ;
For herein fortune shows herself more kind
Than is her custom : it is still her use.
To let the wretched man out-live his wealth
To view with hollow eye, and wrinkled brow,
An age of poverty ; from which lingering penance
Of such a misery doth she cut me off*.
Commend me to your honourable wife :
Tell her tlie process of Antonio's end,
Say, how I lov'd you, speak me fair in death ;
And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge.
Whether Bassanio had not once a love.
188
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
Act IV.
Ilepent not you that you shall lose your friend,
And he repents not that he pays your debt ;
For, if the Jew do cut but deep enough,
I'll pay it instantly with all my heart.
Bass. Antonio, I am married to a wife.
Which is as dear to me as life itself;
But life itself, my wife, and all the world.
Are not with me esteem'd above thy life :
I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all
Here to this devil, to deliver you.
For. Your wife would give you little thanks for
that,
If she were by, to hear you make the offer.
Gra. I have a wife, whom, I protest, I love ;
I would she were in heaven, so she could
Entreat some power to change this currish Jjw.
Ner. 'Tis well you offer it behind her back ;
The wish would make else an unquiet house.
S/iJ/. These be the Christian husbands : I have a
daughter ;
'Would, any of the stock of Barrabas
Had been her husband, rather than a Christian !
Inside.
We trifle time ; I pray thee, pursue sentence.
For. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is
thine ;
The court awards it, and the law doth give it.
Shj/. Most rightful judge !
For. And you must cut this flesh from off his
breast ;
The law allows it, and the court awards it.
Sht/. Most learned judge ! — A sentence ; come,
prepare.
For. Tarry a little ; — there is something else.
This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood ;
The words expressly are a pound of flesh :
Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh ;
But, in thecutting it, if thou dost shed
One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods
Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate
Unto the state of Venice.
Gra. O upright judge ! — Mark, Jew ; — O
learned judge !
Sht/. Is that the law ?
For. Thyself shall see the act :
For, as thou urgest justice, be assur'd.
Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st.
Gra. O learned judge ! — Mark, Jew j — a learned
judge !^
Ski/. I take this offer then ; — pay the bond thrice.
And let the Christian go.
Bass. Here is the money.
For. Soft;
The Jew shall have all justice ; — soft ! — no haste ; —
He shall have nothing but the penalty.
Gra. O Jew ! an upright judge, a learned judge !
For. Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh.
Slied thou no blood ; nor cut thou less, nor more,
But just a pound of flesh : if thou tak'st more.
Or less, than a just pound, — be it but so much
As makes it light, or heavy, in the substance,
(^r the division of the twentieth part
Of one poor scruple ; nay, if the scale do turn
But in the estimation of a hair, —
Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate.
Gra. A second Daniel ! a Daniel, Jew !
Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip.
For. Why doth the Jew pause ? take thy for-
feiture.
Shi/. Give me my principal, and let me go.
Bass. I have it ready for thee ; here it is.
For. He hath refus'd it in the open court ;
He shall have merely justice, and his bond.
Gra. A Daniel, still say I ; a second Daniel —
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.
S/i7/. Shall I not have barely my principal ?
For. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture,
To be so fciken at thy peril, Jew.
Shi/. Why then the devil give him good of it !
I'll stay no longer question.
For. Tarry, Jew j
Tlie law hath yet another hold on you.
It is enacted in the laws of Venice, —
If it be prov'd against an alien,
That by direct, or indirect attempts,
He seek the life of any citizen,
The party, 'gainst the which he doth contrive,
Shall seize one half his goods ; the other half
Comes to the privy coffer of the state ;
And the offender's life lies in the mercy
Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice.
In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st :
For it appears by manifest proceeding.
That, indirectly, and directly too.
Thou hast contriv'd against the very life
Of the defendant : and thou hast incurr'd
The danger formerly by me rehears'd.
Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke.
Gra. Beg, that thou mayst have leave to hang
thyself:
And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state,
Tliou hast not left the value of a cord ;
Therefore thou must he hang'd at the state's charge.
Duke. That tliou shalt see the difference of our
spirit,
I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it :
For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's :
The other half comes to the general state,
Which humbleness may drive into a fine.
For. Ay, for the state ; not for Antonio.
Shi/. Nay, take my life and all, pardon not that :
You take my house, when you do take the prop
That doth sustain my house : you take my life,
When you do take the means whereby I live.
For. What mercy can you render him, Antonio ?
Gra. A halter gi'atis ; nothing else, I hope.
Ant. So please my lord the duke, and all the court.
To quit the fine for one half of his goods ;
I am content, so he will let me have
The other half in use, — to render it,
Upon his death, unto the gentleman
That lately stole his daughter :
Provided, that he do record a gift,
Here in the court, of all he dies possess'd,
Unto his son Lorenzo, and his daughter.
Duke. He shall do this ; or else I do recant
The pardon, that I late pronounced here.
For. Art thou contented, Jew, what dost thou say?
Shi/. I am content.
For. Clerk, draw a deed of gift.
Shi/. I pray you, give me leave to go from hence :
I am not well ; send the deed after me,
And I will sign it.
Du/ce. Get thee gone, but do it.
[Exit Shylock.
Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner.
Fo7'. I humbly do desire your grace of pardon ;
I must away this night toward Padua,
And it is meet, I presently set forth.
Duke. I am sorry that your leisure serves you not.
Act V. Scene I.
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
189
Antonio, gratify tljis gentleman;
For, in my mind, you are much bound to him.
{^Exeunt Duke, Magnificoes, and Train.
Bass. Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend,
Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted
Of grievous penalties ; in lieu whereof.
Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew,
We freely cope your courteous pains withal.
Ant. And stand indebted, over and above,
In love and service to you evermore.
For. He is well paid, that is well satisfied ;
And I, delivering you, am satisfied,
And therein do account myself well paid:
My mind was never yet more mercenary.
I pray you, know me, when we meet again ;
I wish you well, and so I take my leave.
Bass. Dear sir, of force I must attempt you further ;
Take some remembrance of us, as a tribute,
Not as a fee ; grant me two things, I pray you.
Not to deny me, and to pardon me.
Por. You press me far, and therefore I will yield.
Give me your gloves, I'll wear them for your sake;
And, for your love, I'll take this ring from you :—
Do not draw back your hand ; I'll take no more ;
And you in love shall not deny me this.
Bass. This ring, good sir, — alas, it is a tnfle ;
I will not shame myself to give you tliis.
Por. 1 will have nothing else but only this ;
And now, methinks, I liave a mind to it.
Bass. There's more depends on this, than on the
value.
Tlie dearest ring in Venice will I give you.
And find it out by proclamation ;
Only for this, I pray you, pardon me.
Por. I see, sir, you are liberal in offers :
You taught me first to beg ; and now, methinks,
You teach me how a beggar should be answer'd.
Bass. Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife :
And, when she put it on, she made me vow,
'ITiat I should neither sell, nor give, nor lose it.
Por. That 'scuse serves many men to save their
gifts ;
An if your wife be not a mad woman.
And know how well I have deserv'd this ring,
She would not hold out enemy for ever,
For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you !
[Exeunt Portia and Nerissa.
jint. My lord Bassanio, let him have the ring ;
Let his deservings, and my love withal.
Be valued 'gainst your wife's commandment.
Bass. Go, Gratiano, run and overtake him.
Give him tlie ring ; and bring him if tliou canst.
Unto Antonio's house : — away, make haste.
[Eadt Gratiano.
Come, you and I will thither presently ;
And in the morning early will we both
Fly toward Belmont : Come, Antonio. [Exeutit.
SCENE II.— A Street.
Enter Portia and Nerissa.
Por. Inquire the Jew's house out, give him tliis
deed,
And let him sign it : we'll away to-night.
And be a day before our husbands home :
This deed will be well welcome to Lorenzo.
Enter Gratiano.
Gra. Fair sir, you are well overtaken :
My lord Bassanio, upon more advice 9,
Hath sent you here this ring ; and doth entreat
Your company at dinner.
Par. That cannot be :
This ring I do accept most thankfully.
And so, I pray you tell him : Furthermore,
I pray you show my youth old Shylock's house.
Gra. Tliat will I do.
Ner. Sir, I would speak with you : —
I'll see if I can get my husband's ring, [To Portia.
Which I did make him swear to keep for ever.
Por. Thou mayst, I warrant : We shall have old
swearing.
That they did give the rings away to men ;
But we'll outface them, and outswear tliem too.
Away, make haste ; thou know'st where I will tarry.
Ner. Come, good sir, will you show me to this
house ? [Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I. — Belmont Avenue to Portia'^ House.
Enter Lorenzo and Jessica.
Lor. The moon shines bright : — In such a night
as this.
When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees,
And they did make no noise ; in such a night,
Troilus, methinks, mounted the Trojan walls,
And sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents.
Where Cressid lay that night.
Jes. In such a night.
Did Thisbe fearfully o'ertrip the dew ;
And saw the lion's shadow ere himself,
And ran dismay'd away.
Lor. In such a night,
Stood Dido with a willow in her hand
U|K)n the wild sea-banks, and wav'd her love
To come again to Carthage.
Jes. In such a night.
Medea gather'd the enchanted herbs
That did renew old ^son.
Lor. In such a night.
Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew ;
And with an unthrift love did run from Venice,
As far as Belmont.
Jes. And in such a night.
Did young Lorenzo swear he lov'd her well ;
Stealing her soul with many vows of faith,
And ne'er a true one.
Lor. And in such a night,
Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew.
Slander her love, and he forgave it her.
Jes. I would out^night you, did no body come :
But, hark, I hear the footing of a man.
Enter Stefhano.
Lor. Who comes so fast in silence of the night ?
> Reflection.
190
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
Act V.
Steph. A friend.
Lor. A friend ? wliat friend ? your name, I pray
you, friend?
Stej)h> Stephano is my name ; and I bring word,
My mistress will before the break of day
Be here at Belmont : she doth stray about
By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays
For happy wedlock hours.
Lor. Who comes with her ?
Steph. None, but a holy hermit, and her maid.
I pray you, is my master yet return'd ?
Lor. He is not, nor we have not heard from him. —
But go we in, I pray thee, Jessica,
And ceremoniously let us prepare
Some welcome for the mistress of the house.
Enter Launcelot.
Laun. Sola, sola, wo ha, ho, sola, sola !
Lor. Who calls ?
Laun. Sola ! did you see master Lorenzo, and
mistress Lorenzo ! sola, sola !
Lor. Leave hollaing, man ; here.
Laun. Sola! where? where?
Lor. Here.
Laun. Tell him, there's a post come from my
master, with his horn full of good news ; my master
will be here ere morning. {Exit.
Lor. Sweet soul, let's in, and there expect their
coming.
And yet no matter ; — Why should we go in ?
My friend StephAno, signify, I pray you.
Within the house, your mistress is at hand ;
And bring your musick forth into the air. —
\_Exit Stephano.
How sweet the moon-light sleeps upon this bank !
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of musick
Creep in our ears ; soft stillness, and the night.
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Sit, Jessica : Look, how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold ;
There's not the smallest orb, which thou behold'st.
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubins :
Such hannony is in immortal souls ;
But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. —
Enter Musicians.
Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn ;
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear.
And draw her home with musick.
Jes. I am never merry, when I hear sweet musick.
[Musick.
Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive :
For do but note a wild and wanton herd.
Or race of youthful, and unhandled colts,
Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud.
Which is the hot condition of their blood ;
If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound.
Or any air of musick touch their ears.
You. shall perceive them make a mutual stand,
Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze,
By the sweet power of musick : Therefore, the poet
Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods ;
Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage.
But musick for the time doth change his nature :
The man that hath no musick in himself.
Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds.
Is fit for ti-easons, stratagems, and spoils :
Tlie motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his afTectlons dark as Erebus :
Let no such man be trusted. — Mark the musick.
Enter Portia and Nerissa, at a distance.
For. That light we see, is burning in my hall.
How far that little candle throws his beams !
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.
JSfer. When the moon shone, we did not see the
candle.
For. So doth the greater glory dim the less :
A substitute shines brightly as a king.
Until a king be by ; and then his state
Empties itself, as doth an inland brook
Into the main of waters. Musick ! hark !
A^er. It is your musick, madam, of the house.
For. Nothing is good, I see, without respect ;
Methinks, it sounds much sweeter than by day.
Ner. Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam.
For. The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark,
When neither is attended ; and, I think.
The nightingale, if she should sing by day,
When every goose is cackling, would be thought
No better a musician than the wren.
How many things by season season'd are
To their right praise and true perfection ! —
Peace, hoa ! the moon sleeps with Endymion
And would not be awak'd ! [Musick ceases.
Lor. That is the voice.
Or I am much deceiv'd, of Portia.
For. He knows me, as the blind man knows the
cuckoo.
By the bad voice.
Lor. Dear lady, welcome home.
For. We have been praying for our husbands'
welfare.
Which speed, we hope, the better for our words ;
Are they return'd ?
Lor. Madam, they are not yet ;
But there is come a messenger before.
To signify their coming.
For. Go in, Nerissa,
Give order to my servants, that they take
No note at all of our being absent hence ;
Nor you, Lorenzo ; — Jessica, nor you.
[A tucket ' soti
Lor. Your husband is at hand, I hear his trumpet:
We are no tell-tales, madam ; fear you not.
For. This night, methinks, is but the day-light sick.
It looks a little paler ; 'tis a day.
Such as the day is when the sun is hid.
Enter Bassanio, Antonio, Gratiano, and their
Followers.
Bass. We should hold day with the Antipodes,
If you would walk in absence of the sun.
For. Let me give light, but let me not be light
For a light wife doth make a heavy husband.
And never be Bassanio so for me ;
You are welcome home, my lord.
Bass. I thank you, madam : give welcome to m
friend. —
This is the man, this is Antonio,
To whom I am so infinitely bound.
For. You should in all sense be much bound to
him.
For, as I hear, he was much bound for you.
Ant. No more than I am well acquitted of.
For. Sir, you are very welcome to our house :
' A flourish on a trumpet.
I
II
II
I
ScENK I.
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
191
J I must appear in other ways than words,
Therefore, I scant this breathing courtesy /2
[Gratiano and Nerissa seem to talk apart.
Gra. By yonder moon, I swear, you do me wrong;
In faith, I gave it to the judge's clerk.
Por. A quarrel, ho, already ? what's the matter ?
Gra. About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring
That she did give me ; wliose posy was
For all the world, like cutler's poetry
Upon a knife, Love vie, and leave me not.
Ner. What talk you of the posy, or the value ?
You swore to me, when I did give it you,
That you would wear it till your hour of death ;
And that it should lie with you in your grave :
Though not for me, yet for your vehement oaths,
You should have been respective 3, and have kept it
Gave it a judge's clerk ! — but well I know,
The clerk will ne'er wear hair on his face, that had it.
Gra. He will, an if he live to be a man.
Ner. Ay, if a woman live to be a man.
Gra. Now, by this hand, I gave it to a youth, —
A kind of boy ; a little scrubbed boy,
No higher than thyself, the judge's clerk ;
A prating boy, that begg'd it as a fee ;
I could not for my heart deny it him.
Por. You were to blame, I must be plain with you.
To part so slightly with your wife's first gift ;
A thing stuck on with oaths upon your finger,
And riveted so with faith upon your flesh.
I gave my love a ring, and made him swear
Never to part with it ; and here he stands ;
I dare be sworn for him, he would not leave it.
Nor pluck it from his finger, for the wealth
That the world masters. Now, in faith, Gratiano,
You give your wife too unkind a cause of grief ;
An 'twere to me, I should be mad at it.
Bass. Why, I were best to cut my left hand off.
And swear, I lost the ring defending it. [Aside.
Gra. My lord Bassanio gave his ring away
Unto the judge that begg'd it, and indeed,
Deserv'd it too ; and then the boy his clerk,
That took some pains in writing, he begg'd mine :
And neither man, nor master, would take aught
But the two rings.
Por. What ring gave you, my lord ?
Not that, I hope, which you receiv'd of me.
Bass. If I could add a lie unto a fault,
I would deny it ; but you see my finger
Hath not the ring upon it, it is gone.
Por. Even so void is your false heart of truth.
By heaven, I will ne'er come in your bed
Until I see the ring.
Ner. Nor I in yours,
Till I again see mine.
Bass. Sweet Portia,
If you did know to whom I gave tlie ring,
If you did know for whom I gave the ring,
And would conceive for what I gave the ring,
And how unwillingly I left the ring.
When nought would be accepted but the ring,
Vou would abate the strength of your displeasure.
Por. If you had known the virtue of the ring.
Or half her worthiness that gave the ring,
Or your own honour to contain the ring.
You would not then have parted with the ring.
What man is there so much unreasonable.
If you had pleas'd to have defended it
With any terms of zeal, wanted the modesty
■^ Verbal, complimentary form.
' Reganlful
To urge the thing held as a ceremony ?
Nerissa teaches me what to believe ;
I'll die for't, but some woman had the ring.
Baf^s No, by mine honour, madam, by my soul.
No woman liad, but a civil doctor.
Which did refuse three thousand ducats of me.
And begg d the ring ; the which I did deny him.
And sufier'd him to go disjileas'd away ;
Even he that had held up the very life
Of my dear friend. What should I say, sweet lady ?
I was enforc'd to send it after him ;
I was beset with shame and courtesy ;
My honour would not let ingratitude
So much besmear it : Pardon me, good lady ;
For, by these blessed candles of the night,
Had you been there, I think, you would have begg'd
The ring of me to give the worthy doctor.
Por. Let not that doctor e'er come near my house :
Since he hath got the jewel that I lov'd,
And tliat which you did swear to keep for me,
I will become as liberal as you : .
I'll not deny him any thing I have, ^ I
Know him I shall, I am well sure of it :
Lie not a night from home ; watch me, like Argus :
If you do not, if I be left alone,
Now, by mine honour, which is yet my own,
I'll have that doctor for my bedfellow.
Ner. And I his clerk; therefore be well advis'd,
How you do leave me to mine own protection.
Gra. Well, do you so : let not me take him then. ^ /
Ant. I am the unhappy subject of these quarrels.
Por. Sir, grieve not you ; You are welcome not-
withstanding.
Bass, Portia, forgive me this enforced wrong ;
And in the hearing of these many friends,
I swear to thee, even by thine own fair eyes.
Wherein I see myself,
PiTT. Mark you but that !
In both mine eyes he doubly sees himself:
In each eye, one : — s'wear by your double self.
And there's an oath of credit.
Bass. Nay, but hear me :
Pardon this fault, and by my soul I swear,
I never more will break an oath with thee.
Ant. I once did lend my body for his wealth ^ :
Which, but for him that had your husband's ring,
[To Portia.
Had quite miscarried : I dare be bound again,
My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord
Will never more break faith advisedly.
Por. Then you shall be his surety : Give him this ;
And bid him keep it better than the other.
Ant. Here, lord Bassanio ; swear to keep tliisring.
Bass. By heaven, it is the same I gave the doctorj/ Ci
Por. I had it of him. -<l^ou are an amaz d*: >w I
Here is a letter, read it at your leisure ;
It comes from Padua, from Bellario :
There you shall find, that Portia was the doctor ;
Nerissa there, her clerk : Lorenzo here
Shall witness, I set forth as soon as you.
And but even now return'd ; I have not yet
Enter'd my house. — Antonio, you are welcome ;
And I have better news in store for you.
Than you expect : unseal this letter soon ;
There you shall find, three of your argosies
Are richly come to harbour suddenly :
You shall not know by what strange accident
I chanced on this letter.
Ant. I am dumb.
* Advantage
192
MERCHANT OF VENICE.
Act V
Bass. "Were you the doctor, and I knew you
not?
Gra. Were you the clerk, that is to make me
cuckold ?
Ner, Ay ; but the clerk that never means to
do it,
Unless he live until he be a man.
Bass. Sweet doctor, you shall be my bedfellow ;
When I am absent, then lie with my wife.
j4nt. Sweet lady, you have given me life, and
living ; »•
For here I read for certain, that my ships
Are safely come to road.
For. How now, Lorenzo ?
My clerk hath some good comforts too for you.
Ner. Ay , and I'll give them him without a fee.
There do I give to you, and Jessica,
From the rich Jew, a special deed of gift.
After his death, of all he dies possessed of.
Lor. Fair ladies, you drop manna iu the way
Of starved people.
For. It is almost morning,
And yet, I am sure, you are not satisfied
Of these events at full : Let us go in ;
And charge us there upon inter'gatories.
And we will answer all things faithfully. [Ex
?y
if
en)
33
\
\^
AS YOU LIKE IT.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
Duke, living in exile.
Frederick, brother to the Duke, and Usurper of
the Duke in his
his dominions.
Amiens, "1 Lords attending upon
Jaques, J banishment.
Le Beau, a Courtier attending upon Frederick.
Charles, his Wrestler.
Oliver,
Jaques, |- Sons of Sir Rowland de Bois.
Orlando,
Adam,
Dennis,
Touchstone, a Clown,
The SCENE lies, first, near Oliver's
}
u, c
jiS, hts
DO, J
J- Servants to Oliver.
Sir Oliver Mar-xext, a Vicar.
William, a country Fellow, in love with Audrey.
A Person representing Hymen.
Rosalind, Daughter to the banished Duke.
Celia, Daughter to Frederick.
Phebe, a Shepherdess.
Audrey, a country Girl.
Lords belonging to the two Dukes ; Pages, Foresters,]
and other Attendants.
House ; afterwards, partly in the Usurper s Court, and partly in\
the Forest of Arden.
1
^
WEAK 1 HIS FOR MR
AS YOU LIKE IT.
ACT I.
SCENE I. — ^n Orchard, near Oliver's House.
Enter Orlando and Adam.
Orl. A s I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion
bequeath'd me : By will, but a poor thousand
crowns ; and, as thou say'st, charged my brother,
on his blessing, to breed me well : and there begins
my sadness. My brotiier Jaques he keeps at
school, and report speaks goldenly of his j)rofit :
for my part, he keeps me rustically at home, or, to
speak more properly, stays tTie here at home un-
kept : For call you that keeping for a gentleman of
my birth that differs not from tlie stalling of an ox ?
His horses are bred better; for, besides that they
are fair with their feeding, they are taught their
manage, and to that end riders dearly hired : but
I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth ;
<or the which liis animals on his dunghills are as
much bound to him as I. Besides this nothing that
he so j)lentifully gives me, the something that
nature gave me, his countenance seems to take
from me : he lets me feed with his hinds, bars me
(he place of a brother, and, as much as in him lies,
mines my gentility with my education. This is it,
Adam, that grievi-s me ; and the spirit of my father,
which I think is within me, begins to mutiny
against this servitude : I will no longer endure it,
though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it.
Enter Oliver.
yfdam. Yonder comes my master, your brother.
Orl. Go apart. Adam, and thou shall hear how he
will shake me up.
Oli. Now, sir, what make you here ? '
Orl. Nothing : I am not taught to make any thing.
Oli. What mar you then, sir?
Orl. Marry, sn-, I am helping you to mar that
which God made, a poor unworthy brother of yours,
with idleness.
Oli. Marry, sir, be better employ'd, and be naught
awhile.
Orl. Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with
ihem? What prodigal portion have I spent, that I
should come to such penurj' ?
Oli. Know you where you are, sir?
Orl. O, sir, very well : here in your orchard.
Oli Know you before whom, sir?
Orl. Ay, better than he I am before knows me.
I know, you are my eldest lirother ; and, m the
gentle condition of l)lood, you should so know me:
The courtesy of nations allows you my better, in
that you are the first-born ; but the same tradition
takes not away my blood, were there twenty
brothers betwixt us: I have as much of my father
in me, as you ; albeit, I confess, your coming
l>eforc me is nearer to his reverence.
' What do you here?
194
AS YOU LIKE IT.
Act 1.
OH. What, boy !
Orl. Come, come, elder brother, you are too
young in this.
OH. Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain ?
Orl. I am no villain • : I am the youngest son
of sir Rowland de Bois ; he was my father, and he
is thrice a villain, that says, such a father begot
villains : Wert thou not my brother, I would not
take this hand from thy throat, till this other had
pulled out thy tongue for saying so; thou hast
railed on thyself.
Adam. Sweet masters, be patient; for your
father's remembrance, be at accord.
OH. Let me go, I say.
Orl. I will not, till I please : you shall hear me.
My father charged you in his will to give me good
education : you have trained me like a peasant,
obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like
qualities : the spirit of my father grows strong in
me, and I will no longer endure it ; therefore
allow me such exercises as may become a gentle-
man, or give me the poor allottery ray father left
me by testament ; with that I will go buy my for-
tunes.
OH. And what wilt thou do ? beg, when that is
spent ? Well, sir, get you in : I will not long be
troubled with you : you shall have some part of
your will : I pray you, leave me.
Orl. I will no further offend you than becomes
me for my good.
OH. Get you with him, you old dog.
Adam. Is old dog mj reward ? most true, I have
lost my teeth in your service. — God be with my
old master ! he would not have spoke such a word.
[Exeunt Orlando and Adam.
OH. Is it even so ? begin you to grow upon me ?
I will physick your rankness, and yet give no thou-
sand crowns neither. Hola, Dennis !
Enter Dennis.
Den. Calls your worship ?
OH. Was not Charles, the duke's wrestler, here,
to speak with me ?
Den. So please you, he is here at the door, and
importunes access to you.
OH. Call him in. [Exit Dennis.] — 'Twill be a
good way ; and to-morrow the wrestling is.
Enter Charles.
Cha. Good morrow to your worship.
OH. Good monsieur Charles ! — what's the new
news at the new court ?
Cka. There's no news at the court, sir, but the
old news : that is, the old duke is banished by his
younger brother the new duke ; and three or four
loving lords have put themselves into voluntary
exile with him, whose lands and revenues enrich
the new duke ; therefore he gives them good leave
to wander.
OH. Can you tell, if Rosalind, the duke's
daughter, be banished with her father ?
Cha. O, no ; for the duke's daughter, her cousin,
so loves her, — being ever from their cradles bred
together, — that she would have followed her exile,
or have died to stay behind her. She is at the
court, and no less beloved of her uncle than his
own daughter ; and never two ladies loved as they do.
OIL Where will the old duke live ?
'^ Villain is used in a double sense ; by Oliver for a worth,
less fellow, and by Orlando for a man of base extraction.
Cha. They say he is already in the forest of
Arden, and a many merry men with him ; and
there they live like the old Robin Hood of Eng-
land : they say, many young gentlemen flock to
him every day ; and fleet the time carelessly, as they
did in the golden world.
OH. What, you wrestle to-morrow before the new
duke?
Cha. Marry, do I, sir ; and I came to acquaint
you with a matter. I am given, sir, secretly to un-
derstand, that your younger brother, Orlando, hath
a disposition to come in disguis'd against me to try
a fall : To-morrow, sir, I wrestle for my credit ;
and he that escapes me without some broken limb,
shall acquit him well. Your brother is but young,
and tender ; and, for your love, I would be loath to
foil him, as 1 must, for my own honour, if he come
in: therefore, out of my love to you, I came hither
to acquaint you withal ; that either you might stay
him from his intendment, or brook such disgrace
well as he shall run into , in that it is a thing of his
own search, and altogether against my will.
OH. Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me,
which thou shalt find I will most kindly requite. I
had myself notice of my brother's purpose herein,
and have by underhand means laboured to dissuade
him from it ; but he is resolute. I'll tell thee,
Charles, — it is the stubbornest young fellow of
France ; full of ambition, an envious emulator of
every man's good parts, a secret and villainous
contriver against me his natural brother ; therefore
use thy discretion ; I had as lief thou didst break
his neck as his finger: And thou wert best look
to't ; for if thou dost him any slight disgrace, or it
he do not mightily grace himself on thee, he will
practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by some
treacherous device, and never leave thee till he hath
ta'en thy life by some indirect means or other ; for,
I assure thee, and almost with tears I speak it, there
is not one so young and so villainous this day living,
I speak but brotherly of him; but should I anatomize
him to thee as he is, I must blush and weep
thou must look pale and wonder.
Cha. I am heartily glad, I came hither to you
If he come to-morrow, I'll give him his payment r!
If ever he go alone again, I'll never wrestle for
prize more : And so, heaven keep your worship !
[Exit.
OH. Farewell, good Charles. — Now will I stir
this gamester 3 : I hope I shall see an end of him ;
for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing
more than he. Yet he's gentle ; never school'd,
and yet learned ; full of noble device ; of all sorts ^
enchantingly beloved ; and, indeed, so much in the
heart of the world, and especially of my own people,
who best know him, that I am altogether misprised :
but it shall not be so long ; this wrestler shall clear
all : nothing remains, but that I kindle the boy
thither, which now I'll go about. [Exit.
SCENE II A Lawn before the Duke's Palace.
Enter Rosalind and Celia.
Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.
Ros. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am
mistress of: and would you yet I were merrier?
Unless you could teach me to forget a banished
father, you must not learn me how to remember
any extraordinary pleasure.
3 Frolicksome fellow. 4 Of all ranks.
nize
ou:|^H|
mtr^ll
for^l
i
Scene II.
AS YOU LIKE IT.
195
Cel, Herein, I see, thou lovest me not with tlie
full weight that 1 love thee : if my uncle, thy ba-
nished father, had banished thy uncle, the duke my
father, so thou hadst been still with me, I could
have taught my love to take thy father for mine ;
so wouldst thou, if the truth of thy love to me were
so righteously temper'd as mine is to thee.
Ros. Well, I will forget the condition of my
estate, to rejoice in yours.
Cel. You know, my father hath no child but I,
nor none is like to have ; and, truly, when he dies,
thou shalt be his heir : for what he hath taken away
from thy father perforce, I will render thee again
in affection ; by mine honour, I will ; and when I
break that oath, let me turn monster : therefore, my
sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry.
Ros. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise
sports ; let me see ; What think you of falling in love?
Cel. Marry, I pr'ythee, do, to make sport withal :
but love no man in good earnest ; nor no further in
sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou
may'st in honour come off again.
Ros. What shall be our sport then ?
Cel. Let us sit and mock the good housewife,
Fortune, from her wheel, that her gifts may hence-
forth be bestowed equally.
Ros. I would, we could do so ; for her benefits
are mightily misplaced : and the bountiful blind
woman doth most mistake in her gifts to women.
Cel. 'Tis true : for those, that she makes fair, she
scarce makes honest; and those, that she makes
honest, she makes very ill-favour'dly.
Ros. Nay, now thou goest from fortune's office
to nature's : fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not
in the lineaments of nature.
ErUer Touchstone.
Cel. No ? Wlien nature hath made a fair creature,
may she not by fortune fall into the fire? — Though
nature hath given us wit to flout at fortune, hath not
fortune sent in this fool to cut off' the argument ?
Ros. Indeed, there is fortune too hard for nature ;
when fortune makes nature's natural the cutter off
of nature's wit.
Cel. Peradventure, tliis is not fortune's work
neither, but nature's : who perceiving our natural
wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, hath sent
this natural for our whetstone : for always the dul-
ness of the fool is the whetstone of his wits. — How
now, wit ? whither wander yoii ?
Touch. Mistress, you must come away to your
father.
Cel. Were you made the messenger ?
Touch. No, by mine honour ; but I was bid to
come for you.
Ros. Where learned you that oath, fool ?
Touch. Of a certain knight, that swore by his
honour they were good pancakes, and swore by his
honour the mustard was naught : now, I'll stand to
it, the pancakes were naught, and the mustard was
good ; and yet was not the knight forsworn.
Cel. How prove you that, in the great heap of
your knowledge ?
Ros. Ay, marry ; now unmuzzle your wisdom.
Touch. Stand you both forth now : stroke your
chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave.
Cel. By our beards, if we had them, thou art.
Touch. By my knavery, if I had it, then I were :
but if jou swear by that that is not, you are not
forsworn : no more was this knight, swearing by his
honour, for he never had any ; or if he had, he had
sworn it away, before ever he saw those pancakes
or that mustard.
Cel. Pr'ythee, who is't that thou mean'st?
Touch. One that old Frederick, your father loves.
Cel. My father's love is enough to honour him.
Enough ! speak no more of him ; you'll be whipp'd
for taxation *, one of these days.
Touch. The more pity, that fools may not speak
wisely, what wise men do foolishly.
Cel. By my troth, thou say'st true : for since the
little wit, that fools have, was silenced, the little
foolery, that wise men have, makes a great show.
Here comes monsieur Le Beau.
Enter Le Beau.
Ros. With his mouth full of news.
Cel. Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed
their young.
Ros. Then shall we be news-cramm'd.
Cel. All the better ; we shall be the more mar-
ketable. Bon jour, monsieur Le Beau ; What's the
news?
Le Beau. Fair princess, you have lost much good
sport.
Cel. Sport ? Of what colour ?
Le Beau. What colour, madam ? How shall I
answer you ?
Ros. As wit and fortune will.
Touch. Or as the destinies decree.
Cel. Well said ; that was laid on with a trowel.
Le Beau. You amaze me, ladies ; I would have
told you of good wrestling, which you have lost the
sight of.
Ros. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling.
Le Beau. I will tell you the beginning, and, if it
please your ladyships, you may see the end ; for the
best is yet to do ; and here, where you are, they are
coming to perform it.
Cel. Well, — the beginning, that is dead and
buried.
Le Beau. There comes an old man, and his three
sons, — ^
Cel. I could match this beginning with an old tale.
Le Beau. Three proper young men, of excellent
growth and presence ;
Ros. With bills on their necks, — Be it known
unto all men by these jrresents,
Le Beau. The eldest of the tnree wrestled with
Charles, the duke's wrestler ; which Charles in a
moment threw him, and broke three of his ribs, that
there is little hope of life in him : so he served tlie
second, and so the third : Yonder they lie ; the poor
old man, their father, making such pitiful dole over
them, that all the beholders take his part with
weeping.
Ros. Alas!
Touch. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the
ladies have lost?
Le Beau. Why, this that I speak of
Touch. Thus men may grow wiser every day ! it
is the first time that I ever heard, breaking of ribs
was sport for ladies.
Cel. Or 1, 1 promise thee.
Ros. But is there any else longs to see this broken
musick in his sides? is there yet another dotes upon
rib-breaking? — Shall we see this wrestling, cousin ?
Le Beau. You must, if you stay here : for here is
» Satire.
O 2
196
AS YOU LIKE IT.
Act I.
the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are
ready to perform it.
Cel. Yonder, sure, they are coming : Let us now
stay and see it.
Flourish. Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, Or-
lando, Charles, and Attendants.
Duke F. Come on ; since the youth will not be
entreated, his own peril on his forwardness.
Ros. Is yonder the man ?
Le Beau- Even he, madam.
Cel. Alas, he is too young : yet he looks suc-
cessfully.
Duke F. How now, daughter, and cousin ? are
you crept hither to see the wrestling.
Ros. Ay, my liege ! so please you give us leave.
Duke F. You will take little delight in it, I can
tell you, there is such odds in the men : In pity of
the challenger's youth, I would fain dissuade him,
but he will not be entreated : Speak to him, ladies;
see if you can move him.
Cel. Call him hither, good monsieur Le Beau.
Duke F. Do so: I'll not be by. [Tiv%.v. goes apart.
Le Beau. Monsieur the challenger, the princesses
call for you.
Orl- I attend them, with all respect and duty.
Ros. Young man, have you challenged Charles
the wrestler ?
Orl. No, fair princess ; he is the general chal-
lenger : I come but in, as others do, to try with him
the strength of my youth.
Cel. Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold
for your years : You have seen cruel proof of this
man's strength ; if you saw yourself with your eyes,
or knew yourself with your judgment, the fear of
your adventure would counsel you to a more equal
enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to
embrace your own safety, and give over this attempt.
Ros. Do, young sir ; your reputation shall not
tlierefore be misprised : we will make it our suit to
the duke, that the wrestling might not go forward.
Orl. I beseech you, punish me not with your
hard thoughts ; wherein I confess me much guilty,
to deny so fair and excellent ladies any thing. But
let your fair eyes, and gentle wishes, go with me to
my trial : wherein if I be foiled, there is but one
shamed that was never gracious ; if killed, but one
dead that is willing to be so : I shall do my friends
no wrong, for I have none to lament me ; the world
no injury, for in it I have nothing ; only in the
world I fill up a place, which may be better sup-
plied when I have made it empty.
Ros. The little strength that I have, I would it
were with you.
Cel. And mine, to eke out hers.
Ros. Fare you well. Pray heaven, I be deceived
in you !
Cel. Your heart's desires be with you.
Cha. Come, where is this young gallant, that is
so desirous to lie with his mother earth ?
Orl. Ready, sir.
Duke F. You shall try but one fall.
Clia. No, I warrant your grace ; you shall not
entreat him to a second, that have so mightily per-
suaded liim from a first.
Orl. You mean to mock me after ; you should
not have mocked me before : but come your ways.
Ros. Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man !
Cel. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong
fellow by the leg. [Charles and Orlando wrestle.
Ros. O excellent young man !
Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell
who should down. [Charles is thrown. Shout.
Duke F. No more, no more.
Orl. Yes, I beseech your grace; I am not yet
well breathed.
Duke F. How dost thou, Charles ?
Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord.
Duke F. Bear him away. [Charles 15 borne out.
What is thy name, young man ?
Orl. Orlando, my liege ; the youngest son of sir
Rowland de Bois.
Duke F. I would thou hadst been son to somej
man else.
The world esteem'd thy father honourable.
But I did find him still mine enemy :
Thou shouldst have better pleas'd me with this deed, '
Hadst thou descended from another house.
But fare thee well ; thou art a gallant youth ;
I would thou hadst told me of another father.
{Exeunt Duke Fred. Train, and Le Beau.
Cel. Were I my father, coz, would I do this ?
Orl. I am more proud to be sir Rowland's son,
His youngest son ; — and would not change that
calling.
To be adopted heir to Frederick.
Ros. My father lov'd sir Rowland as his soul,
And all the world was of my father's mind :
Had I before known this young man his son,
I should have given him tears unto entreaties,
Ere he should thus have ventur'd.
Cel. Gentle cousin.
Let us go thank him, and encourage him :
My father's rough and envious disposition
Sticks me at heart. — Sir, you have well deserv'd :
If you do keep your promises in love.
But justly, as you have exceeded promise.
Your mistress shall be happy.
Ros. Gentleman,
\_Giving him a chain from her neck.
Wear this for me ; one out of suits with fortune ;
That could give more, but that her hand lacks
means. —
Shall we go, coz ?
Cel. Ay : — Fare you well, fair gentleman.
Orl. Can I not say, I thank you ? My better parts
Are all thrown down ; and that which here stands up.
Is but a quintain 6, a mere lifeless block.
Ros. He calls us back : My pride fell with my
fortunes :
I'll ask him what he would : — Did you call, sir ? —
Sir you have wrestled well, and overthrown
More than your enemies.
Cel. Will you go, coz ?
Ros. Have with you : — Fare you well.
\^Exeunt Rosalind and Celia.
Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon my
tongue ?
I cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference.
Re-enter Le Beau.
O, poor Orlando ! thou art qyerthrown ;
Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee.
Le Beau. Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you
To leave this place : Albeit you have deserv'd
High commendation, true applause, and love ;
Yet such is now the duke's condition?.
That he misconstrues all that you have done
6 The object to dart at in martial exercises.
7 Temper, disposition.
Scene III.
AS YOU LIKE IT.
197
The duke is humorous ; what he is, indeed,
More suits you to conceive, than me to speak of.
Orl. I thank you, sir: and pray you, tell me
this ;
Which of the two was daughter of the duke,
Tliat here was at the wrestling ?
Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by
manners ;
But yet, indeed, the shorter is his daughter :
The other is daughter to the banish'd duke,
And here detain'd by her usurping uncle.
To keep his daughter company ; whose loves
Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters.
But I can tell you, that of late this duke
Hath ta'cn displeasure 'gainst his gentle niece ;
Grounded upon no other argument.
But that the people praise her for her virtues,
And pity her for her good father's sake :
And, on my life, his malice 'gainst the lady
Will suddenly break forth. — Sir, fare you well ;
Hereafter, in a better world than this,
I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.
OH. I rest much bounden to you : fare you well !
{Exit Le Beau.
Thus must I from the smoke into tiie smother ;
From tyrant duke, unto a tyrant brother : —
But heavenly Rosalind ! \^ExU.
SCENE III. A Room in the Palace.
Enter Celia and Rosalind.
Cel. Why, cousin ; why, Rosalind ; — Cupid have
mercy ! — Not a word ?
Rns. Not one to tlirow at a dog.
Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast
away upon curs, throw some of them at me ; come,
lame me with reasons.
Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up ; when
the one should be lamed with reasons, and the other
mad without any.
Cel. But is all this for your father ?
Ros. No, some of it for my father's child: O,
how full of briars is this working-day world !
Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee
in holiday foolery ; if we walk not in the trodden
paths, our very petticoats will catch them.
Ros. I could shake them off my coat; these burs
are in my heart.
Cel. Hem them away.
Ros. I would try ; if I could cry hem, and have
him.
Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections.
Ros. O, they take the part of a better wrestler
than myself.
Cel. O, a good wish upon you ! — But, turning
these jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest :
Is it possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into
so strong a liking with old sir Rowland's youngest
son?
Ros. The duke my father lov'd his father dearly.
Cel. Doth it therefore ensue, that you should love
his son dearly ? By this kind of chase, I should hate
him, for my father hated his father dearly; yet
I hate not Orlando.
Ros. No ; hate him not, for my sake.
Cel. Why should I not ? doth he not deserve
well?
Ros. Let me love him for that ; and do you love
him, because I do : — Look, here comes the duke.
Cel. With his eyes full of anger.
Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords.
Duke F- Mistress, despatch you witli your safest
haste.
And get you from our court.
Ros. Me, uncle?
Duke F. You, cousin ;
Within these ten days if that thou be'st found
So near our public court as twenty miles.
Thou diest for it.
Ros. I do beseech your grace,
Let me the knowledge of my fault bear witii ine :
If with myself I hold intelligence.
Or have acquaintance with mine own desires ;
If that I do not dream, or be not frantick,
(As I do trust I am not,) then, dear uncle,
Never, so much as in a thought unborn.
Did I offend your highness.
Duke F. Thus do all traitors ;
If their purgation did consist in words,
They are as innocent as grace itself; —
Let it suffice thee, that I trust thee not.
Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor :
Tell me whereon the likelihood depends.
Duke F. Thou art thy fatlier's daughter, there's
enough.
Ros. So was I, when your highness took his
dukedom ;
So was I when your highness banish'd him :
Treason is not inherited my lord ;
Or, if we did derive it from our friends.
What's that to me ? my father was no traitor :
Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much.
To think my poverty is treacherous.
Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak.
Duke F. Ay, Celia ; we stay'd her for your sake^
Else had she with her father rang'd along.
Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay.
It was your pleasure, and your own remorse * :
I was too young that time to value her.
But now I know her : if she be a traitor.
Why so am I ; we still have slept together.
Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together ;
And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans.
Still we went coupled, and inseparable. I
Duke F. She is too subtle for thee ; and her ^
smoothness, /
Her very silence, and her patience, \
Speak to the people, and they pity her.
Thou art a fool : she robs thee of thy name ;
And thou wilt show more bright, and seem more
virtuous.
When she is gone : then open not thy lips ;
Firm and irrevocable is my doom
Which I have pass'd upon her ; she is banish'd.
Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my
liege ;
I cannot live out of her company.
DuJce F. You are a fool : — You, niece, provide
yourself;
If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour,
And in tlie greatness of my word, you die.
[Exeunt Duke Frederick and Lords*
Cel. O my poor Rosalind ! whither wilt thou go ?
Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine.
I charge tliec, be not thou more griev'd than I am.
Ros. I have more cause.
Cel. Thou hast not, cousin ;
Pr'ythee, l)e cheerful : know'st thou not, the duke
Hath banish'd me his daughter ?
" Compassion.
O 3
198
AS YOU LIKE IT.
Act II.
Ros. That he hath not.
Cel. No ? hath not ? Rosalind lacks then the love
Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one :
Shall we be sunder'd? shall we part, sweet girl?
No ; let my father seek another heir.
Therefore devise with me, how we may fly,
Whither to go, and what to bear with us :
And do not seek to take your change upon you.
To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out ;
For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale.
Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee.
JRos. Why, whither shall we go ?
Cel. To seek my uncle in the forest of Arden.
Ros. Alas, what danger will it be to us,
Maids as we are, to travel forth so far ?
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.
Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire.
And with a kind of umber9 smirch my face ;
The like do you ; so shall we pass along,
And never stir assailants.
Ros. Were it not better.
Because that I am more than common tall.
That I did suit me all points like a man ?
A gallant curtle-ax« upon my thigh,
A boar spear in my hand ; and (in my heart
Lie there what liidden woman's fear there will,)
We'll have a swashing 3 and a martial outside ;
As many other mannish cowards have.
That do outface it with their semblances.
Cel. What shall I call thee, when thou art a man ?
Ros. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own
page,
And therefore look you call me, Ganymede.
But what will you be call'd?
Cel. Something that hath a reference to my state
No longer Celia, but Aliena.
Ros. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal
The clownish fool out of your father's court ?
Would he not be a comfort to our travel ?
Cel. He'll go along o'er the wide world with me ;
Leave me alone to woo him : Let's away.
And get our jewels and our wealth together ;
Devise the fittest time, and safest way
To hide us from pursuit that will be made
After my flight : Now go we in content.
To liberty, and not to banishment [Exeunt.
I
ACT 11.
SCENE I The Forest of Arden.
Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, and other Lords, in
the dress of Foresters.
Duke S. Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile*
I Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
' Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these woods
More free from peril than the envious court ?
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
The seasons' difference ; as, the icy fang,
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind ;
Which when it bites and blows upon my body,
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, —
This is no flattery : these are counsellors
That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Sweet are the uses of adversity ;
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous.
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ;
And this our life, exempt from public haunt.
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks.
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.
Ami. I would not change it : Happy is your grace.
That can translate the stubbornness of fortune
Into so quiet and so sweet a style.
Dulce S. Come, shall we go and kill us venison ?
And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools, —
Being native burghers of this desert city, —
Should in their own confines, with forked heads '
Have their round haunches gor'd.
1 Lord. Indeed, my lord.
The melancholy Jaques grieves at that ;
And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp
Than doth your brother that hath banish'd you.
To-day, my lord of Amiens, and myself.
Did steal behind him, as he lay along
Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out
Upon the brook that brawls along this wood :
To the which place a poor sequester'd stag.
That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt.
Did come to languish ; and, indeed, my lord.
The wretched animal heav'd forth such groans.
That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat
Almost to bursting ; and the big round tears
Cours'd one another down his innocent nose
In piteous chase : and thus the hairy fool,
Much marked of the melancholy Jaques,
Stood on the extremest verge of the swift brook.
Augmenting it with tears.
Duke S. But what said Jaques ?
Did he not moralize this spectacle ?
1 Lord. O, yes, into a thousand similes.
First, for his weeping in the needless stream ;
j Poor deer, quoth he, thou mak'st a testament
As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more
To that which had too much : Then, being alone.
Left and abandon'd of his velvet friends ; ■
' Tis right, quoth he ; thus misery doth part >
The flux of company : Anon, a careless herd.
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him,
And never stays to greet him ; Ay, quoth Jaques,
Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens ;
' Tis just the fashion : Wherefore do you look
Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there T
Thus most invectively he pierceth through
The body of the country, city, court.
Yea, and of this our life : swearing, that we
Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what's worse
To fright the animals, and to kill them up.
In their assign'd and native dwelling-place.
Duke S. And did you leave him in this contem-
plation ?
2 Lord. We did, my lord, weeping and comment-
ing
Upon the sobbing deer.
Duke S. Show me the place ;
I love to cope* him in these sullen fits,
For then he's full of matter.
2 Lord. I'll bring you to him straight. {Exeuni.
' A dusky, yellow. coloured earth.
Barbed arrows.
II
Cutlass,
Swaggering.
Encounter.
Scene II.
AS YOU LIKE IT.
199
SCENE II — A Room in the Palace.
Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, and Attendants.
DukeF. Can it be possible, that no man saw them ?
It cannot be : some villains of my court
Are of consent and sufferance in this.
1 Lord. I cannot hear of any that did see her.
The ladies, her attendants of her chamber.
Saw her a-bed ; and, in the morning early.
They found the bed untreasur'd of their mistress.
2 Lord. My lord, the roynish* clown, at whom so oft
Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing
Hesperia, the princess' gentlewoman.
Confesses, that she secretly o'erheard
Your daughter and her cousin much commend
The parts and graces of the wrestler
That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles ;
And she believes, wherever they are gone.
That youth is surely in tlieir company.
Duke F. Send to his brother ; fetch that gallant
hither ;
If he be absent, bring liis brother to me,
I'll make him find him : do this suddenly ;
And let not search and inquisition quail 6
To bring again these foolish runaways. {^Exeunt.
SCENE lll.—Bef<yre OUver'« Hmse.
Enter Orlando and Adam, meeting.
Orl. Who's there ?
Adam. "What ! my yoimg master ? — O, my gentle
master,
O, my sweet master, O you memory 7
Of old sir Rowland ! why, what make you here ?
Why are you virtuous ? Why do people love you ?
And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and vaUant ?
Why should you be so fond 8 to overcome
The bony prizer of the humorous duke ?
Your praise is come too swiftly home before you.
Know you not, master, to some kind of men
Their graces serve them but as enemies ?
No more do yours ; your virtues. {;fentl^ matitprj
Are sanctified and holy traitors to you.
O, what a world is this, when what is comely
Envenoms him that bears it ?
Orl. Why, what's the matter ?
Adam. O unhappy youth.
Come not within these doors ; within this roof
The enemy of all your graces lives :
Your brother — (no, no brother ; yet the son —
Yet not the son ; — I will not call him son —
Of him I was about to call his father,) —
Hatli heard your praises ; and this night he means
To burn the lodging where you use to lie,
And you within it : if he fail of that.
He will have other means to cut you off:
I overheard him, and his practices.
Tliis is no place, this house is but a butchery ;
Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it.
Orl. Why,whither, Adam,wouldstthouhavemego?
Adam. No matter whither, so you come not here.
Orl. What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my
food?
Or, with a base and boisterous sword, enforce
A thievish living on the common road ?
This I must do, or know not what to do :
Yet tliis I will not do, do how I can ;
* Scurvy.
f Memorial
* Sink into dejection.
• Inconsiderate
I rather will subject me to the malice
Of a diverted blood^, and bloody brother.
Adam. But do not so : I have five hundred crowns
The tlirifty hire I sav'd under your father,
Which I did store, to be my foster-nurse,
When service should in my old limbs lie lame,
And unregarded age in corners thrown :
Take that : and He that doth the ravens feed.
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow.
Be comfort to my age ! Here is the gold ;
All this I give you : Let me be your servant ;
Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty :
For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood ;
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter.
Frosty, but kindly : let me go with you ;
I'll do the service of a younger man
In all your business and necessities.
OrU O good old man ; how well in thee appears
The constant service of the antique world.
When service sweat for duty, not for meed !
ITiou art not for the fashion of these times.
Where none will sweat, but for promotion ;
And having that, do choke their service up
Even with the having : it is not so with thee.
But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree.
That cannot so much as a blossom yield.
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry :
But come thy ways, we'll go along together ;
And ere we have thy youthful wages spent,
We'll light upon some settled low content.
Adam. Master, go on ; and I will follow thee.
To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty. —
From seventeen years till now almost fourscore
Here lived I, but now live here no more.
At seventeen years many their fortunes seek ;
But at fourscore, it is too late a week :
Yet fortune cannot recompense me better.
Than to die well, and not my master's debtor. \^Exeunt.
SCENE lY. — The Fared of Kx^en.
Enter Rosalind in Boy's clothes, Celia dresl like
a Slieplierdess, and Touchstone.
Ros. O Jupiter ! how weary are my spirits !
Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were
not weary.
Ros. I could find in my heart to disgrace my
man's apparel, and to cry like a woman : but I must
comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought
to show itself courageous to petticoat ; therefore,
courage, good Aliena.
Cel. I pray you, bear with me; I can go no further.
Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with you,
than bear you : yet I should bear no cross ', if I did
bear you : for, I think, you have no money in your
purse.
Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden.
Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden : the more fool
I ; when I was at home, I was in a better place ;
but travellers must be content.
Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone: — Look you,
who comes here; a young man and an old, in
solemn talk.
Enter Corin and SiLvius.
Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you still.
Sil. O Corin, that lliou knew'st how I do love her !
9 Blood turned from it» natural course
' A piece of money stamped with a cross.
O 4
200
AS YOU LIKE IT.
Act II.
Cor. I partly guess ; for I have lov'd ere now.
SU. No, Corin, being old thou canst not guess ;
Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover
As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow :
But if thy love were ever like to mine;
( As sure I think did never man love so,)
How many actions most ridiculous
Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy ?
Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.
SU. O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily :
If thou remember'st not the slightest folly
That ever love did make thee run into.
Thou hast not lov'd :
Or if thou hast not sat as I do now,
Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise.
Thou hast not lov'd :
Or if thou hast not broke from company.
Abruptly, as my passion now makes me.
Thou hast not lov'd: O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe !
\^Exit SiLvius.
Ros. Alas, poor shepherd ! searching of thy wound,
I have by hard adventure found my own.
Touch. And I mine : We, that are true lovers, run
into strange capers ; but as all is mortal in nature,
so is all nature in love mortal in folly.
Mos. Thou speak'st wiser than thou art 'ware of.
Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own
wit, till I break my shins against it.
Ros. Jove ! Jove ! this shepherd's passion
Is much upon my fashion.
Touch. And mine ; but it grows something stale
with me.
Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man,
If he for gold will give us any food ;
I faint almost to death.
Touch. Holla ; you, clown !
Ros. Peace, fool, he's not thy kinsman.
Cor. Who calls ?
Touch. Your betters, sir.
Cor. Else are they very wretched.
Ros. Peace, I say : —
Good even to you, friend.
Cor. And to you gentk sir, and to you all.
Ros. I pr'ythee, shepherd, if that love, or gold,
Can in this desert place buy entertainment,
Bring us where we may rest ourselves, and feed :
Here's a young maid with travail much oppress'd.
And faints for succour.
Cor. Fair sir, I pity her,
And wish for her sake, more than for mine own,
My fortunes were more able to relieve her ;
But I am shepherd to another man.
And do not shear the fleeces that I graze ;
My master is of churlish disposition.
And little recks 2 to find the way to heaven
By doing deeds of hospitality :
Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed,
Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now.
By reason of his absence, there is nothing
That you will feed on : but what is, come see.
And in my voice most welcome shall you be.
Ros. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture?
Cor. That young swain that you saw here but
erewhile.
That little cares for buying any thing,
Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty.
Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock,
And thou shalt have to pay for it of us.
2 Cares.
Cel. And we will mend thy wages: I like this place,
And willingly could waste my time in it.
Cor. Assuredly, the thing is to be sold ;
Go with me ; if you like upon report,
The soil, the profit, and this kind of life,
I will your very faithful feeder be.
And buy it with your gold right suddenly. [Exeunt.
SCENE V. — The same.
Enter Amiens, Jaques, and others.
^ SONG.
Ami. Under the greenwood tree,
Who loves to lie with me,
And tune his merry note.
Unto the sweet bird's throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither ;
Here shall lie see
No enemy,
But winter and rough weather.
Jaq. More, more, I pr'ythee, more.
Ami. It will make you melancholy, monsieur
Jaques.
Jaq. I thank it. More, I pr'ythee, more. _T ^'•"
suck melancholy out of a song, as a weazel sucks
eggsj^viore, I pr ythee, more.
Ami. My voice is ragged 3 ; I know, I cannot
please you.
Jaq. I do not desire you to please me, I do de-
sire you to sing : Come, more ; another stanza :
Call you them stanzas ?
Ami. What you will, monsieur Jaques.
Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names ; they owe
me nothing : Will you sing ?
Ami. More at your request, than to please myself.
Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll
thank you ; but that they call compliment, is like
the encounter of two dog-apes ; and when a man
thanks me heartily, methinks, I have given him a
penny, and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come,
sing ; and you that will not, hold your tongues.
Ami. Well, I'll end the song. — Sirs, cover the
while ; the duke will drink under this tree : — he
hath been all this day to look you.
Jaq. And I have been all this day to avoid him.
He is too disputable * for my company : I think of
as many matters as he ; but I give heaven thanks,
and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come.
SONG.
Who doth ambition shun, [All together here.
And loves to Hoe i the sun.
Seeking the food he eats.
And pleas' d with what he gets.
Come hither, come hither, come hither ,
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.
Jaq. I'll give you a verse to this note, that I maC
yesterday in despite of my invention.
Ami. And I'll sing it.
Jaq. Thus it goes : —
If it do come to pass.
That any man turn ass.
Leaving his wealth and ease,
A stubborn will to please,
3 Ragged and rugged had formerly the same meaning.
* Disputatious.
Scene VI.
AS YOU LIKE IT.
Ducdame^ ducddme, ducddme ,-
Here shall he see
Gross fools as he,
An if he will, come to me.
Ami. What's that ducddme ?
cirdT Tn ^ ^?^^ invocation, to call fools into a
circle I II go sleep if I can ; if I cannot. I'll rail
against all the first-born of Egypt
prep^^td."""' ''" ^° "^' '^^ ^''^^^ ^- »^-1-t is
\_Exeunt severally.
201
SCENE VI. ^ The same.
Enter Orlando and Adam.
dielbrTnni^'S "^T'i I '^" ^^ "° ^"^^^^ = O, I
die lor food ! Here lie I down, and measure out mv
grave. Farewell, kind master. ^^^^^ out my
thee ?'' u!7' ^Z "°''' ^^™ • "° g'^*^' heart in
I httle If'i "' '^^f^^/ kittle; cheer thyself
a nttle If this uncouth forest yield any thin^
savage, I will either be food for it, or brinl t fo?
food to thee. Thy conceit is neare^ death thai tt
powers. For my sake, be comfortable j hold death
awhile at the arm's end: I will here be w th thee
presently ; and if I bring thee not something to eat!
i come' 1? ^T *° ^f = ''"^ ^ *^«" diesi befc^^
sVh . S , f^ ^ ™°^''^'" °f "^y ^^bour. Well
qu.ckl^^YTt';^^* 'r^^^'^= ^"^ ^'" »^« -'th Vhee
quickly. - Yet thou best m the bleak air : come I
will bear thee to some shelter; and thou shXnot
die for lack of a dinner, if there live any hTn "S
this desert. Cheerly, good Adam ! \Zeun^.
SCENE Vll.^ The same.
A Table set out Enter Dcke Senior, Amikns,
l^ords, and others.
Duke S. I think he be transform'd into a beast •
For I can no where find him like a man. '
Go, «ek lum ; u,U him, I would spe4 ^ft Ur..
Enter Jaqdes.
Is this "'"'' ■»''"™" •' "hit a !ift
w. . '^.7.^ ''^ ^°«^' I "^et a fool ; '
\ n I -.1 "" ,'^°'^" ^"^ hask'd him in the sun
And rail'd on lady Fortune in good terms '
n good set tenns, -and yet alotley S
(^ood morrow fool, quoth I : iVb, «>, quoth he
5tt^'i«i:;:V7*i:t-rr-
■ytlT^ 7 '"'• '^""'^ ^^' ''''«' '''^ ^o^id wags:
I IS but an hour ago, since it was nine; ^
^ d Ihenfrom hour to hour, we rot and Z,
And therebj^ hangs a tale. When I did heir
Made up of discords.
le motley fool thus moral on the time,
y lungs began to crow like chanticleer
lat fools should be so deep contemplative ;
And I did laugh, sans intermission,
'^n hour by his dial. — O noble fool '
worthy fool ! Motley's the only wear."
Duke S. What fool is this ?
Jaq. O worthy fool ! — One that hath been
courtier ;
And says, if ladies be but young, and fair.
They have the gift to know it : and in his brain, --
Which is as dry as the remainder bisket
After a voyage,-he hath strange places cramm'd
With observation, the which he vents
In mangled forms j — O, that I were a fool !
1 am ambitious for a motley coat.
Duke S. Thou shalt have one.
r> • J 1 , ^* is my only suit :
Provuled, that you weed your better judgments
Of all opinion that grows rank in them,
Ihat I am wise. I must have liberty
Withal, as large a charter as the wind,
To blow on whom I please ; for so fools have •
And they that are most galled with my folly.
They most must laugh : And why, sir, must Ihey so?
1 he why is plain as way to parish church : — -—
He, that a fool doth very wisely hit.
Doth very foolishly, although he smart,
Not to seem senseless of the bob : if not,
The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd
Even by the squand'ring glances of the fool.
Invest me in my motley ; give me leave
To speak my 0^1^ I will through and through
Cleanse the foul body of the infected world.
If they will patiently receive my medicine.
Duke S. Fye on thee ! I can tell what thou
would st do.
Jaq. What, for a counter, would I do, but good?
Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin •
l<or thou thyself hast been a Ubertine.
Jizy. Why, who cries out on pride.
That can therein tax any private party ?
Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea.
Till that the very means do ebb ?
What woman in the city do I name.
When that I say. The city-woman bears
The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders ?
Who can come in, and say, that I mean her,
Wheirsuch a one as she, such is her neighbour?
Or what is he of basest function.
That says, his bravery 7 is not on my cost,
Vr- '1?''*"^ ^^^^ ^ ™^^" hJm») but therein suits
His folly to the mettle of my speech ?
There then; How, what then? Let me see wherein
My tongue hath wrong'd him : if it do him right,
Ihen he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free.
Why then, my taxing like a wild goose flies,
Unclaim'd of any man. — But who comes here ?
Enter Orlando, with his suford drawn.
Orl. Forbear, and eat no more.
^J^,' XT ,. , ^hy, I have eat none yet.
Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd.
Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of?
Duke S. Art thou thus boldcn'd, man, by thy
distress ;
Or else a rude despiser of good manners,
That m civility thou seem'st so empty ?
' Jinct^' **" •'"'^'^""y ^'^^'^ '" a party-coloured coat
202
AS YOU LIKE IT.
Act II. Scene VII
Orl. You touch'd my vein at first ; the thorny
point
Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show
Of smooth civility : yet am I inland bred,
And know some nurture : But forbear, I say ;
He dies, that touches any of this fruit,
Till I and my affairs are answered.
Jaq. An you will not be answered with reason,
I must die.
Duke S. What would you have ? Your gentle-
ness shall force
More than your force move us to gentleness.
Orl I almost die for food, and let me have it.
Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our
table.
Orl Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you,
I thought that all things had been savage here ;
And therefore put I on the countenance
Of stern commandment : But whate'er you are,
That in this desert inaccessible,
Under the shade of melancholy boughs.
Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time j
If ever you have look'd on better dayi ;
If ever been where bells have knoll' d to church ;
If ever sat at any good man's feast ;
If ever from your eyelids wip'd a tear,
And know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied ;
Let gentleness my strong enforcement be :
In the which hope, I blush, and hide my sword.
Duke S. True is it that we have seen better days ,
And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church ;
And sat at good men's feasts ; and wip'd our eyes
Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd :
And therefore sit you down in gentleness.
And take upon command what help we have.
That to your wanting may be minister'd.
Orl Then, but forbear your food a little while,
Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn,
And give it food. There is an old poor man,
Who after me hath many a weary step
Limp'd in pure love ; till he be first suffic'd, —
Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger, —
X vnW. not touch a bit.
Duke S. Go find him out.
And we will nothing waste till your return.
Orl I thank ye ; and be bless'd for your good
comfort ! \_Exit.
Duke S. Thou seest, we are not all alone unhappy :
This wide and universal theatre
Presents more woeful pageants than the scene
Wherein we play in.
Jaq. All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players :
They have their exits, and their entrances ;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms ;
And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school : And then, the lover ;
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow : Then, a soldier ;
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard.
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth : And then, the justice ;
In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern 8 instances,
And so he plays his part : The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon j
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ;
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice.
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound : Last scene of all
That ends this strange eventful history.
Is second childishness, and mere oblivion ;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.
Re-enter Orlando, imth Adam.
Duke S. Welcome : set down your venerable
burden,
And let him feed.
Orl I thank you most for him.
Adam. So had you need ;
I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.
Duke S. Welcome, fall to : I will not trouble you
As yet, to question you about your fortunes ; —
Give us some musick ; and, good cousin, sing.
Amiens sings.
SONG.
I.
Slow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As mans ingratitude ;
Thy tooth is not so keen.
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho ! unto the green holly :
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly :
Then, heigh, ho, the holly !
This life is most jolly.
IL
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot :
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remember d 9 not.
Heigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho ! ^c.
Duke S. If that you were the good sir Rowland's
son, —
As you have whisper'd faithfully, you were j"
And as mine eye doth his eflSgies witness
Most truly limn'd, and living in your face, —
Be truly welcome hither : I am the duke,
That lov'd your father : The residue of your fortune
Go to my cave and tell me. — Good old man.
Thou art right welcome as thy master is :
Support him by the arm. — Give me your hand.
And let me all your fortunes understand. [JExeunt
I
I
Trite, common.
» Remembering.
«l
Act III. Scene I
AS YOU LIKE IT
203
ACT III.
SCENE I.— A Room in the Palace.
Enter Duke Frederick, Oliver, Lords, and
/Attendants.
Duke F. Not see him since ? Sir, sir, that cannot
be:
But were I not the better part made mercy,
I should not seek an absent argument
Of my revenge, thou present : But look to it ;
Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is :
Seek him with candle ; bring him dead or living,
"Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more
To seek a living in our territory.
Thy lands, and all things that thou dost call thine.
Worth seizure, do we seize into our hands ;
Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth,
Of what we think against thee.
on O, that your highness knew my heart in this !
I never lov'd my brother in my life.
Duke F. More villain thou. — Well, push him
out of doors ;
And let my officers of such a nature
Make an extent ' upon his house and lands :
Do this expediently «, and turn him going. {Exeunt.
SCENE II. — 77t« Forest.
Enter Orlando, with a paper.
Orl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love :
And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey
With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above,
Thy huntress' name, that my full life doth sway.
O Rosalind ! these trees shall be my books,
And in their barks my thoughts I'll character ;
That every eye, which in this forest looks.
Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where.
Run, run, Orlando ; carve, on every tree,
The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive 3 she. {^Exit.
Enter Corin and Touchstone.
Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life,
master Touchstone ?
Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is
a good Life ; but in respect that it is a shepherd's
life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I
like it very well ; but in respect that it is private,
it is a very vile life. Now in respect it is in the
fields, it pleaseth me well ; but in respect it is not
in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life, look
you, it fits my humour well ; but as there is no more
plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach.
Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd?
Cor. No more, but that I know, the more one
sickens, the worse at ease he is ; and that he that
wants money, means, and content, is without three
good friends : — That the property of rain is to wet,
and fire to bum : That good pasture makes fat
sheep ; and that a great cause of the night, is lack
of the sun : That he, that hath learned no wit by
nature nor art, may complain of good breeding, or
comes of a very dull kindred.
Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher.
Wast ever in court, shepherd ?
Cor. No, sir ; I am a true labourer ; I earn that
S<'izure.
2 Expeditiously.
9 Incxpretsiblc.
I eat, get that I wear ; owe no man hate, envy no
man's happiness ; glad of other men's good, content
with my harm : and the greatest of my pride is, to
see my ewes graze, and my lambs suck. — Here
comes young master Ganymede, my new mistress's ^
brother.
Enter Rosalind, reading a paper.
Ros. From the east to western Ind,
No jewel is like Rosalind,
Her worth, being Tnounted on the wind.
Through all the world bears Rosalind
All the pictures, fairest lin*dS
Are but black to Rosalind,
Let no face be kept in mind,
But the fair * of Rosalind.
Touch. I'll rhyme you so, eight years together ;
dinners and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted :
it is the right butter-woman's rank to market.
Ros. Out, fool !
Touch. For a taste :
If a hart do lack a hind.
Let him seek out Rosalind.
If the cat will after kind,
So, be sure, udll Rosalind. \y^
Tliey that reap, must sheaf and bind}
Then to cart with Rosalind.
Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,
Such a nut is Rosalind.
This the very false gallop of vers'es ; Why do you
infect yourself with them ?
Ros. Peace, you dull fool ; I found them on a
tree.
Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.
Ros. I'll grafF it with you, and then I shall graff
it with a medlar : then it will be the earliest fruit in
the country : for you'll be rotten e're you be half
ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medlar.
Touch. You have said ; but whether wisely or no,
let the forest judge.
Eiiter Celia, reading a paper.
Ros. Peace !
Here comes my sister, reading ; stand aside.
Cel. IVhi/ should this desert silent be 9
For it is unpeopled ? No;
Tongues Fll hang on every tree.
That shall civil ^ sayings show.
Some, how brief the life of man /
Runs his erring pilgrimage ;
That the stretching of a span
Buckles in his sum of age.
Some, of violated vows
' Twixt the souls ^friend and friend :
But upon the fairest boughs
Or at every sentence* end.
Will I Rosalinda write;
Teaching all that read, to know
The quintessence of every sprite
Heaven would in little show.
Therefore heaven nature ehargd
That one body should befWd
With all graces wide enlarg'd :
Nature presently di^ilVd
* Ddincatcil.
Complexion, beauty.
Grave, solemn.
204?
AS YOU LIKE IT.
Act III.
Helen s cheek, but not her heart ;
Cleopatra s majesty ;
Atalantas better part ;
Sad Lucretid's modesty.
Thus Rosalind of many parts
By heavenly synod was devis'd ;
Of many faces, eyes, and hearts.
To have the touches'^ dearest jrriz'd.
Heaven would that she these gifts should have.
And I to live and die her slave.
Ros. O most gentle Jupiter ! — what tedious
homily of love have you wearied your parishioners
withal, and never cry'd, Have patience, good people !
Cel. How now ! back friends ; — Shepherd, go
off a little : — Go with him, sirrah.
Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an honour-
able retreat ; though not with bag and baggage, yet
with scrip and scrippage.
([^Exeunt Corin and Touchstone.
Cel. Didst thou hear these verses ?
Ros. O yes, I heard them all, and more too ; for
some of them had in them more feet than the verses
would bear.
Cel. That's no matter ; the feet might bear the
. verses.
f Ros. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not
/ bear themselves without the verse, and therefore stood
^ lamely in the verse.
Cel. But didst thou hear, without wondering how
thy name should be hang'd and carved upon these
trees?
Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the
wonder, before you came ; for look here what I
found on a palm-tree : I was never so be-rhymed
since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat,
which I can hardly remember.
Cel. Trow you, who hath done this ?
Ros. Is it a man ?
Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his
neck : Change you colour ?
Ros. I pr'ythee, who ?
Cel. O lord, lord ! it is a hard matter for friends
to meet : but mountains may be removed with earth-
quakes, and so encounter.
Ros. Nay, but who is it ?
Cel. Is it possible ?
Ros. Nay, I pray thee now, with most petitionary
vehemence, tell me who it is,
Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonder-
ful wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after
that out of all whooping !
Ros. Good my complexion ! dost thou think,
though I am caparison'd like a man, I have a doublet
and hose in my disposition ? One inch of delay more
is a South-sea-off discovery. I pr'ythee, tell me,
who is it ? quickly, and speak apace : I would thou
couldst stammer, that thou mightst pour this con-
cealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of
narrow-mouth'd bottle ; either too much at once, or
none at all. I pr'ythee take the cork out of thy
mouth, that I may drink thy tidings. — What man-
ner of man ? Is his head worth a hat, or his chin
worth a beard ?
Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard.
Ros. Why, let me stay the growth of his beard,
if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin,
Cel. It is young Orlando; that tripp'd up the
wrestler's heels, and your heart, both in an instant.
f Features
Ros. Nay, no mocking ; speak sad brow, and
true maid. 8
Cel. V faith, coz, 'tis he.
Ros. Orlando?
Cel. Orlando.
Ros. Alas the day ! what shall I do with my
doublet and hose ? — What did he, when thou saw'st
him ? What said he ? How look'd he ? Wherein
went he ? 9 What makes he here ? Did he ask for
me ? Where remains he ? How parted he with thee ?
and when slialt thou see him again ? Answer me in
one word.
Cel. You must borrow me Garagantua's ' mouth
first : 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this
age's size : To say, ay, and no, to these particulars,
is more than to answer in a catechism.
Ros. But doth he know that I am in this forest,
and in man's apparel ? Looks he as freshly as he did
the day he wrestled ?
Cel. It is as easy to count atomies "-, as to resolve
the propositions of a lover : — but take a taste of
my finding him, and relish it with a good observance,
I found him under a tree, like a dropp'd acorn.
Ros. It may well be called Jove's tree, when it
drops forth such fruit.
Cel. Give me audience, good madam.
Ros. Proceed.
Cel. There lay he, stretch'd along like a wounded
knight.
Ros. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it
well becomes the ground.
Cel. Cry, holla ! to thy tongue, I pr'ythee ; it
curvets very unseasonably. He was furnish'd like
a hunter.
Ros. O ominous ! he comes to kill my heart.
Cel. I would sing my song without a burden :
thou bring'st me out of tune.
Ros. Do you not know I am a woman ? when I
think, I must speak. Sweet, say on.
Enter Orlando and Jaques.
Cel. You bring me out : — Soft ! comes he not
here?
Ros. 'Tis he ; slink by, and note him.
[Celia and Rosalind retire.
Jaq. I thank you for your company ; but, good
faith, I had as lief have been myself alone.
Orl. And so had I ; but yet, for fashion sake, I
thank you too for your society.
Jaq. Peace be with you j let's meet as little as
we can.
Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers.
Jaq. I pray you, mar no more trees with writing
love-songs in their barks.
Orl. I pray you, mar no more of my verses with
reading them ill-favouredly,
Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name ?
Orl. Yes, just
Jaq. I do not like her name.
Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you, when
she was christen'd.
Jnq. What stature is she of?
Orl. Just as high as my heart.
Jaq. You are full of pretty answers : Have you
not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and
conn'd them out of rings ?
Orl. Not so; but I answer you right painted
II
8 Speak seriously and honestly.
' The giant of Rabelais.
^ How was he dressed ?
2 Atoms.
^1
Scene II.
AS YOU LIKE IT.
205
cloth'', from whence you have studied your ques-
tions.
Jaq. You have a nimble wit ; I tliink it was made
of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me?
and we two will rail against our mistress the world,
and all our misery.
Orl. I will chide no breather in the world, but
myself; against whom I know most faults.
Jaq. The worst fault you have, is to be in love.
Orl. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best
virtue. I am weary of you.
Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool, when I
found you.
Orl. He is drown'd in the brook ; look but in,
and you shall see him.
Jaq. There shall I see mine own figure.
Orl. Which I take to be either a fool, or a
cipher.
Jaq. I'll tarry no longer with you : farewell, good
signior love.
Orl. I am glad of your departure ; adieu, good
monsieur melancholy.
\Exit Jaquks. — Celia amd Rosalind
come forward.
Hos. I will speak to him like a saucy lacquey,
and under that habit play the knave with him. —
Do you hear, forester ?
Orl. Very well ; what would you ?
Ros. I pray you, what is't a clock ?
Orl. You should ask me what time o'day ; there's
no clock in the forest.
Ros. Then there is no true lover in the forest ;
else sighing every minute, and groaning every hour,
would detect the lazy foot of time, as well as a clock.
Orl. And why not the swift foot of time ? had not
that been as proper?
Ros. By no means, sir : Time travels in divers
paces with divers persons : I'll tell you who time
ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time
gallops withal, and who he stands still withal.
Orl. I pr*ythee, who doth he trot withal ?
Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid,
between the contract of her marriage, and the day
it is solemnized : if the interim be but a se'nnight,
time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of
seven years.
Orl. Who ambles time withal ?
Ros. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich
man that hath not the gout ; for the one sleeps
easily, because he cannot study; and the other lives
merrily, because he feels no pain : the one lacking
the burden of lean and wasteful learning ; the other
knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury : Tliese
time ambles withal.
Orl. Who doth he gallop withal ?
Ros. With a thief to the gallows ; for though he
go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too
soon there.
Orl. Who stays it still withal?
Ros. With lawyers in the vacation : for they sleep
between term and term, and then they perceive not
how time moves.
Orl. Where dwell you pretty youth?
Ros. With this shepherdess, my sister ; here in the
skirts of the forest.
Orl. Are you a native of this place ?
Ros. As the rabbit, that you see dwell where she
is kindled.
'An allusion to the moral sentences iMUing from the mouths
of figures on old tapestry hangings.
Orl. Your accent is something finer than you
could purchase in so removed a dwelling.
Ros. I have been told so of many : but, indeed,
an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak,
who was in his youth an in-land man ; one that
knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I
have heard him read many lectures against it ; and
I thank fortune, I am not a woman, to be touch'd
with so many giddy offences as he hath generally
tax'd their whole sex withal.
Orl. Can you remember any of the principal evils,
that he laid to the charge of women ?
Ros. There were none principal ; they were all
like one another, as half-pence are : every one fault
seeming monstrous, till his fellow fault came to
match it.
Orl. I pr'ythee recount some of them.
Ros. No ; I will not cast away my physick, but
on those that are sick. There is a man haunts the
forest, that abuses our young plants with carving
Rosalind on their barks ; hangs odes upon hawthorns,
and elegies on brambles ; all, forsooth, deifying the
name of Rosalind : if I could meet that fancy-
monger, I would give him some good counsel, for he
seems to have the quotidian of love upon him.
Orl. I am he that is so love-shaked ; I pray you,
tell me your remedy.
Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you :
he taught me how to know a man in love ; in which
cage of rushes, I am sure, you are not prisoner.
Orl. What were his marks ?
Ros. A lean cheek ; which you have not : a blue
eye, and sunken ; which you have not : an un-
questionable spirit* ; which you have not : a beard
neglected ; which you have not : — but I pardon you
for that ; for, simply, your having * in beard is a
younger brother's revenue : — Then your hose should
be ungarter'd, your bonnet unhanded, your sleeve
unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and every thing about
you demonstrating a careless desolation. But you
are no such man ; you are rather point-device ^ in
your accoutrements ; as loving yourself, than seem-
ing the lover of any other.
Orl. Fair youth, I would I could make tliee be-
lieve I love.
Ros, Me believe it ? you may as soon make her
that you love believe it ; which, I warrant, she is
apter to do, than to confess she does : that is one of
the points in the which women still give the lie to
their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he
that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind
is so admired?
Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of
Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he.
Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymes
speak ?
Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how
much.
Ros. Love is merely a madness ; and, I tell you,
deserves as well a dark house and a whip, as mad-
men do : and the reason why they are not so punish-
ed and cured, is, that the lunacy is so ordinary, that
the whippers are in love too : Yet I profess curing
it by counsel.
Orl. Did you ever cure any so ?
Ros. Yes, one ; and in this manner. He was to
imagine me his love, his mistress; and I set him
every day to woo me : At which time would I, being
* A spirit averse to conversation.
« Over- exact.
* Estate.
206
AS YOU LIKE IT.
Act III.
but a moonish? youth, grieve, be effeminate, change-
able, longing, and liking ; proud, fantastical, apish,
shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles ; for
every passion something, and for no passion truly
any thing, as boys and women are for the most part
cattle of this colour ; would now like him, now
loath him ; then entertain him, then forswear him ;
now weep for him, then laugh at him, that I drave
my suitor from his mad humour of love, to a living
humour of madness ; which was, to forswear the full
stream of the world, and to live in a nook merely
monastick : And thus I cured him ; and this way
will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean as
a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be one
spot of love in't.
Orl. 1 would not be cured, youth.
Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call
me Rosalind, and come every day to my cote, and
woo me.
Orl, Now by the faith of my love, I will j tell me
where it is.
Ros. Go with me to it, and I'll show it you ;
and, by the way, you shall tell me where in the
forest you live : Will you go ?
Orl. With all my heart, good youth.
Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind : — Come,
sister, will you go ? [^Exeunt.
SCENE III. — The same.
Enter Touchstone and Audrey ; Jaques at a
distance, observing them.
Touch. Come apace, good Audrey : I will fetch
up your goats, Audrey : And how, Audrey ? am
I the man yet? Doth my simple feature content you ?
Aud. Your features ! what features ?
Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the
most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the
Goths.
Jaq. O knowledge ill-inhabited ! 8 worse than
Jove in a thatch'd house ! {^Aside.
Touch. When a man's verses cannot be under-
stood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the for-
ward child, understanding, it strikes a man more
dead than a great reckoning in a little room : —
Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical.
Aud. I do not know what poetical is : Is it honest
in deed, and word ? Is it a true thing ?
Touch. No, truly ; for the truest poetry is the
most feigning ; and lovers are given to poetry ; and
what they swear in poetry, may be said, as lovers,
they do feign.
Aud. Do you wish then, that the gods had made
me poetical?
Touch. I do, truly : for thou swearest to me,
thou art honest ; now, if thou wert a poet, I might
have some hope thou didst feign.
Aud. Would you not have me honest ?
Touch. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favour'd :
for honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a
sauce to sugar.
Jaq. A material fool ! 9 [Aside.
Aud. Well, I am not fair ; and therefore I pray
the gods make me honest !
Touch. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a
foul slut, were to put good meat into an unclean dish.
Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods
I am foul. I
7 Variable.
* A fool with matter in him.
« Ill-lodged.
1 Homely.
Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness I
sluttishiiess may come hereafter. But be as it may
be, I will marry thee : and to that end, I have been
with sir Oliver Mar-text, tlie vicar of the next vil-
lage ; who hath promised to meet me in this place
of the forest, and to couple us.
Jag. I would fain see this meeting. \^Amle.
Aud. Well, tlie gods give us joy !
Touch. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fear-
ful heart, stagger in this attempt ; for here we have
no temple but the wood, no assembly but horn-
beasts. But what though ? Courage ! As horns are
odious, they are necessary. It is said, — Many a man
knows no end of his goods : right ; many a man has
good horns, and knows no end of them. Well, that
is the dowry of his wife ; 'tis none of his own getting.
Horns ? Even so : Poor men alone ; No,
no ; the noblest deer hath them as huge as the
rascal. 2 Is the single man therefore blessed ? No :
as a wall'd town is more worthier than a village, so
is the forehead of a married man more honourable
than the bare brow of a bachelor : and by how much
defences is better than no skill, by so much is a
horn more precious than to want.
Enter Sir Oliver Mar-text.
Here comes sir Oliver : — Sir Oliver Mar- text, you
are well met : Will you despatch us here under this
tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel ?
Sir OH- Is there none here to give the woman ?
Touch. I will not take her on gift of any man.
Sir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the mar-
riage is not lawful.
Jaq. [Discovering himself.] Proceed, proceed ;
I'll give her.
Touch. Good even, good master IFliat ye calCt :
How do you, sir? You are very well met: I am
very glad to see you : — Even a toy in hand here,
sir : — Nay ; pray be cover'd.
Jaq. Will you be married, motley ?
T'ouch. As the ox hath his bow ^, sir, the horse
his curb, and the falcon he^ bells, so man hath his
desire towards wedlock. '^
Jaq. And will you, being a man of your breeding,
be married under a bush, Uke a beggar ? Get you to
church, and have a good priest that can tell you
what marriage is : this fellow will but join you to-
gether as they join wainscot ; then one of you will
prove a shrunk pannel, and, like green timber,
warp, warp.
Touch. I am not in the mind but I were better
to be married of him than of another : for he is not
like to marry me well ; and not being well married,
it will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave
my wife. [Aside.
Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.
Touch. Come, sweet Audrey ;
Farewell, good master Oliver !
Not — O sweet Oliver,
O brave Oliver,
Leave me not belli' thee ;
But — Wind away.
Begone, I say,
I will not to wedding wi' thee.
[Exeunt Jaq. Touch, and Audret.
Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave
of them all shall flout me out of my calling. [Eiit.
2 Lean deer are called rascal deer. 3 The art of fencing.
4 Yoke.
Scene IV.
AS YOU LIKE IT.
207
I
SCENE IV. — Before a Cottage.
Enter Rosalind and Celia.
Ros. Never talk to me, I will weep.
Cel. Do, I pr'ythee ; but yet have the grace to
consider, that tears do not become a man.
Ros. But have I not cause to weep ?
Cel. As good cause as one would desire ; there-
fore weep.
Ros. Why did he swear he would come this morn-
ing, and comes not?
Cel. Nay certainly, there is no truth in him.
Ros. Do you think so?
Cel. Yes : I think he is not a pick-purse, nor a
horse-stealer ; but for his verity in love, I do think
him as concave as a cover'd goblet, or a worm-
eaten nut.
Ros. Not true in love ?
Cel. Yes, when he is in ; but, I think he is not in.
Ros. You have heard him swear downright, he was.
Cel. IVas is not is : besides the oath of a lover
is no stronger than the word of a tapster ; they are
both the confirmers of false reckonings, : He attends
here in the forest on the duke your father.
Ros. I met the duke yesterday, and had much
question * with him : He asked me, of what parent-
age I was : I told him, of as good as he ; so he
laugh 'd, and let me go. But what talk we of fathers,
when there is such a man as Orlando ?
Cel. O, that's a brave man ! he writes brave
verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and
breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the
heart of his lover ; as a puny tilter, that spurs his
horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble
goose ; but all's brave, that youth mounts, and folly
guides : — Who comes here ?
JEnter Corny.
Cor. Mistress, and master, you have oft enquired
After the shepherd that complain'd of love ;
Who you saw sitting by me on the turf.
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
That was his mistress.
Cel. Well, and what of him ?
Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd,
Between the pale complexion of true love
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain.
Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you,
If you will mark it.
Ros. O, come, let us remove ;
The sight of lovers feedeth those in love : —
Bring us unto this sight, and you shall say
I'll prove a busy actor in their play [Exeunt.
.SCENE V. — Another Part of the Forest.
Enter Silvius and Fhebe.
SU. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Fhebe:
Say, that you love me not ; but say not so
In bitterness : The common executioner.
Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes
hard,
Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck,
But first begs pardon : Will you sterner be
Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?
Enter Rosalind, Cf.lia, and Corin, at a distance.
Phe. I would not be thy executioner ;
I fly thee, for I would not injure liiee.
* Convcr«alion.
n
Thou tell'st me, there is murder in mine eye :
'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable.
That eyes, — tliat are the frail'st and softest thinj
Who shut their coward gates on atomies, -
Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart ;
And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee;
Now counterfeit to swoon ; why now fall down ;
Or, if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame,
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers.
Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee:
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
Some scar of it ; lean but upon a rush.
The cicatrice and capable impressure
Thy palm some moment keeps : but now mine eyes,
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not ;
Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes
That can do hurt.
SU. O dear Fhebe,
If ever, (as that ever may be near,)
You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy"
Then shall you know the wounds invisible
That love's keen arrows make.
Phe. But, till that time.
Come not thou near me; and, when that time comes.
Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not ;
As, till that time, I shall not pity thee.
Ros. And why, I pray you? [Advancing.'] Who
might be your mother.
That you insult, exult, and all at once.
Over the wretched ? What though you have more
beauty,
(As, by my faidi, I see no more in you
Than without candle may go dark to bed,)
Must you be therefore proud and pitiless ?
Why, what means thij ? Why do you look on me ?
I see no more in you, than in the ordinary
Of nature's sale-work : — Od's my little life !
I think, she means to tangle my eyes too : —
No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it ;
'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair.
Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my spirits to your worship. —
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her.
Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain ?
You are a thousand times a propercr man,
Than she a woman : 'Tis such fools as you,
That make the world full of ill-favour'd children :
'Tis not her glass, but you that flatters her ;
And out of you she sees herself more proper,
Than any of her lineaments can show her. —
But, mistress, know yourself; down on your knees.
And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love :
For I must tell you friendly in your ear, —
Sell when you can ; you are not for all markets :
Cry the man mercy ; love him ; take his offer ;
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.
So take her to thee, shepherd ; — fare you well.
Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year to-
gether ;
I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo.
Ros. He's fallen in love witli her foulness, and
she'll fall in love with my anger : If it be so, as
fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll
sauce her with bitter words. — Why look you so
upon me ?
Phe. For no ill will I bear you.
Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love witli me.
For I am falser than vows made in wine :
6 I.OVC
208
AS YOU LIKE IT.
Act IV.
Besides, 1 like you not : If you will know my house,
'Tis at the tuft of olives, here hard by : —
Will you go, sister ? — Shepherd, ply her hard : —
Come, sister : — Shepherdess, look on him better,
And be not proud : though all the world could see,
None could be so abus'd in sight as he.
Come to our flock.
[Exeunt Rosalind, Celia, and Corin.
Phe. Dead shepherd! now I find thy saw of might;
WTio ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight ?
SU. Sweet Phebe, —
Phe. Ha ! what say'st thou, Silvius ?
SU. Sweet Phebe, pity me.
Phe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.
SU. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be ;
If you do sorrow at my grief in love.
By giving love, your sorrow and my grief
Were both extermin'd.
Phe. Thou hast my love : Is not that neighbourly?
SU. I would have you.
Phe. Why, that were covetousness.
Silvius, the time was, that I hated thee ;
And yet it is not, that I bear thee love :
But, since that thou canst talk of love so well,
Thy company, which erst was irksome to me,
I will endure ; and I'll employ thee too :
But do not look for further recompense.
Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd.
SU. So holy, and so perfect is my love,
And I in such a poverty of grace,
That I shall think it a most plenteous crop
To glean the broken ears after the man
That the main harvest reaps : lose now and then
A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon.
Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me
ere while ?
SU. Not very well, but I have met him oft ;
And he hath bought the cottage, and the bounds.
That the old car lot 8 once was master of.
Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him;
'Tis but a peevish 9 boy : — yet he talks well ; —
But what care I for words? yet words do well,
When he that speaks them pleases those that hear
It is a pretty youth : — not very pretty : —
But, sure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes him;
He'll make a proper man : the best thing in him
Is his complexion ; and faster than his tongue
Did make offence, his eye did heal it up.
He is not tall ; yet for his years he's tall :
His leg is but so so ; and yet 'tis well :
There was a pretty redness in his lip ;
A little riper and more lusty red
Than that mix'd in his cheek ; 'twas just tl
difference
Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask.
There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd hii
In parcels as I did, would have gone near
To fall in love with him : but, for my part,
I love him not, nor hate him not ; and yet
I have more cause to hate him than to love him
For what had he to do to chide at me ?
He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair black j
And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me :
I marvel, why I answer'd not again :
But that's all one ; omittance is no quittance.
I'll write to him a very taunting letter,
And thou shalt bear it : Wilt thou, Silvius ?
SU. Phebe, with all my heart.
Phe. I'll write it straight \
The matter's in my head, and in my heart :
I will be bitter with him, and passing short :
Go with me, Silvius. [Exeur
ACT IV.
SCENE I. — The same.
Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Jaques.
Jaq. I pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better
acquainted with thee.
Ros. They say you are a melancholy fellow.
Jaq. I am so ; I do love it better than laughing.
Ros. Those that are in extremity of either, are
abominable fellows ; and betray themselves to every
modern censure, worse than drunkards.
Jaq. Wliy, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.
Ros. Why then, 'tis good to be a post.
Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy,
which is emulation ; nor the musician's, which is
fantastical ; nor the courtier's, which is proud ; nor
the soldier's, which is ambitious ; nor the lawyer's,
which is politick ; nor the lady's, which is nice 1 ;
nor the lover's, which is all these : but it is a melan-
choly of mine own, compounded of many simples,
extracted from many objects : and, indeed, the
sundry comtemplation of my travels, in which my
often rumination wraps me, is a most humorous
sadness.
Ros. A traveller ! By my faith, you have great
reason to be sad : I fear, you have sold your own
lands, to see other men's ; then, to have seen much,
? Trifling.
and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and pc
hands.
Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience.
Enter Orlando.
Ros. And your experience makes you sad : I
had rather have a fool to make me merry, than
experience to make me sad; and to travel for it too.
Orl. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind !
Jaq. Nay then, farewell, an you talk in blank
verse. [ExU.
Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller: Look, you
lisp, and wear strange suits ; disable ' all the benefits
of your own country ; be out of love with your na-
tivity, or I will scarce think you have swam in a
gondola. — Why, how now, Orlando ! where have
you been all this while ? You a lover ? — An you
serve me such another trick, never come in my
sight more.
Orl. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hoi
of my promise.
Ros. Break an hour's promise in love ? He that
will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and
break but a part of the thousandth part of a minute
in the affairs of love, it may be said of him, that
Cupid hath clapp'd him o'the shoulder, but I war-
rant him hear^ whole.
8 Peasant ^ Silly. ' Undervalue.
^1
Scene I.
AS YOU LIKE IT.
209
I
Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind.
llos. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in
my sight ; I had as lief be woo'd of a snail.
Orl. Of a snail?
Rus. Ay, of a snail ; for though he comes slowly,
he carries his house on his head ; a better jointure,
I think, tlian you can make a woman : Besides, he
brings his destiny with him.
Orl. What's that ?
Jios. Why, horns.
Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker ; and my Rosalind
is virtuous.
Ros. And I am your Rosalind.
Cel. It pleases him to call you so ; but he hath
a Rosalind of a better leer * than you.
Ros. Come, woo me, woo me ; for now I am in
a holiday humour, and like enough to consent :
What would you say to me now, an I were your
very very Rosalind ?
Orl. I would kiss, before I spoke.
Ros. Nay, you were better speak first ; and when
you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might
take occasion to kiss.
Orl. How, if the kiss be denied ?
Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there
begins new matter.
Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved
mistress ?
Ros. Marry, tliat should you, if I were your
mistress.
Orl. What, of my suit ?
Ros. Out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind ?
Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because I
would be talking of her.
Ros. Well, in her person, I say — I will not have
you.
Orl. Then, in mine own person, I die.
Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world
is almost six thousand years old, and in all this
time there was not any man died in his own person,
videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains
dashed out with a Grecian club ; yet he did what
he could to die before ; and he is one of the pat-
terns of love. Leander, he would have lived many
a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had
not been for a hot midsummer night: for, good
youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hel-
lespont, and being taken with the cramp, was
drowned; and the foolish chroniclers of that age
found it was — Hero of Sestos. But these are all
lies ; men have died from time to time, and worms
have eaten them, but not for love.
Orl. I would not have my right Rosalind of this
mind ; for, I protest, her frown might kill me.
Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a fly : But
come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more com-
ing-on disposition; and ask me what you will, I
will grant it.
Orl. Then love me, Rosalind.
Ros. Yes,faith will I, Fridays, and Saturdays,and all.
Orl. And wilt thou have me ?
Ros. Ay, and twenty such.
Orl. What say'st thou ?
Ros. Are you not good ?
Ori. I hope so.
Ros. Why then, can orte desire too much of a
good thing? — Come, sister, you shall be the priest,
and marry us. — Give me your hand, Orlando ; —
What do you say, sister ?
3 Complexion.
Orl. Pray thee, marry us.
Cel. I cannot say the words.
Ros. You must begin, — WUlyou^ Orlando^ —
Cel. Go to ; — Will you, Orlando, have to wife
this Rosalind?
Orl. I will.
Ros. Ay, but when?
Orl. Why now ; as fast as she can marry us.
Ros. Then you must say, — / take thecj Rosalind,
for wife.
Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.
Ros. I might ask you for your commission ;
but, — I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband :
There a girl goes before the priest ; and, certainly,
a woman's thought runs before her actions.
Orl. So do all thoughts ; they are winged
Ros. Now tell me how long you would have her,
after you have married her.
Orl. For ever and a day.
Ros. Say a day, without the ever : No, no, Or-
lando ; men are April when they woo, December
when they wed : maids are May when they are
maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I
will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-
pigeon over his hen ; more clamorous than a parrot
against rain ; more new-fangled than an ape ; more
giddy than a monkey : I will weep for nothing, like
Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you
are disposed to be merry ; I will laugh like a hyen,
and that when thou art inclined to sleep.
Orl. But will my Rosalind do so ?
Ros. By my life, she will do as I do.
Orl. O, but she is wise.
Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do
this: the wiser, the way warder: Make tlie doors 3
upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the case-
ment ; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole ;
stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chim-
ney.
Orl. A man that had a wife viith such a wit, he
might say, — Wit whither unit ?
Ros. You shall never take her without her an-
swer, unless you take her without her tongue.
Orl. For diese two hours, Rosalind, I will leave
thee.
Ros. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours.
Orl. I must attend tlie duke at dinner ; by two
o'clock I will be with thee again.
Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways; — I knew
what you would prove ; my friends told me as much,
and I thought no less : — that flattering tongue of
yours won me : — 'tis but one cast away, and so, —
come, death. — Two o'clock is your hour ?
Orl. Ay, sweet Rosalind.
Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and by
all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break
one jot of your promise, or come one minute be-
hind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical
break-promise, and the most hollow lover, and the
most unwortliy of her you call Rosalind, that may
be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful :
therefore, beware my censure, and keep your pro-
mise.
Ori. With no less religion, tlian if tliou wert in-
deed my Rosalind : So adieu.
Ros. Well, time is the old justice that examines
all such ofienders, and let time try : Adieu.
[Exit Orlando.
Cd. You have simply misus'd our sex in your
' Bar the door*.
P
9A0
AS YOU LIKE IT.
Act IV'
love-prate : we must have your doublet and hose
plucked over your head.
lios. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that
thou did'st know how many fathom deep I am in
love ! But it cannot be sounded ; my affection hath
an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal.
Cel. Or rather, bottomless; that as fast as you
pour affection in, it runs out.
Ros. No, that same wicked boy of Venus, that
was begot of thought, conceived of spleen, and born
of madness ; that blind rascally boy, that abuses
every one's eyes, because his own are out, let him
be judge, how deep I am in love : — I'll tell thee,
Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando :
I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come.
Cel. And I'll sleep. ^Exeunt.
SCENE II Another Part of the Forest.
Enter Jaques and Lords, in the habit of Foresters.
* Jaq. Which is he that killed the deer?
1 Lord. Sir, it was I.
Jaq. Let's present him to the duke, like a Roman
conqueror ; and it would do well to set the deer's
horns upon his head, for a branch of victory : —
Have you no song, forester, for this purpose ?
2 Lord. Yes, sir.
Jaq. Sing it; 'tis no matter how it be in tune,
so it make noise enough.
SONG.
1. What shall he have that kilVd the deer ?
2. His leather skin ayid horns to wear.
1. Then sing him home :
Tdke thou no scorfi, to wear the horn ; 1 The rest shall
■}•
1. Thy father s father wore it;
2. And thy father bore it :
All. The horn, the horn, the lusty horrid
Ls not a thing to laugh to scorn. [Exeunt.
SCENE III. _ The Forest.
Enter Rosalind and Celia.
Ros. How say you now ? Is it not past two
o'clock ? and here much Orlando !
Cel. I warrant you, with pure love, and troubled
brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows, and is gone
forth — to sleep : Look, who comes here.
Enter Silvius.
SU. My errand is to you, fair youth ; —
My gentle Phebe bid me give you this ;
[Giving a letter.
I know not the contents ; but, as I guess,
By the stern brow, and waspish action
Which she did use as she was writing of it,
It bears an angry tenour : pardon me,
I am but as a guiltless messenger.
Ros. Patience herself would startle at this letter,
And play the swaggerer ; bear tliis, bear all :
She says, I am not fair ; that 1 lack manners ;
She calls me proud; and, that she could not love me
Were man as rare as phoenix ; Od's my will !
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt :
Why writes she so to me? — Well, shepherd, well,
Tiiis is a letter of your own device.
Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents ;
Phebe did write it.
Ros. Come, come, you are a fool,
And turn'd into the extremity of love.
I saw her hand : she has a leathern hand,
A freestone-colour'd hand ; I verily did think
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands ;
She has a huswife's hand : but that's no matter :
I say, she never did invent this letter ;
This is a man's invention, and his hand.
Sil. Sure, it is hers.
Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and cruel style,
A style for challengers ; why she defies me.
Like Turk to Christian : woman's gentle brain
Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention.
Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect
Than in their countenance : — Will you hear the
letter ?
5"^^. So please you, for I never heard it yet j
Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty.
Ros. She Phebes me: Mark how the tyrant
writes.
Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, [Reads,
That a maiden's heart hath burned? —
Can a woman rail thiis ?
Sil. Call you this railing ?
Ros. Why, thy godhead laid apart,
Warr'st thou with a woman's heart 9
Did you ever hear such railing ? —
Whiles the eye of man did woo me,
That could do no vengeance to me. —
Meaning me a beast. —
If the scorn of your bright eyne
Have power to raise such love in mi7ie.
Alack, in me what strange effect
Would they work in mild aspect ?
Whiles you chid me, I did love ,-
How then might your prayers move 9
He, that brings this love to thee,
Little knows this love in me :
And by him seal up thy mind;
Whether that thy youth and kind *
Will the faithful offer take
Of me, and all that I can make ;
Or else by him my love deny.
And then I'll study how to die,
Sil. Call you this chiding?
Cel. Alas, poor shepherd !
Ros. Do you pity him ? no, he deserves no pity.
— Wilt thou love such a woman ? — What, to make
thee an instrument, and play false strains upon
thee ! not to be endured ! — Well, go your way to
her, (for I see, love hath made thee a tame snake,)
and say this to her ; — That if she love me, I charge
her to love thee : if she will not, I will never have
her, unless thou entreat for her. — If you be a true
lover, hence, and not a word ; for here comes more
company. [Exit Silvius.
Enter Oliver.
Oli. Good-morrow, fair ones : Pray you, if you ^
know
Where, in the purlieus of this forest, stands
A sheep-cote, fenc'd about with olive-trees?
Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour
bottom.
The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream,
Left on your right hand, brings you to the place :
■* Nature.
Act V. Scene I.
AS YOU LIKE IT.
211
t
But at this hour the house doth keep itself,
There's none witliin.
Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
Tlicn I should know you by description :
Sucli garments, and such years : The boy is fair,
- Of female favour, and bestows himself
Like a ripe sister : but the woman low.
And browner than her brother. Are not you
The owner of the house I did inquire for?
Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say, we are.
Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both ;
And to that youth, he calls his Rosalind,
He sends this bloody napkin ; Are you he ?
Ros. I am : What must we understand by this ?
OH. Some of my shame ; if you will know of me
What man I am, and how, and why, and where
TJiis handkerchief was stain'd.
Cel. I pray you tell it.
OU. When last the young Orlando parted from
you.
He left a promise to return again
Witliin an hour ; an,d, pacing through the forest,
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy,
Lo, what befell ! he threw his eye aside.
And, mark, what object did present itdelf !
Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age
And high top bald with dry antiquity,
A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,
Lay sleeping on his back : about his neck
A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself.
Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'd
The opening of his mouth ; but suddenly
Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself.
And with indented glides did slip away
Into a bush : under which bush's sliade
A lioness, with udders all drawn dry.
Lay couching, liead on ground, with cat-like watch.
When that the sleejjing man should stir ; for 'tis
Tlie royal disposition of that beast.
To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead :
This seen, Orlando did approach the man,
And found it was his brother, his elder brother.
Cd. O, I have heard him speak of that same bro-
ther;
And he did render * him the most unnatural
Tliat liv'd 'mongst men.
OIL And well he might so do.
For well I know he was unnatural.
Ros. But, to Orlando ; — Did he leave him there.
Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness ?
Oli. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd so:
But kindness, nobler ever than revenge.
And nature, stronger than his just occasion.
Made him give battle to the lioness.
Who quickly fell before him ; in which hurtling ^
From miserable slumber I awak'd.
Cel. Are you his brother ?
Ros* Was it you he rescu'd ?
Cel. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill
him?
on. 'Twas I ; but 'tis not I ; I do not shame
To tell you what I was, since my conversion
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am.
Ros. But for the bloody napkin ? —
Oli. By, andljy.
When from the first to last, betwixt us two.
Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd.
As, how I came into that desert place ;
In brief, he led me lo the gentle duke,
Who gave me fresh array, and entertainment.
Committing me unto my brother's love ;
Who led me instantly unto his cave.
There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm
The lioness had torn some flesh away.
Which all this while had bled ; and now he fainted,
And cry'd, in fainting, upon Rosalind.
Brief, I recover'd him ; bound up his wound ;
And, after some small space, being strong at heart,
He sent me hither, stranger as I am.
To tell this story, that you might excuse
His broken promise, and to give this napkin,
Dy'd in his blood, unto the shepherd youth
That he in sport doth call his Rosalind.
Cel. Why how now, Ganymede? sweet Gany-
mede? \'Ros\i.i'HD faints.
Oli. Many will swoon when they do look on blood.
Cel. There is more in it: — Cousin — Ganymede !
OIL Look, he recovers.
Ros. I would, I were at home.
Cel. We'll lead you thither : —
I pray you, will you take him by the arm?
Oh. Be of good cheer, youth : — You a man ?—
You lack a man's heart.
Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sir, a body would
think this was well counterfeited : I pray you, tell
your brother how well I counterfeited. — Heigh
ho! —
Oli. This was not counterfeit ; there is too great
testimony in your complexion, that it was a passion
of earnest.
Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you.
Oli. Well then, take a good heart, and counter-
feit to be a man.
Ros. So I do : but, i'faith I should have been a
woman by right.
Cel. Come, you look paler and paler ; pray you,
draw homewards : — Good sir, go with us.
OIL That will I, for I must bear answer back
How you excuse my brother, Rosalind.
Ros. I shall devise something : But, I pray you,
commend my counterfeiting to iiim : — Will you go?
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I.— The same.
Enter Touchstone and Audret.
Touch. We shall find a time, Audrey ; patience,
gentle Audrey.
Aud. ' Faith, the priest was good enough, for all
Uie old gentleman's saying.
» Dncribe » Scuffle.
Tottch. A most wicked sir Oliver, Audrey, a most
vile Mar-text. But, Audrey, there is a youtli here
in tlie forest lays claim to you.
Aud. Ay, I know who 'tis ; he hath no interest
in me in the world : here comes the man you mean.
Enter William.
Touch. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown :
P 2
212
AS YOU LIKE IT.
Act V.
By my troth, we that have good wits, have much to
answer for ; we shall be flouting ; we cannot hold.
Will. Good even, Audrey.
yiud. Good even, William.
Will. And good even to you, sir.
Touch. Good even, gentle friend: Cover thy
head, cover thy head ; nay, pr'ythee, be covered.
How old are you, friend ?
Will. Five and twenty, sir.
Touch. A ripe age : Is thy name William?
WUl. William, sir.
Touch. A fair name; SVast bom i' the forest here ?
WUl. Ay, sir. ^
Touch. Art rich ? ^
WUl. 'Faith, sir, so so.
Touch. So, so, is good, very good, very excellent
good ; — and yet it is not ; it is but so, so. Art
thou wise ?
WUl. Ay, sir, 1 have a pretty wit.
Touch. Why, thou say'st well. I do now re-
member a saying ; The fool doth think he is wise, but
the wise man knows himself to be a fool. The heathen
philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a grape,
would open his lips when he put it into his mouth ;
meaning thereljy, that grapes were made to eat, and
lips to open. You do love this maid ?
Will. I do, sir.
Touch. Give me your hand ; Art thou learned ?
Will. No, sir.
Touch. Then learn this of me ; To have, is to
have : For it is a figure in rhetorick, that drink, being
poured out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one
doth empty the other : For all your writers do con
sent, that ipse is he ; now you are not ipse, for I am he.
WUl. Which he, sir?
Touch. He, sir, that must marry this woman :
Therefore, you clown, abandon, — which is in the
vulgar, leave, — the society, — which in the boorish
is company, — of this female, — which in the com-
mon is, — woman, which together is, abandon the
society of this female ; or, clown, thou perishest; or,
to thy better understanding, diest ; to wit, I kill
thee, make thee away, translate thy life into death,
thy liberty into bondage : I will deal in poison with
thee, or in bastinado, or in steel ; I will bandy with
thee in faction ; I will o'er-run thee with policy ; I
will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways j therefore
tremble, and depart.
jiud. Do, good William.
WUl. Rest you merry, sir. / [ExU.
Enter Corin.
Cor. Our master and mistress seek you ; come,
away, away.
Touch. Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey ; — I attend,
I attend. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. -^ The same.
Enter Orlando and Oliver.
Orl. Is't possible, that on so little acquaintance
you should like her ? that, but seeing, you should
love her ? and, loving, woo? and, wooing, she should
grant ? and will you pers^ver to marry her ?
Oli. Neither call the giddiness of it in question,
the poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sud-
den wooing, nor her sudden consenting ; but say
with me, I love Aliena ; say with her, that she loves
me ; consent with both, that we may enjoy each
other : it shall be to your good ; for my father's
house, and all the revenue that was old sir Row-
land's, will I estate upon you, and here live and die
a shepherd.
Enter Rosalind.
Orl. You have my consent. Let your wedding
be to-morrow ; thither will I invite the duke, and
all his contented followers : Go you, and prepare
Aliena ; for, look you, here comes my Rosalind.
Ros. God save you, brother.
Oli. And you, fair sister.
Ros. O, my dear Orlando, how it grieves mc
see thee wear thy heart in a scarf.
Orl. It is my arm.
Ros. 1 thought, thy heart had been wounded wil
the claws of a lion.
Orl. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady.'
Ros. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited
to swoon, when he showed me your handkerchief?
Orl. Ay, and greater wonders than that.
Ros. O, I know where you are : — Nay, 'tis true :
there was never any thing so sudden, but the fight
of two rams, and Caesar's thrasonical brag of — I
came, saw, and overcame : For your brother and my
sister no sooner met, but they looked; no sooner
looked, but they loved ; no sooner loved, but they
sighed ; no sooner sighed, but they asked one an-
other the reason ; no sooner knew the reason, but
they sought the remedy: and in these degrees have
they made a pair of stairs to marriage : they are in
the very wrath of love, and they will together ; clubs
cannot part them.
Orl. They shall be married to-morrow ; and I will
bid the duke to the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a
thing it is to look into happiness through another
man's eyes ! By so much the more shall I to-morrow
be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I
shall think my brother happy, in having what he
wishes for.
Ros. Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your
turn for Rosalind ?
Orl. I can live no longer by thinking.
Ros. I will weary you no longer then with idle
talking. Know of me then, (for now I speak to
some purpose,) that I know you are a gentleman of
good conceit: I speak not this, that you should bear
a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch, I say,
I know you are ; neither do I labour for a greater
esteem than may in some little measure draw a belief
from you, to do yourself good, and not to grace me.
Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange
things : I have, since I was three years old, con-
versed with a magician, most profound in this art.
If you do love Rosalind so near the heart as your
gesture cries it out, when your brother marries
Aliena, shall you marry her : I know into what
straits of fortune she is driven ; and it is not impos-
sible to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, to
set her before your eyes to-morrow, human as she
is, and without any danger.
Orl. Speakest thou in sober meanings ?
Ros. By my life, I do ; which I tender dearly,
though I say I am a magician : Therefore, put you
in your best array, bid your friends ; for if you will
be married to-morrow, you shall ; and to Rosalind,
if you will.
Enter SiLvius and Phebe.
Look, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers.
Phe. Youth, you have done me much ungentleness.
To show the letter that I writ to you.
Ros. I care not, if I have : it is my study,
1
Scene III.
AS YOU LIKE IT.
213
/
To seem despiteful and ungentle to you :
You are there follow'd by a faithful shepherd ;
Look upon him, love him ; he worships you.
Pile. Good shepherd, tell this youth wliat 'tis to
love.
Sil. It is to be all made of sighs and tears ; —
And so am I for Phebe.
Phe. And I for Ganymede.
Orl. And I for Rosalind.
Ros. And I for no woman.
SU. It is to be all made of faith and service ; —
And so am I for Phebe.
Phe. And I for Ganymede.
Orl. And I for Rosalind.
Ros. And I for no woman.
Sil. It is to be all made of fantasy,
All made of passion, and all made of wishes ;
All adoration, duty, and observance,
All humbleness, all patience, and impatience.
All purity, all trial, all observance ; —
And so am I for Phebe.
Phe. And so am I for Ganymede.
Orl. And so am I for Rosalind.
Ros. And so am I for no woman.
Phe. If tliis be so, why blame you me to love
you ? l^To Rosalind.
SU. If this be so, why blame you me to love you ?
{To Phebe.
Orl. If this be so, why blame you me to love you ?
Ros. Who do you speak to, why blame you me to
love yc u ?
Orl. To her, that is not here, nor doth not hear.
Rns. Pray you, no more of this ; 'tis like the
howling of Irish wolves against the moon. — I will
help you, [To Silvius.] if I can: — I would love
you, [To Phebe.] if I could. — To-morrow meet
me all together. — I will marry you, [To Phebe.] if
ever I marry woman, and I'll be married to-morrow :
— I will satisfy you, [To Orlando.] if ever I
satisfied man, and you shall be married to morrow :
— I will content you, f To Silvius.] if what pleases
you contents you, and you shall be married to-
morrow. — As you [To Orlando.] love Rosalind,
meet; — as you [To Silvius.] love Phebe, meet;
and as I love no woman, I'll meet. — So, fare you
well ; I have left you commands.
SU. I'll not fail, if I live.
Phe. Nor I.
Orl. Nor I.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.— TJiesame.
Enter Touchstone and Audrey.
Touch. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey;
to-morrow will we be married.
Aud. I do desire it with all my heart : and hope
it is no dishonest desire, to desire to be a woman of
tlie world.7 Here comes two of the banished duke's
pages.
Enter two Pages.
1 Page. Well met, honest gentleman.
Touch. By my troth, well met : Come, sit, sit, and
a song.
2 Page. We are for you : sit i'the middle.
1 Page. Shall we clap into't roundly, without
hawking, or saying we are hoarse ; which are the
nly prologues to a bad voice ?
2 Page. And both in a tune, like two gipsies on
a horse.
' A married woman.
SONG.
I.
It was a lover, and his luss.
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino.
That o'er the green corn-field did puss.
In the spring time, the onty pretty rank time, ^
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding ;
Sweet lovers love the spring.
II.
This carol they began that hour.
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
How that a life was but afiower
In spring time, &c.
III.
And therefore take the present titne,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino i
For love is crowned with the prime
In spring time, &c.
Touch. Truly, young gentlemen, though there
was no greater matter in the ditty, yet the note was
very untuneable.
1 Page. You are deceived, sir ; we kept time, we
lost not our time. •'
Touch. By my troth, yes ; I count it but time X
lost to hear such a foolish song. Come, Audrey. \/^
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — Another Part of the Forest.
Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, Jaques, Orlando,
Oliver, and Celia.
Duffe S. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy
Can do all this that he hath promised ?
Orl. I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do
not ;
As those that fear they hope, and know they fear.
Enter Rosalind, Silvius, and Phebe.
Ros. Patience once more, whiles our compact is
urg'd: -
You say, if I bring in your Rosalind,
[To the Duke.
You will bestow her on Orlando here ?
Duke S. Tliat would I, had I kingdoms to give
with her.
Ros. And you say, you will have her when I
bring her ? [To Orlando.
Orl. That would I, were I of all kingdoms king.
Ros. You say, you'll marry me, if I be willing ?
[To Phebe.
P/ie. That will I, should I die the hour after.
Ros. But, if you do refuse to marry me.
You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd ?
Phe. So is the bargain.
Ros. You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she will ?
[To Silvius.
iS"/7. Tliough to have her and death were both one
thing.
Ros. I have promis'd to make all this matter even.
Keep ' you your word, O duke, to give your
daughter ; —
You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter : —
Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me ;
Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd : —
Keep your word, Silvius, that you'll marry her.
If she refuse me : — and from hence I go.
To make these doubts all even.
[Exeunt Rosaund and Celia.
P 3
214
AS YOU LIKE IT.
Act V.
Duke S. I do remember in this shepherd-boy
Some lively touches of my daughter's favour.
Orl. My lord, the first time that I ever saw him,
Methought he was a brother to your daughter ;
But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born ;
And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments
Of many desperate studies by his uncle,
Whom he reports to be a great magician,
Obscured in the circle of this forest.
Enter Touchstone and Audrey.
Jaq. There is, sure, another flood toward, and
these couples are coming to the ark ! Here comes a
pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are
called fools.
Touch. Salutation and greeting to you all !
Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome : This is
the motley-minded gentleman, that I have so often
met in the forest; he hath been a courtier, he swears.
Touch. If any man doubt that, let him put me to
my purgation. I have trod a measure 8 ; 1 have flat-
tered a lady ; I have been politick with my friend,
smooth with mine enemy; I have undone three
tailors ; I have had four quarrels, and like to have
fought one.
J(tq. And how was that ta'en up ?
Touch. 'Faith, we met, and found the quarrel
was upon the seventh cause.
Jaq. How seventh cause ? — Good my lord, like
this fellow.
Duke S. I like him very well.
y Touch. Sir ; I desire you of the like. I press in
here, sir, amongst the rest of the country folks, to
swear, and to forswear; according as marriage binds,
and blood breaks : — A poor virgin, sir, an ill-
favoured thing, sir, J)ut mine own ; a poor humour
of mine, sir, to take that that no man else will :
Rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor-
house ; as your pearl, in your foul oyster.
Duke S. By my faith, he is very swift and sen-
tentious.
I Touch. According to the fool's bolt, sir.
Jaq. But, for the seventh cause ; how did you
find the quarrel on the seventh cause ?
Touch. Upon a lie seven times removed ; — Bear
your body more seeming, Audrey : — as thus, sir.
I did dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard ;
he sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut well,
he was in the mind it was : This is called the Retort
courteous. If I sent him word again, it was not well
cut, he would send me word, he cut it to please
himself: This is called the Quip modest. If again,
it was not well cut, he disabled my judgment : This
is call'd the Reply churlish. If again, it was not
well cut, he would answer, I spake not true : This
is call'd the Reproof valiant. If again, it was not
well cut, he would say, I lie : This is called the
Countercheck quarrelsome : and so to the Lie cir-
cumstantial, and the Lie direct.
Jaq. And how oft did you say, his beard was not
well cut ?
Touch. I durst go no further than the Lie cir-
cumstantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie di-
rect ; and so we measured swords and parted.
Jaq. Can you nominate in order now the degrees
of the lie ?
Touch. O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book ;
as you have books for good manners : I will name i
you the degrees. The first, tlie Retort courteous
8 A stately solemn dance.
the second, the Quip modest ; the third, the Reply
churlish; the fourth, the Reproof valiant; the fifth,
the Countercheck quarrelsome ; the sixth, the Lie
with circumstance ; the seventh, the Lie direct.
All these you may avoid but the lie direct ; and
you may avoid that too, with an If. I knew when
seven justices could not take up a quarrel : but when
the parties were met themselves, one of them thought
but of an 7j^ as If you said so, then I saitl so ; and.
they shook hands, and swore brothers. Your If '19
the only peace-maker ; much virtue in If.
Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord ? he's
good at any thing, and yet a fool.
Duke S. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse,
and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.
Enter Hymen, leading Rosalind in womaiis clothes;
and Celia.
Still Musick.
Hym. Then is there mirth in heaven,
When earthly things made even
Atone together.
Good duke, receive thy daughter.
Hymen from heaven brought her,
Yea, brought her hither ;
That thou mightst join her hand with hii
Whose heart within her bosom is.
Ros. To you I give myself, for I am yours.
[To Duke S.
To you I give myself, for I am yours.
[To Orlando.
Duke S. If there be truth in sight, you are my
daughter.
Orl. If there be truth in sight, you are my Ross^
lind.
Phe. If sight and shape be true.
Why then, — my love, adieu !
Ros. I'll have no father, if you be not he : —
[ To Duke S.
I'll have no husband, if you be not he : —
[To Orlando.
Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she.
[To Phebe.
Hym. Peace, ho ! I bar confusion :
'Tis I must make conclusion
Of these most strange events :
Here's eight that must take hands.
To join in Hymen's bands.
If truth holds true contents. 9
You and you no cross shall part :
[To Orlando anrf Rosalind.
You and you are heart in heart :
[To Oliver and Celia.
You [To Phebe.] to his love must accord.
Or have a woman to your lord : —
You and you are sure together,
[To Touchstone and Audrey.
As the winter to foul weather.
Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing.
Feed yourselves with questioning ;
That reason wonder may diminish,
How thus we met, and these things finish.
SONG.
Wedding is great Juno's croivn ;
0 blessed bond of board and bed !
' Tis Hymen peoples every town ;
High wedlock then be honoured :
9 Unless truth fail of veracity.
Scene IV.
AS YOU LIKE IT.
215
Honour, high honour and renown,
To Hymen, god of every town I
DvJce S. O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me ;
Even daughter, welcome in no less degree.
Phe. I will not eat my word, now thou art mine j
Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine.
[To SiLVIUS.
Enter Jaques de Bois.
Jaq. de B. Let me have audience for a word, or
two;
I am the second son of old sir Rowland,
That bring these tidings to this fair assembly : —
Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day
Men of great worth resorted to this forest,
Address'd a mighty power ! which were on foot,
In his own conduct, purposely to take
His brother here, and put him to the sword :
And to the skirts of tliis wild wood he came j
Where, meeting with an old religious man.
After some questions with him, was converted
Both from his enterprize, and from the world :
His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother.
And all their lands restor'd to them again
That were with him exil'd : Tliis to be true,
I do engage my life.
Duke S. Welcome, young man ;
Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding :
To one, his lands withheld : and to the other,
A land itself at large, a potent dukedom.
First, in tliis forest, let us do those ends
That here were well begun, and well begot :
And after, every of this happy number.
That have endur'd shrewd days and nights with us,
Shall share the good of our returned fortune.
According to the measure of their states.
Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity,
And fall into our rustick revelry : —
Play, musick ; — and you brides and bridegrooms all,
With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall.
Jaq. Sir, by your patience ; if I heard you rightly.
The duke hath put on a religious life,
And thrown into neglect the pompous court ?
Jaq. de B. He hath.
Jaq. To him will I : out of these convertites
There is much matter to be heard and learn 'd. —
You to your former honour I bequeath ;
{To Duke S.
Your patience, and your virtue, well deserves it : —
You {To Orlando.] to a love, that your true faith
doth merit : —
You {To Oliver.] to your land, and love, and great
allies : —
You {To SiLvius.] to a long and well deserved
bed; —
And you {To Touchstone.] to wrangling, for thy
loving voyage
Is but for two months victual'd : — So to your plea-
sures ;
I am for other than for dancing measures.
Duke S. Stay, Jaques, stay.
Jaq. To see no pastime, I : — what you would
have
I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. {Erit.
Duke S. Proceed, proceed : we wiU begin these
rites,
And we do trust they'll end, in true delights.
{A dance.
EPILOGUE.
lio.s. It is not the fashion to see the lady the
epilogue : but it is no more unhandsome, than to
see the lord the prologue. If it be true, that good
nine needs no bush, 'tis true, that a good play needs
no epilogue . Yet to good wine they do use good
bushes ; and good plays prove the better by the
help of good epilogues. What a case am I in then,
that am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot insinuate
with you in the behalf of a good play ? I am not
furnished i like a beggar, therefore to beg will not
become me : my way is, to conjure you j and I'll
1 Dressed.
begin with the women. I charge you, O women,
for the love you bear to men, to like as much of
this play as pleases them : and so I charge you, O
men, for the love you bear to women, (as I perceive
by your simpering, none of you hate them,) that
between you and the women, the play may please.
If I were a woman, I would kiss as many of you as
had beards that pleased me, and complexions that
liked me '^ : and, I am sure, as many as have good
beards, or good faces, will, for my kind offer, when
I make cuit'sy, bid me farewell. {Exeunt.
« That I liked.
F 4
v?
-^
,f
^^
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
King of France
Duke of Florence.
Bertram, Count of Rousillon.
Lafeu, an old Lord.
Parolles, a Follower of Bertram.
Several young French Lords, that serve tvith Bertram
in the Florentine War.
Steward, 1 Servants to the Countess of Rousillon.
Clown, J -^
A Page.
Countess of Rousillon, Mother to Bertram.
Helena, a Gentlewoman protected by the Countess.
An old IVidow of Florence.
Diana, Daughtei- to the Widow.
Violenta, "
Mariana,
' > Nfighbo
urs and Friemls tc the WidoW'
Lords, attmding on tfie King; Officers, Soldiers, ^c.
French ami Florentine.
SCENE, — partly in France, a7id partly in Tuscany.
JAY, BY YOUR r.KAVE. HOr.:3 YOUR RAMUS.
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
ACT I.
SCENE L — Ilousillon. A Room rn the Countess's
Palace.
Enter Bertram, the Countess of Rousillon,
Helena, and Lafeu, in mourning.
- Countess. In delivering my son from me, I bury
a second husband.
Ber. And I, in going, madam, weep o'er my
father's death anew : but I must attend his majesty's
command, to wliom I am now in ward ', evermore
in subjection.
Laf. You shall find of the king a husband, madam;
— you, sir, a father : He that so generally is at all
times good, must of necessity hold his virtue to
you ; whose worthiness would stir it up where it
wanted, rather than lack it where there is such
abundance.
Count. What hope is there of his majesty's amend-
ment ?
Laf. He hath abandoned his physicians, madam ;
under whose practices he hath persecuted time with
hope ; and finds no other advantage in the process
but only the losing of hope by time.
Count. This young gentlewoman had a father,
(O, that had! how sad a passage 'tis!) whose skill
was almost as great as his honesty ; had it stretched
so far, would have made nature immortal, and
death should have play for lack of work. 'Would,
for the king's sake, he were living ! I think, it
would be the death of the king's disease.
Laf. How called you the man you speak of,
madam ?
' Under his particular care, as my guardian.
Count. He was famous, sir, in his profession, and
it was his great right to be so ; Gerard de Narbon.
Laf. He was excellent, indeed, madam ; the king
very lately spoke of him, admiringly, and mourn-
ingly ; he was skilful enough to have lived still, if
knowledge could be set up against mortality. —
Was this gentlewoman the daughter of Gerard de
Narbon ?
Count. His sole child, my lord ; and bequeathed
to my overlooking. I have those hopes of her
good, that her education promises : her dispositions
she inherits, which make fair gifts fairer ; for where
an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities, there
commendations go with pity, they are virtues and
traitors too ; in her they are the better for their
simpleness; she derives her honesty, and achieves
her goodness.
Laf. Your commendations, madam, get from her
tears.
Count. 'Tis the best brine a maiden can season
her praise in. The remembrance of her father never
approaches her heart, but the tyranny of her sor-
rows takes all livelihood from her cheek. No more
of this, Helena, go to, no more ; lest it be rather
thought you affect a sorrow, than to have.
Hel. I do affect a sorrow, indeed, but I have it too.
Laf. Moderate lamentation is the right of the
dead, excessive grief the enemy to the living.
Count. If the living be enemy to the grief,
excess makes it soon mortal.
Ber. Madam, I desire your holy wishes.
Laf. How understand we that ?
Act I. Scene I. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
21'
Count. Be thou blest, Bertram ! and succeed thy
father
In manners, as in shape ! thy blood, and virtue,
Contend for empire in thee ; and thy goodness
Share with thy birth-right ! Love all, tnist a few,
Do wrong to none : be able for thine enemy
Ilather in power, than use ; and keep thy friend
Under thy own life's key : be check'd for silence.
But never tax'd for speech. What heaven more will,
That thee may furnish, and my prayers pluck down,
Fall on thy head ! Farewell. — My lord,
*Tis an unseasoned courtier ; good my lord.
Advise him.
Laf. He cannot want the Ijest
That shall attend his love.
Count. Heaven bless him ! — Farewell, Bertram.
[Exit Countess.
£er. The best wishes, that can be forged in your
thoughts, [To Helena.] be servants to you ! Be
comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make
much of her.
Laf. Farewell, pretty lady: You must hold the
credit of your father.
[Exeunt Bertram and Lafeu.
Hel. O, were that all ! — I think not on my father ;
And these great tears grace his remembrance more
Than those I shed for him. What was he like?
I have forgot him : my unagination
Carries no favour in it, but Bertram's.
I am undone ; there is no living, none,
If Bertram be away. It were all one.
That I should love a bright particular star.
And think to wed it, he is so above me :
In his bright radiance and collateral light
Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.
The ambition in my love thus plagues itself:
The hind, that would be mated by the lion,
Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a plague,
To see him every hour ; to sit and draw
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls.
In our heart's table ; heart, too capable
Of every line and trick of his sweet favour ^ :
But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy
Must sanctify his relicks. Who comes here ?
Ejiter Parolles.
One that goes with him : I love him for his sake ;
And yet 1 know liim a notorious liar.
Think him a great way fool, solely a coward;
Yet these fix'd evils sit so fit in him.
That they take place, when virtue's steely bones
Look bleak in the cold wind : withal, full oft we see
Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly.
Par. Save you, fair queen.^ Pl^ ythu^ o/« ''^"t'^ >
Hel. And you, mon4.rch. — You're for the court.
There shall your master have a tliousand loves,
A mother, and a mistress, and a friend,
A phoenix, captain, and an enemy,
A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign,
\ counsellor, a traitress, and a dear ;
His humble ambition, proud humility.
His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet.
His faith, his sweet disaster ; with a world
Of pretty, fond, adoptions Christendoms,
Tlmt blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he
1 know not wliat lie shall ; — God send him well !- —
The court's a learning-place ; — and he is one
Par. What one, i'faith ?
Hel. That I wish well. -^ 'Tis pity
3 rcculiarity of feature. ' Coumcnance.
Par. What's pity ?
Hel. That wishing well had not a body in't.
Which might be felt : that we, the poorer born,
Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes.
Might with effects of them follow our friends.
And show what we alone must think ; which never
Retifrns us thanks.
Enter a Page.
Page. Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you.
[Exit Page.
Par. Little Helen, farewell : If I can remember
thee, I will think of thee at court.
Hel. Monsieur Parolles, you were bom under a
charitable star.
Par. Under Mars, I.
Hel. I especially think, under Mars.
Par. Why under Mars ?
Hel. The wars have so kept you under, that you
must needs be bom under Mars.
Par. When he was predominant.
Hel. When he was retrograde, I tln'nk, rather.
Par. Why think you so?
Hel. You go so much backward, when you fight.
Par. That's for advantage.
Hel. So is running away, when fear proposes the
safety : But the composition, that your valour and
fear makes in you, is a virtue of a good wing, and I
like the wear well.
Par. I am so full of businesses, I cannot answer
thee acutely : I will return perfect courtier ; in the
which, my instruction shall serve to naturalize thee,
so thou wilt be capable of a courtier's counsel, and
understand what advice shall thrust upon thee ; else
thou diest in thine unthank fulness, and thine igno-
rance makes thee away : farewell. Remember thy
friends : get thee a good husband, and use him as
he uses thee : so farewell. [Exit.
Hel. Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie.
Which we ascribe to heaven : the fated sky
Gives us free scope ; only, doth backward pull
Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull.
What power is it, wliich mounts my love so high.
That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye ?
Tlie mightiest space in fortune nature brings
To join like likes, and kiss like native things. ■♦
Impossible be strange attempts, to those
That weigh their pains in sense ; and do suppose.
What hatili been cannot be : Who ever strove
To show her merit, that did miss her love ?
The king's disease — my project may deceive mo,
But my intents are fix'd, and will not leave me.
[Exit.
SCE^E II. — Paris. J Room in the King's
Palace.
Flourish of Cornets. Enter the Kino or France
unth letters ; Lords and others attending.
Xing. The Florentines and Senoys * are by the
ears ;
Have fought with equal fortune, and continue
A braving war.
1 Lord. So 'tis reported, sir.
King. Nay, 'tis most credible ; we here receive it
A certainty, vouch'd from our cousin Austria,
With caution, that the Florentine will move us
* Things formed bv nature for each other.
» The citizens of Ine small republic of which Sienna is th
capital.
218
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
Act L
For speedy aid ; wherein our dearest friend
Prejudicates the business, and would seem
To have us make denial.
1 Lord. His love and wisdom,
Approv'd so to your majesty, may plead
For amplest credence.
King. He hath arm*d our answer.
And Florence is denied before he comes :
Yet, for our gentlemen, that mean to see
The Tuscan service, freely have they leave
To stand on either part.
2 Lord. It may well serve
A nursery to our gentry, who are sick
For breathing and exploit.
King. What's he comes here ?
ErUer Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles.
1 Lord. It is the count Rousillon, my good lord,
Young Bertram.
King. Youth, thou bear'st thy father's face ;
Frank nature, rather curious than in haste.
Hath well compos'd thee. Thy father's moral parts
Mayst thou inherit too ! Welcome to Paris.
Ber. My thanks and duty are your majesty's.
King. I would I had that corporal soundness now.
As when thy father, and myself, in friendship
First try'd our soldiership ! He did look far
Into the service of the time, and was
Discipled of the bravest : he lasted long j
But on us both did haggish age steal on,
And wore us out of act. It much repairs me
To talk of your good father : In his youth
He had the wit, which I can well observe
To-day in our young lords ; but they may jest,
Till their own scorn return to them unnoted.
Ere they can hide their levity in honour.
So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness
Were in his pride or sharpness ; if they were,
His equal had awak'd them ; and his honour,
Clock to itself, knew the true minute when
Exception bid him speak, and, at this time.
His tongue obey'd his hand : who were below him
He us'd as creatures of another place ;
And bow'd his eminent top to their low ranks,
Making them proud of his humility,
In their poor praise he humbled ; Such a man
Might be a copy to these younger times ;
Which, follow'd well, would demonstrate them now
But goers backward.
Ber. His good remembrance, sir.
Lies richer in your thoughts, than on his tomb ;
So in approof ^ lives not his epitaph.
As in your royal speech.
King. 'Would, I were with him ! He would
always say,
(Methinks, I hear him now ; his plausive words
He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them,
To grow there, and to bear,) — Let me not live, —
Thus his good melancholy oft began,
On the catastrophe and heel of pastime.
When it was out, — let me not live, quoth he,
After myjlame lacks oil, to be the snuff
Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
All but new things disdain ; whose judgments are
Mere fathers of their garments ; whose constancies
Expire before t/ieir fashions : This he wish'd :
I, after him, do after him wish too.
Since I nor wax, nor honey, can bring home,
6 Approbation.
I quickly were dissolved from my hive,
To give some labourers room.
2 Lord. You are lov'd, sir ;
They, that least lend it you, shall lack you first.
Kirig. I fill a place, I know't. — How long is't,
count.
Since the physician at your father's died ?
He was much fam'd.
Jier. Some six months since, my lord.
King. If he were living, I would try him yet ; —
Lend me an arm ; — the rest have worn me out
With several applications : nature and sickness
Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, count ;
My son's no dearer.
Ber. Thank your majesty.
[Exeunt. Flourish.
SCENE III. — Rousillon. A Room in the Coun-
tess'* Palace.
Enter Countess, Steward, and Clown.
Count. I will now hear : what say you of this
gentlewoman ?
Stew. Madam, the care I have had to even your
content 7, I wish might be found in the calendar of
my past endeavours ; for then we wound our mo-
desty, and make foul the clearness of our deserv-
ings, when of ourselves we publish them.
Count. What does this knave here? Get you gone,
sirrali : The complaints, I have heard of you, I do
not all believe : 'tis my slowness, that I do not :
for, I know, you lack not folly to commit them, and
have ability enough to make such knaveries yours.
Clo. 'Tis not unknown to you, madam, 1 am a
poor fellow.
Count. Well, sir.
Clo. No, madam, 'tis not so well, that I am poor ;
though many of the rich perish : But, if I may have
your ladyship's good will to go to the worlds, Isbel
the woman and I will do as we may.
Count. Wilt thou needs be a beggar ?
Clo. 1 do beg your good will in this case.
Count. In what case ?
Clo. In Isbel's case, and mine own. Service is
no heritage : and, I think, I shall never have the
blessing of God, till I have issue ; for, they say,
beams 9 are blessings.
Count. Is this all your worship's reason ?
Clo. Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons,
such as they are.
Count. May the world know them ?
Clo. I have been, madam, a wicked creature ;
and, indeed, I do marry, that I may repent.
Cou7it. Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness.
Clo. I am out of friends, madam ; and I hope to
have friends for my wife's sake.
Count. Such friends are thine enemies, knave.
Clo. You are shallow, madam ; e'en great frieni
Count. Get you gone, sir ; I'll talk with you mo:
anon.
Stexo. May it please you, madam, that he bid
Helen come to you ; of her I am to speak.
Count. Sirrah, tell my genilewoman, I would
speak with her ; Helen I mean.
Clo. Was this fair face the cause, quoth she,
[Singing.
Why the Grecians sacked Troy ?
Fond done ', done fond.
Was this king Priani'sjoy.
? to
41
7 To act up to your desires.
9 Children,
8 To be married.
' Foolishly done.
Scene III.
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
219
With that sfie sighed as she stoodt
With that she sighed as she stoodt
And gave this sentence then ;
ylmon-i nine bad if one be good.
Among nine bad if one be good.
There's yet one good in ten.
Count. What, one good in ten ? you corrupt the
song, sirrah.
Clo. One good woman in ten, madam ; which is
a purifying o' the song : 'Would Fortune serve the
world so all the year ! we'd find no fault with the
tythe-woman. One in ten quoth a' ! an we might
have a good woman born but every blazing star, or
at an earthquake, 'twould mend the lottery well ; a
man may draw his heart out, ere he pluck one.
Count. You'll be gone, sir knave, and do as I
command you?
Clo. That man should be at woman's command,
and yet no hurt done ! — Though honesty be no
puritan, yet it will do no hurt ; it will wear the
surplice of humility over the black gown of a big
heart. — I am going, forsooth : the business is for
Helen to come hither. {_Exit Clown.
Count. Well, now.
Stew. I know, madam, you love your gentle-
woman entirely.
Count. Indeed, I do ; her father bequeathed her
to me ; and she herself, without other advantage,
may lawfully make title to as much love as she
finds : there is more owing her, than is paid ; and
more shall be paid her, than she'll demand.
Stew. Madam, I was very late more near her
than, I think, she wished me : alone she was, and
did communicate to herself, her own words to her
own ears ; she thought, I dare vow for her, they
touched not any stranger sense. Her matter was,
she loved your son : Fortune, she said, was no
goddess, that had put such difference betwixt their
two estates ; Love, no god, that would not extend
his might, only where qualities were level : Diana,
no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight
to be surprised, without rescue, in the first assault,
or ransome afterwards: This she delivered in tlie
most bitter touch of sorrow, that e'er 1 heard virgin
exclaim in : which I held my duty, speedily to
acquaint you withal ; sithence^, in the loss that may
happen, it concerns you something to know it.
Count. You have discharged this honestly ; keep
it to yourself: many likelihoods informed me of
this before, which hung so tottering in the balance,
tJiat I could neither believe, nor misdoubt : Pray
you, leave me; stall this in your bosom, and I
thank you for your honest care : I will speak wiUi
you further anon. \^Exit Steward.
Enter Helena.
Count. Even so it was with me, when I was young :
If we are nature's, these are ours : this thorn
Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong ;
Our blood to us, this to our blood is bom ;
It is the show and seal of nature's truth,
Where love's strong passion is impress'd in youth :
By our remembrances of days foregone.
Such were our faults : — or then we thought them
none.
Her eye is sick on't ; I observe her now.
Hel. What is your pleasure, madam ?
Count. You know, Helen,
I am a mother to you.
» Since.
Hel. Mine honourable mistress.
Count. Nay, a mother ;
Why not a mother ? When I said, a mother,
Methought you saw a serpent : What's in mother,
That you start at it ? 1 say, I am your mother j
And put you in the catalogue of those
That were enwombed mine : 'Tis often seen.
Adoption strives with nature ; and choice breeds
A native slip to us from foreign seeds :
You ne'er oppress'd me with a mother's groan.
Yet I express to you a mother's care : —
Gramercy, maiden ! does it curd thy blood.
To say, I am thy mother ? What's the matter.
That this distemper'd messenger of wet.
The many-colour'd Iris, rounds thine eye ?
Why ? that you are my daughter ?
Hel. That I am not.
Count. I say, I am your mother.
Hel. Pardon, madam ;
The count Rousillon cannot be my brother :
I am from humble, he from honour'd name ;
No note upon my parents, his all noble :
My master, my dear lord he is ; and I
His servant live, and will his vassal die :
He must not be my brother.
Count. Nor I your mother?
Hel. You are my mother, madam j 'Would you
were
(So that my lord, your son, were not my brother,)
Indeed, my mother ! — or were you both our mothers,
So I were not his sister : Can't no other.
But I, your daughter, he must be my brother ?
Count. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-
in-law ;
I hope you mean it not ! daughter, and mother
So strive 3 upon your pulse : What, pale again ?
My fear hath catch'd your fondness : Now I see
The mystery of your loneliness, and find
Yoiu" salt tears' head.'' Now to all sense 'tis gross.
You love my son ; invention is asham'd.
Against the proclamation of thy passion.
To say thou dost not : therefore tell me true ;
But tell me then, 'tis so : — for, look, thy cheeks
Confess it, one to the other ; and thine eyes
See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours.
That in their kind they speak it : only sin
And perverse obstinacy tie thy tongue.
That truth should be suspected : Speak, is't so ?
If it l)e so, you have wound a goodly clue ;
If it be not, forswear't : howe'er, I charge thee.
As heaven shall work in me for thine avail,
To tell me truly.
Hel. Good madam, pardon me I
Count, Do you love my son ?
Hel. Your pardon, noble mistress !
Count. Love you my son ?
Hel. Do not you love him, madam ?
Count. Go not about ; my love hath in't a bond.
Whereof the world takes note : come, come, disclose
The state of your affection ; for your passions
Have to the full appeach'd.
Hel. Then, I confess.
Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,
That before you, and next unto high heaven,
I love your son : —
My friends were poor, but honest ; so's my love
Be not offended ; for it hurts not him.
That he is lov'd of me : I follow him not
s Contend.
< The lourcc, the utue of your griet
220
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
Act n.
By &iiy token of presumptuous suit ;
Nor would I have him, till I do deserve him ;
Yet never know how that desert should be.
I know I love in vain, strive against hope ;
Yet, in this captious and intenible sieve,
I still pour in the waters of my love,
And lack not to lose still : thus, Indian-like,
Religious in mine error, I adore
The sun, that looks upon his worshipper.
But knows of him no more. My dearest madam.
Let not your hate encounter with my love,
For loving where you do : but, if yourself,
Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth,
Did ever, in so true a flame of liking,
Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your Dian
Was both herself and love ; O then, give pity
To her, whose state is such, that cannot choose
But lend and give, where she is sure to lose ;
That seeks not to find that her search implies.
But, riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies.
Count. Had you not lately an intent, speak truly.
To go to Paris ?
Hel. Madam, I had.
Count. Wherefore ? tell true.
Hel. I will tell true ; by grace itself, I swear.
You know, my father left me some prescriptions
Of rare and prov'd effects, such as his reading.
And manifest experience, had collected
For general sovereignty ; and that he will'd me
In heedfullest reservation to bestow them.
As notes, whose faculties inclusive were
More than they were in note ^ : amongst the rest,
There is a remedy, approv'd, set down.
To cure the desperate languishes, whereof
The king is render'd lost.
Count. This was your motive
For Paris, was it ? speak.
Hel. My lord your son made mc to think of
this ;
Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king,
Had, from the conversation of my thoughts,
Haply, been absent then.
Count. But think you, Helen
If you should tender your supposed aid.
He would receive it ? He and his physicians
Are of a mind ; he, that they cannot help him ;
They, that they cannot help : How shall thi
credit
A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools,
Embowell'd of their doctrine 8, have left off
The danger to itself?
Hel. There's something hints,
More than my father's skill, which was the greatest
Of his profession, that his good receipt
Shall, for my legacy, be sanctified
By the luckiest stars in heaven : and, would your
honour '
But give me leave to try success, I'd venture
The well-lost life of mine on his grace's cure.
By such a day, and hour.
Count. Dost thou believ't ?
Hel. Ay, madam, knowingly.
Count. Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave,
and love,
Means, and attendants, and my loving greetings
To those of mine in court ; I'll stay at home,
And pray God's blessing into thy attempt :
Be gone to-morrow ; and be sure of this.
What I can help thee to, thou shalt not miss.
\_Exeunt.
jn,
I
ACT II,
SCENE I. — Paris. A Room in the King's Palace.
Flourish. Enter King, with young Lords taking
leave for the Florentine war; Bertram, Parolles,
and Attendants.
King. Farewell, young lord, these warlike principles
Do not throw from you : — and you, my lord, fare-
well : —
Share the advice betwixt you ; if both gain all.
The gift doth stretch itself as 'tis receiv'd,
And is enough for both.
1 Lord. It is our hope, sir.
After well-enter'd soldiers, to return
And find your grace in health.
King. No, no, it cannot be ; and yet my heart
Will not confess he owes the malady
That doth my life besiege. F'arewell, young lords ;
Whether I live or die, be you the sons
Of worthy Frenchmen : let higher Italy
(Those 'bated, that inherit but the fall
Of the last monarchy 6) see, that you come
Not to woo honour, but to wed it ; when
The bravest questant 7 shrinks, find what you seek,
That fame may cry you loud : I say, farewell.
2 Lord. Health, at your bidding, serve your
majesty !
King. Those girls of Italy, take heed of them ;
^ A])pearance.
7 Seeker, enquirer.
6 /. e. The Roman empire.
They say, our French lack language to deny,
If they demand : beware of being captives.
Before you serve. 9
Both. Our hearts receive your warnings.
King. Farewell. — Come hither to me.
The King retires to a couch.
1 Lord. O my sweet lord that you will stay be-
hind us !
Par. 'Tis not his fault ; the spark — —
2 Lord. O, 'tis.brave wars.
Par. Most admirable : I have seen those wars.
JBer. I am commanded here, and kept a coil •
with —
Too young, and the next year, and *tis too early.
Par. An thy mind stand to it, boy, steal away
bravely.
Ber. I shall stay here
Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry.
Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn.
But one to dance with ! By heaven, I'll steal away.
1 Lord. There's honour in the theft.
Par. * Commit it, count.
2 Lord. I am your accessary ; and so farewell.
Ber. I grow to you, and our parting is a tortured
body.
1 Lord. Farewell, captain.
8 Exhausted of their skill
9 Be not captives before you are soldiers.
• In a bustle.
Scene I.
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
221
2 L(yrd. Sweet monsieur ParoUes !
Par. Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin.
Good sparks and lustrous, a word, good metals : —
You shall find in the regiment of the Spinii, one
captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war,
here on his sinister cheek ; it was this very sword
entrenched it : say to him, I live ; and observe his
reports for me.
2 Lord. We shall, noble captain.
Par. Mars dote on you for his novices ! [^Exeunt
Lords.] What will you do ?
Ber. Stay : the king [Seeing hiin rise.
Par. Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble
lords ; you have restrained yourself within the list
of too cold an adieu ; be more expressive to them ;
for they wear themselves in the cap of the time %
there, do muster true gait '', eat, speak, and move
under the influence of the most received star ; and
though the devil lead the measure •♦, such are to be
followed : after them, and take a more dilated fare-
well.
Ber. And I will do so.
Par. Worthy fellows; and like to prove most
sinewy sword-men.
\_Exeunt Bertram and Parolles.
Enter Lafeu.
Lnf. Pardon, my lord, \_Kneeling.'] for me and
for my tidings.
King. rU fee thee to stand up.
I^af. Then here's a man
Stands, that has brought his pardon. I would, you
Had kneel'd, my lord, to ask me mercy ; and
That, at my bidding, you could so stand up.
King. I would I had ; so I had broke thy pate,
And ask'd thee mercy for't.
Lnf. Goodfaith, across ^ :
But, my good lord, 'tis thus ; Will you be cur'd
Of your infirmity ?
King. No.
Ldf. O, will you eat
No grapes, my royal fox ? yes, but you will.
My noble grapes, an if my royal fox
Could reach them : I have seen a medicine ^,
That's able to breathe life into a stone ;
Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary?,
With spritely fire and motion ; whose simple touch
Is powerful to araise king Pepin, nay,
To give great Charlemain a pen in his hand.
And write to her a love-ljne.
King. What her is this ?
Lcf. Why, doctor she ; My lord, there's one ar-
riv'd,
I f you will see her, — now, by my faith and honour.
If seriously I may convey my thoughts
In this my light deliverance, I have spoke
With one, that, in her sex, her years, profession,
Wistlom, and constancy, hath amaz'd me more
Than I dare blame my weakness : Will you see her,
( For that is her demand,) and know her business ?
That done, laugh well at me.
A'lrj^. Now, good Lafeu,
Bring in tlie admiration ; that we with thee
May spend our wonder too, or take off thine,
By wond'ring how thou took'st it,
' They arc the foreinoet in the fashion.
^ Have the true miliUry step. •♦ The dance.
^ Un.skiirully ; a phrase taken fronrj the exercise at a quin-
tain.
« A female physiciaa ' A kind of dance.
Laf. • Nay I'll fit you,
And not be all day neither. [Exit Lafeu.
King. Thus he his special nothing ever prologues.
Re-enter Lafeu with Helena.
Laf. Nay, come your ways.
King. This haste hath wings indeed.
Laf. Nay, come your ways ;
This is his majesty, say your mind to him :
A traitor you do look like ; but such traitors
His majesty seldom fears : I am Cressid's uncle ",
That dare leave two together ; fare you well. ( Exil»
King. Now, fair one, does your business follow
us?
Hel. Ay, my good lord. Gerard de Narbon was
My father; in what he did profess, well found. 9
King. 1 knew him.
Hel. The rather will I spare my praises towards
him ;
Knowing him, is enough. On his bed of death
Many receipts he gave me ; chiefly one.
Which, as the dearest issue of his practice.
And of his old experience the only darling,
He bade me store up, as a triple eye ',
Safer than mine own two, more dear; I have so:
And, hearing your high majesty is touch 'd
With that malignant cause wherein the honour
Of my dear father's gift stands chief in power^
I come to tender it, and my appliance.
With all bound humbleness.
King. We thank you, maiden ;
But may not be so credulous of cure, —
When our most learned doctors leave us ; and
The congregated college have concluded
That labouring art can never ransom nature
From her inaidable estate, — I say we must not
So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope,
To prostitute our past-cure malady
To ^mpiricks ; or to dissever so
Our great self and our credit, to esteem
A senseless help, when help past sense we deem.
Hel. My duty then shall pay me for my pains:
I will no more enforce mine ofKce on you ;
Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts
A modest one, to bear me back again.
King. I cannot give thee less, to be call'd grateful:
Thou thought'st to help me ; and such thanks I
give.
As one near death to those that wish him live:
But what at full I know, thou know'st no part ;
I knowing all my peril, thou no art.
Hel. What I can do, can do no hurt to trj',
Since you set up your rest 'gainst remedy ;
He that of greatest works is finisher.
Oft does them by the weakest minister :
So holy writ in babes hath judgment sliown.
When judges have been babes. Great floods have
flown
From simple sources ; and great seas have dried.
When miracles have by the greatest been denied.
Oft expectation fails, and most ofl there
Where most it promises ; and od it hits.
Where hope is coldest, and despair most sits.
King. I must not hear tliee ; fare thee well, kind
maid ;
Thy pains not us'd, must by thyself be paid :
Proffers, not took, reap thanks for their reward.
Hei. Inspired merit so by breath is barr'd :
" I am like Pandania. ^ Well informed.
> A third eye.
222
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
Act IL
It is not so with him that all things knows,
As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows :
But most it is presumption in us, when
The help of heaven we count the act of men.
Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent ;
Of heaven, not me, make an experiment.
I am not an impostor, that proclaim
Myself against the level of mine aim ;
But know I think, and think I know most sure,
My art is not past power, nor you past cure.
King. Art thou so confident ? Within what
space
Hop'st thou my cure ?
Hel. The greatest grace lending grace.
Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring
Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring ;
Ere twice in murk and occidental damp
Moist Hesperus hath quench'd his sleepy lamp ;
Or four and twenty times the pilot's glass
Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass ;
What is infirm from the sound part shall fly,
Health shall live free, and sickness freely die.
Mng. Upon thy certainty and confidence,
What dar'st thou venture ?
Hel. Tax of impudence, —
And of rash boldness, a divulged shame, —
Traduc'd by odious ballads ; my maiden's name
Sear'd otherwise ; no worse of worst extended.
With vilest torture let my life be ended.
Alng. Methinks, in thee some blessed spirit doth
speak ;
His powerful sound, within an organ weak :
And what impossibility would slay
In common sense, sense saves another way.
Thy life is dear ; for all, that life can rate
Worth name of life, in thee hath estimate ;
Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, virtue, all
That happiness and prime can happy call :
Thou this to hazard, needs must intimate
Skill infinite, or monstrous desperate.
Sweet practiser, thy physick I will try ;
That ministers thine own death, if I die.
Hel. If I break time, or flinch in property
Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die ;
And well deserv'd : Not helping, death's my fee ;
But, if I help, what do you promise me ?
King. Make thy demand.
Hel. But will you make it even ?
Xing. Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of heaven.
Hel. Then shalt thou give me, with thy kingly
hand.
What husband in thy power I will command :
Exempted be from me the arrogance
To choose from forth the royal blood of France ;
My low and humble name to propagate
With any branch or image of thy state :
But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know
Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow.
Jung. Here is my hand ; the premises observ'd,
Thy will by my performance shall be serv'd ;
So make the choice of thine own time ; for I,
Thy resolv'd patient, on thee still rely.
More should I question thee, and more I must ;
Though, more to know, could not be more to trust ;
From whence thou cam'st, how 'tended on, — But
rest
Unquestion'd welcome, and undoubted blest. —
Give me some help here, ho ! — If thou proceed
As high as word, my deed shall match thy deed.
[Flourish. Exeunt.
SCENE II. — Rousillon. ^ Room in the
Countess's Palace.
Enter Countess and Clown.
Count. Come on, sir ; I shall now put you to the
height of your breeding.
Clo. I will show myself highly fed, and lowly
taught : I know my business is but to the court.
Count. To the court ! why, what place make you
special, when you put off that with such contempt ?
But to the court.
Clo. Truly, madam, if nature have lent a man any
manners, he may easily put it off at court ; he that
cannot make a leg, put off 's cap, kiss his hand, and
say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap ;
and, indeed, such a fellow, to say precisely, were not
for the court : but, for me, I have an answer will
serve all men.
Count. Will your answer serve fit to all questions ?
Clo. As fit as ten groats for the hand of an attor-
ney, as a pancake for Shrove- Tuesday, or a morris
for May-day.
Count. Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness
for all questions ?
Clo. From below your duke, to beneath your
constable, it will fit any question.
Count. It must be an answer of most monstrous
size, that must fit all demands.
Clo. But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the
learned should speak truth of it : here it is, and all
that belongs to't : Ask me, if I am a courtier ; it
shall do you no harm to learn.
Count. An end, sir, to your business : Give Helen
this.
And urge her to a present answer back :
Commend me to my kinsmen, and my son ;
This is not much.
Clo. Not much commendation to them.
Count. Not much employment for you : You
understand me ?
Clo. Most fruitfully ; I am there before my legs.
Count. Haste you again. [Exeunt severally.
SCENE III. — Paris. A Room in the King's
Palace.
Enter Bertram, Lafeu, and Parolles.
Lqf They say, miracles are past ; and we have
our philosophical persons, to make modern- and
familiar things, supernatural and causeless. Hence
is it, that we make trifles of terrors; ensconcing
ourselves into seeming knowledge, when we should
submit ourselyes to an unknown fear.
Par. Why, 'tis the rarest argument of wonder,
that hath shot out in our latter times.
JSer. And so 'tis.
Laf. To be relinquished of the artists,
Par. So I say ; both of Galen and Paracelsus.
Laf. Of all the learned and authentic fellows, •
Par. Right, so I say.
Laf. That gave him out incurable, —
Par. Why, there 'tis ; so say I too.
Laf. Not to be helped, —
Par. Right : as 'twere, a man assured of an —
Laf. Uncertain life, and sure death.
Par. Just, you say well ; so would I have said.
L,af. I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world.
Par. It is, indeed : if you will have it in showing,
you shall read it in What do you call there ? —
' Ordinary
Scene III.
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
223
Laf. A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly
actor.
Par. That's it I would have said ; the very same.
Lnf. Why, your dolphin 3 is not lustier ; 'fore me
I speak in respect
Par. Nay, 'tis strange, 'tis very strange, that is
the brief and the tedious of it ; and he is of a most
facinorous •» spirit, that will not acknowledge it to
be the
Laf. Very hand of heaven.
Par. Ay, so I say.
Laf. In a most weak — —
Par. And debile minister, great power, great
transcendence : which should, indeed, give us a
further use to be made, than alone the recovery of
the king, as to be
La/. Generally thankful.
Enter King, Heleva, and Attendants.
Par. I would have said it ; you say well. Here
comes the king.
Laf. Lustick 5, as the Dutchman says : I'll like
a maid the better, whilst I have a tooth in my head :
Why, he's able to lead her a coranto.
Par. Is not this Helen ?
Laf. I think so ?
I^irig. Go, call before me all the lords in court. —
[Exit an Attendant.
Sit, my preserver, by thy patient's side ;
And with this healthful hand, whose banish'd sense
Thou hast repeal'd, a second time receive
The confirmation of my promis'd gift.
Which but attends thy naming.
Enter several Lords.
Fair maid, send forth thine eye : this youthful parcel
Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing.
O'er whom both sovereign power and father's voice
I have to use : thy frank election make ;
Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake.
Hel. To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress
Fall, when love please ! — marry, to each, but one !
Laf. I'd give bay Curtal 6, and his furniture.
My mouth no more were broken than these boys'.
And writ as little beard.
J^ifig- Peruse them well :
Not one of those but had a noble father.
Hel. Gentlemen,
Heaven hath through me restor'd the king to health.
All. We understand it, and thank heaven for you.
Hel. I am a simple maid ; and therein wealthiest,
Tliat, I protest, I simply am a maid :
Please it your majesty, I have done already :
The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me,
WV blush, that thou shonldst choose ; but be refused.
Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever ;
We'll ne'er come there again.
Kinfi. Make choice ; and, see.
Who shuns thy love, shuns all his love in me.
Hel. Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly ;
And to imperial Love, that god most high.
Do my sighs stream Sir, will you hear my suit ?
1 Lord. And grant it.
Hel. Thanks, sir ; all the rest is mute.
Laf. I had rather be in this choice, than throw
ames-ace 7 for my life.
\ ThP Pauphin. * Wicked.
» Lustigh IS the Dutch word for lusty, cheerful.
A docked hone. ^ The lowe«t chance of the dice.
Hel. The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes,
Before I speak, too threateningly repUes :
Love make your fortunes twenty times above
Her that so wishes, and her humble love.
2 Lord. No better, if you please.
Hel. My wish receive.
Which great love grant ! and so I take my leave.
Lnf, Do all they deny her ? An they were sons
of mine, I'd have them whipped.
Hel. Be not afraid [To a Lord.] that I your hand
should take ;
I'll never do you wrong for your own sake :
Blessing upon your vows ! and in your bed,
Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed !
Lnf. These boys are boys of ice, tliey'll none
have her.
Hel. You are too young, too happy, and too good.
4 Lord. Fair one, I think not so.
Laf. There's one grape yet, — I am sure, thy
father drank wine. — But if thou be'st not an ass, I
am a youth of fourteen ; I have known thee already.
Hel. I dare not say, I take you ; [To Bertram.]
but I give
Me, and my service, ever whilst I live.
Into your guiding power. — This is the man.
King. Why then, young Bertram, take her, she's
thy wife.
Ber. My wife, my liege? I shall beseech your
highness.
In such a business give me leave to use
The help of mine own eyes.
King. Know'st thou not, Bertram,
What she has done for me ?
Ber. Yes, my good lord ;
But never hope to know why I should marry her.
King. Thou know'st, she has rais'd me from my
sickly bed.
Ber. But follows it, my lord, to bring me down
Must answer for your raising ? I know her well ;
She had her breeding at my father's charge :
A poor physician's daughter my wife ! — Disdain
Rather corrupt me ever !
King. 'Tisonly title 8 thou disdain'stin her, the which
I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods.
Of colour, weight, and heat, pour'd all together,
Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off
In differences so mighty : If she be
All tliat is virtuous, (save what thou dislik'st,
A poor physician's daughter,) thou dislik'st
Of virtue for the name : but do not so :
From lowest place wlien virtuous things proceed,
The place is dignified by the doer's deed :
Where great additions 9 swell, and virtue none.
It is a dropsied honour : good alone
Is good, without a name ; vileness is so :
The property by what it is should go.
Not by tiie title. She is young, wise, fair ;
In tliese to nature she's immediate heir ;
And these breed honour : that is honour's scorn,
Which challenges itself as honour's bom.
And is not like the sire : Honours best thrive.
When rather from our acts we them derive
Than our fore-goers : the mere word's a slave.
Debauch 'd on every tomb ; on every grave,
A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb.
Where dust, and deep oblivion, is the tomb
Of honour'd bones indeed. What should be said ?
If thou canst like this creature as a maid.
i. e. The want of tiUe.
» Titles
22*
ALLS WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
Act IL
I can create the rest : virtue, and she.
Is her own dower ; honour and wealth from me.
Ber. I cannot love her, nor will strive to do't.
King. Thou wrong'st thyself, if thou shouldst
strive to choose.
Hel. That you are well restor'd, my lord, I'm
glad;
Let the rest go.
King. My honour's at the stake; which to defeat,
I must produce my power : Here, take her hand.
Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift ;
That dost in vile misprision shackle up
My love and her desert ; that canst not dream.
We, poising us in her defective scale.
Shall weigh thee to the beam : that wilt not know.
It is in us to plant thine honour, where
We please to have it grow : Check thy contempt :
Obey our will, which travails in thy good :
Believe not thy disdain, but presently
Do thine own fortunes that obedient right
Which both thy duty owes, and our power claims ;
Or I will throw thee from my care for ever.
Into the staggers, and the careless lapse
Of youth and ignorance ; both my revenge and hate,
Loosing upon thee in the name of justice,
Without all terms of pity : Speak ; thine answer.
Ber. Pardon, my gracious lord ; for I submit
My fancy to your eyes ; When I consider.
What great creation, and what dole of honour.
Flies where you bid it, I find, that she, which late
Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now
The praised of the king ; who, so ennobled,
Is, as 'twere, born so.
King. Take her by the hand.
And tell her, she is thine : to whom I promise
A counterpoise ; if not to thy estate,
A balance more replete.
Ber. I take her hand.
King. Good fortune, and the favour of the king.
Smile upon this contract ; whose ceremony
Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief,
And be perform'd to-night : the solemn feast
Shall more attend upon the coming space.
Expecting absent friends. As thou lov'st her,
Thy love's to me religious ; else, does err,
\_Exeunt King, Bertram, Helena, Lords,
and Attendants.
Lnf. Do you hear, monsieur ? a word with you.
Par. Your pleasure, sir ?
Laf. Your lord and master did well to make his
recantation.
Par. Recantation? — my lord ? — my master ?
Laf. Ay ; Is it not a language, I speak ?
Par. A most harsh one ; and not to be understood
without bloody succeeding. My master?
Laf. Are you companion to the count Rousillon ?
Par. To any count ; to all counts ; to what is man.
Laf. To what is count's man ; count's master is
of another style.
Par. You are too old, sir ; let it satisfy you, you
are too old.
Laf. I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man ; to
which title age cannot bring thee.
Par. What I dare too well do, I dare not do.
Laf. I did think thee, for two ordinaries ', to be
a pretty wise fellow ; thou didst make tolerable vent
of thy travel : it might pass : yet the scarfs, and the
bannerets, about thee, did manifoldly dissuade me
' I. e. While T sat twice with thee at dinnsr.
from believing thee a vessel of too great a burden.
I have now found thee ; when I lose thee again, I
care not : yet art thou good for nothing but taking
up ; and that thou art scarce worth.
Par. Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity
upon thee,
Laf Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest
thou hasten thy trial ; which if — mercy on thee for
a hen ! So my good window of lattice, fare thee
well : thy casement I need not open, for I look
through thee. Give me thy hand.
Par. My lord, you give me most egregious in-
dignity.
Laf Ay, with all my heart ; and thou art worthy
of it.
Par. I have not, my lord, deserved it.
Ljof. Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I
will not bate thee a scruple.
Par. Well, I shall be wiser.
Laf. E'en as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to
pull at a smack o' the contrary. If ever thou be'st
bound in thy scarf, and beaten, thou shalt find what
it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to
hold my acquaintance with thee, or rather my
knowledge ; that I may say, in the default ", he is a
man I know.
Par, My lord, you do me most insupportable
vexation.
Laf. For doing I am past ; as I will by thee, in
what motion age will give me leave. \^Exit.
Par. Well, thou hast a son shall take this dis-
grace off me ; scurvy, old lord ! — Well, I must be
patient ; there is no fettering of authority. I'll
beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with any
convenience, and he were double and double a lord.
I'll have no more pity of his age, than I would,
have of — I'll beat him, an if I could but meet
him again.
Re-enter La feu.
Laf. Sirrah, your lord and master's married,
there's news for you ; you have a new mistress.
Par. I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship
to make some reservation of your wrongs : He is
my good lord : whom I serve above, is my master.
Lnf. Who? God?
Par. Ay, sir.
Laf The devil it is, that's thy master. Why dost
thou garter up thy arms o' this fashion ? dost make
hose of thy sleeves ? do other servants so ? By mine
honour, if I were but two hours younger, I'd beat
thee ; methinks, thou art a general offence, and
every man should beat thee. I think, thou wast
created for men to breathe ^ themselves upon thee.
Par. This is hard and undeserved measure, my
lord.
Laf. Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for
picking a kernel out of a pomegranate ; you are a
vagabond, and no true traveller : you are more
saucy with lords, and honourable personages, than
the heraldry of your birth and virtue gives you com-
mission. You aie not worth another word, else I'd
call you knave. I leave you. \_Exit.
Enter Bertram.
Par. Good, very good ; it is so then. — Good,
very good ; let it be concealed a while.
Ber. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever !
Par. What is the matter, sweet-heart ?
2 At a need.
3 Exercise.
Scene IV.
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
225
Ber. Although before the solemn priest I have
sworn.
Par. What? what, sweet-heart?
Ber. O my Parolles, they have married me : —
I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her.
Par. France is a dog-hole, and yet no more merits
The tread of a man's foot : to the wars !
Ber. There's letters from my mother ; what the
import is,
I know not yet.
Par. Ay, that would be known : To tlie wars,
my boy, to the wars !
He wears his honour in a box unseen,
That hugs his kicksy-wicksy*, here at home;
Which should sustain the bond and high curvet
Of Mars's fiery steed : To other regions ;
France is a stable ; we that dwell in't jades ;
Therefore to the war !
Ber. It shall be so ; I'll send her to my house,
Acquaint my mother with my hate to her.
And wherefore I am fled ; write to the king
That which I durst not speak : His present gift
Shall furnish me to those Italian fields.
Where noble fellows strike : War is no strife
To the dark house ^, and the detested wife.
Par. Will this capricio hold in thee, art sure ?
Ber. Go with me to my chamber, and advise me.
I'll send her straight a^vay : To-morrow
I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow.
Par. Why, these balls bound ; there's noise in it.
— 'Tis hard ;
A young man, married, is a man that's marr'd :
Therefore away, and leave her bravely ; go :
The king has done you wrong ; but, hush ! 'tis so.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — Anotlier Room in the same.
Enter Helena and Clown.
Hel. My mother greets me kindly : Is she well ?
Clo. She is not well ; but yet she has her health :
she's very merry ; but yet she is not well : but thanks
be given, she's very well, and wants nothing i'the
world ; but yet she is not well ?
Hel. If she be very well, what does she ail, that
she's not very well ?
Clo. Truly, she's very well, indeed.
Enter Parolles.
Par. Bless you, my fortunate lady !
Hel. I hope, sir, I have your good will to have
mine own good fortunes.
Par. You had my prayers to lead them on : and
to keep them on, have them still. — O, my knave !
How does my old lady ?
Clo. So that you had her wrinkles, and I her
money, I would she did as you say.
Par. Why, I say nothing.
Clo. Marry, you are the wiser man ; for many a
man's tongue shakes out his master's undoing : To
say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and to
have nothing, is to be a great part of your title ;
which is within a very little of nothing.
Par. Away, thou'rt a knave.
Clo. You should have said, sir, before a knave
thou art a knave : that is, before me thou art a
knave : this had been trutli, sir.
* A cant term for a wife.
* The house made gloomy by discontent.
Par. Go to, thou art a witty fool, I have found
thee.
Clo. Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were
you taught to find me ? Tlie search, sir, was pro-
fitable ; and much fool may you find in you, even
to the world's pleasure, and the increase of laughter.
Par. A good knave, i'faith, and well fed. —
Madam, my lord will go away to-night ;
A very serious business calls on him.
The great prerogative and rite of love,
Wliich, as your due, time claims, he does acknow-
ledge ;
But puts it off by a compell'd restraint ;
Whose want, and whose delay, is strewed with sweets,
Which they distil now in the curbed time.
To make the coming hour o'erflow with joy.
And pleasure drown the brim.
Hel. What's his will else ?
Par. Tliat you will take your instant leave o'the
king,
And make this haste as your own good proceeding,
Strengthen'd with what apology you think
May make it probable need.*'
Hel. What more commands he ?
Par. That, having this obtain'd, you presently
Attend his further pleasure.
Hel. In every thing I wait upon his will.
Par. I shall report it so.
Hel, I pray you. — Come, sirrah.
\^Exeunt.
SCENE V. — Another Room in the same.
Enter Lafeu and Bertram.
Laf. But I hope, your lordship thinks not him a
soldier.
Ber. Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof.
Laf. You have it from his own deliverance.
Ber. And by other warranted testimony.
Laf. Then my dial goes not true ; I took this lark
for a bunting.'
Ber. I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in
knowledge, and accordingly valiant.
Laf. I have then sinned against his experience,
and transgressed against his valour ; and my state
that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find in my
heart to repent. Here he comes ; I pray you, make
us friends, I will pursue the amity.
Enter Parolles,
Par. These things shall be done, sir.
[To Bertram.
Laf. Pray you, sir, who's liis tailor ?
Par. Sir?
Laf. O, I know him well : Ay, sir; he, sir, is a
good workman, a very good tailor.
Ber. Is she gone to the king ?
\^Aside to Parollu.
Par. S)ie is.
Ber. Will she away to-night ?
Par. As you'll have her.
Ber. I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure.
Given order for our horses ; and to-night.
When I should take possession of the bride,
jMf A good traveller is something at the latter
end of a dinner ; but one that lies three tliirds, and
uses a known truth to pass a thousand notliings
• A specious appearance of necessity.
7 The bunting nearly resembles the sky.lark , but has little
or no song, which gives estimation to the sky.lark.
Q
226
ALLS WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
Act m.
with, should be once heard, and thrice beaten. —
Heaven save you, captain.
Ber. Is there any unkindness between my lord
and you, monsieur ?
Par. I know not how I liave deserved to run into
my lord's displeasure.
Laf. You have made shift to run into't, boots and
spurs and all, like him that leaped into the custard ;
and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer
question for your residence.
Ber. It may be, you have mistaken him, my lord.
Lnf. And sliall do so ever, though I took him at
his prayers. Fare you well, my lord ; and believe
this of me, there can be no kernel in this light nut ;
the soul of this man is his clothes : trust him not in
matter of heavy consequence : I have kept of them
tame, and know their natures. — Farewell, mon-
sieur ! I have spoken better of you, than you have
or will deserve at my hand ; but we must do good
against evil. [_Exit.
Par. An idle lord, I swear.
Ber. I think so.
Par. Why do you not know him ?
Ber. Yes, I do know him well ; and common speech
Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog.
Enter Helena.
Hel. I have, sir, as I was commanded from you,
Spoke with the king, and have procured his leave
For present parting ; only, he desires
Some private speech with you.
Ber. I shall obey his will.
You must not marvel, Helen, at my course.
Which holds not colour with the time, nor does
The ministration and required office
On my particular : prepar'd I was not
For such a business ; therefore am I found
So much unsettled : This drives me to entreat you,
That presently you take your way for home ;
And rather muse ^, than ask, why I entreat you :
For my respects are better than they seem ;
And my appointments have in them a need,
Greater than shows itself, at the first view.
To you that know them not. This to my mother.
{^Giving a letter.
'Twill be two days ere I shall see you ; so
I leave you to your wisdom.
Hel. Sir, I can nothing say.
But that I am your most obedient servant.
Ber. Come, come, no more of that.
Hel. And ever shall
With true observance seek to eke out that,
Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd
To equal my great fortune.
Ber. Let that go :
My haste is very great : Farewell ; hie home.
Hel. Pray, sir, your pardon.
Ber. Well, what would you say ?
Hel. I am not worthy of the wealth I owe 9 ;
Nor dare I say, 'tis mine ; and yet it is ;
But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal
What law does vouch mine own.
Ber. I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse.
Hel. I shall not break your bidding, good my lord.
Ber. Where are my other men, monsieur?^
Farewell. \^Ent Helena.
Go thou toward home ; where I will never come.
Whilst I can shake my sword, or hear the drum : —
Away, and for our flight.
Par. Bravely, coragio ! {^Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I. — Florence. A Room in the Duke's
Palace.
Floui-ish. Enter the Duke of Florence, attended ;
txvo French Lords, and others.
Duke. So that, from point to point, now have
you heard
The fundamental reasons of this war ;
Whose great decision hath much blood let forth.
And more thirsts after.
1 Lord. Holy seems the quarrel
Upon your grace's part ; black and fearful
On the opposer.
Duke. Therefore we marvel much, our cousin
France
Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom
Against our borrowing prayers.
2 Lord. Good my lord,
The reasons of our state I cannot yield.
But like a common and an outward man.
That the great figure of a council frames
By self-unable motion : therefore dare not
Say what I think of it ; since I have found
Myself in my uncertain grounds to fail
As often as I guess'd.
Duke. Be it his pleasure.
2 Lord. But I am sure, the younger of our nature,
That surfeit on their ease, will, day by day.
Come here for physick.
Duke. Welcome shall they be ;
And all the honours, that can fly from us.
Shall on them settle. You know your places well ;
When better fall, for your avails they fell :
To-morrow to the field. {^Flourish. Exeunt.
SCENE II. — Rousillon. A Room in the Coun-
tess's Palace.
Enter Countess and Clown.
Count. It hath happened all as I would have had
it, save, that he comes not along with her.
Clo. By my troth, I take my young lord to be a
very melancholy man.
Count. By what observance, I pray you ?
Clo. Why, he will look upon his boot, and sing ;
mend the ruff', and sing ; ask questions, and sing ;
pick his teeth, and sing : I know a man that had
this trick of melancholy, sold a goodly manor for a
song.
Count. Let me see what he writes, and when he
means to come. [Opening a letter.
Clo. I have no mind to Isbel, since I was at
court : our old ling and our Isbels o'the country are
nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o'the
court : the brains of my Cupid's knocked out ; and
^ Wonder.
1 The folding at the top of the boot.
Scene II.
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
227
I begin to love, as an old man loves money, with
no stomach.
Count. What have we here ?
Clo. E'en that you have there. [Exit.
Count. [Reads.] I have sent you a daughter-in-
law : she hath recovcrejiJhit^ng, and undone me. I
have ivedded her, noCbeddedjher ; and sworn to make
the not eternal. YouSttaU hear, I am run away ;
know it, before the report come. If there be breadth
enough in the world, I will hold a long distance.
My duty to you.
Your unfortunate son,
Bertram.
This is not well, rash and unbridled boy,
To fly the favours of so good a king ;
To pluck his indignation on thy head.
By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous
For the contempt of empire.
Re-enter Clown.
Clo. O madam, yonder is heavy news within, be-
tween two soldiers and my young lady.
Cou7it. What is the matter ?
Clo. Nay, there is some comfort in the news,
some comfort ; your son will not be kill'd, so soon
as I thought he would.
Count. Why should he be killed ?
Clo. So say I madam, if he run away, as I hear
he does. Here they come, will tell you more : for
ray part, I only hear, your son was run away.
[Exit Clown.
Enter Helena and two Gentlemen.
1 Gent. Save you, good madam.
Hel. Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.
2 Gent. Do not say so.
Count. Think upon patience. — 'Pray you, gen-
tlemen, —
I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief,
That the first face of neither, on the start,
Can woman me unto't : — Where is my son. I pray
you?
2 Gent. Madam, he's gone to serve the duke of
Florence ?
We met him thitherward ; from thence we came.
And after some despatch in hand at court,
Thitlier we bend again.
Hel. Look on 3iis letter, madam ; here's my
passport.
[Reads.] When thou canst get the ring upon my
finger, which never shall come off, and show me a
child begotten of thy body, that I am father to, then
call me husband : but in such a then / write a never.
This is a dreadful sentence.
Count. Brought you this letter, gentlemen ?
1 Gent. Ay, madam ;
And, for the contents' sake, are sorry for our pains.
Count. I pr'ytliee, lady, have a better cheer ;
If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine.
Thou robb'st me of a moiety : He was my son ;
But I do wash his name out of my blood.
And thou art all my child. — Towards Florence
is he ?
2 Gent. Ay, madam.
Count. And to be a soldier ?
2 Gent. Such is his noble purpose : and, believ't,
The duke will lay upon him all the honour,
That good convenience claims.
Count. Return you thither?
1 Gent. Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of
speed.
Hel [Reads.] Till I have no wife, I have nothing
in France.
Tis bitter.
Count. Find you that there ?
Hel. Ay, madam.
1 Gent. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand, haply
which
His heart was not consenting to.
Count. Nothing in France, until he have no wife I
There's nothing here tliat is too good for him.
But only she ; and she deserves a lord.
That twenty such rude boys might tend upon.
And call her hourly, mistress. Who was with him ?
1 Gent. A servant only, and a gentleman
Which I have some time known.
Count. Parolles, was't not ?
1 Gent. Ay, my good lady, he.
Count. A very tainted fellow, and full of wicked-
ness.
My son corrupts a well-derived nature
With his inducement.
1 Gent. Indeed, good lady,
The fellow has a deal of that, too much.
Which holds him much to have.
Count. You are welcome, gentlemen,
I will entreat you, when you see my son.
To tell him, that his sword can never win
The honour that he loses : more 1*11 entreat you
Written to bear along.
2 Gent. We serve you, madam,
In that and all your worthiest affairs
Count. Not so, but as we change^ our courtesie?!.
Will you draw near ?
[Exeunt Countess and Gentlemen.
Hel. Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.
Nothing in France, until he has no wife !
Thou shalt have none, Rousillon, none in France,
Then hast thou all again. Poor lord ! is't I
That chase thee from thy country, and expose
Tliose tender limbs of thine to the event
Of the none-sparing war ? and is it I
That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou
Was shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark
Of smoky muskets ? O you leaden messengers.
That ride upon the violent speed of fire.
Fly with false aim ; move the still-piercing air.
That sings with piercing, do not touch my lord !
Whoever shoots at him, I set him there ;
Whoever charges on his forward breast,
I am the caitiff, that do hold him to it ;
And though I kill him not, I am the cause
His death was so effected : better 'twere
I met the ravin 3 lion when he roar'd
With sharp constraint of hunger ; better 'twere
That all the miseries, wliich nature owes,
Were mine at once : No, come thou home, Rousillon,
Whence honour but of danger wins a scar.
As oft it loses all ; I will be gone :
My being here it is that holds thee hence :
Shall I stay here to do't ? no, no, although
The air of paradise did fan the house.
And angels offic'd all : I will be gone ;
That pitiful rumour may report my flight.
To consolate thine ear. Come, night ; end, day !
For, with the dark, poor thief, I'll steal uwav.
' [ExU.
* Exchange. ' Ravenous
Q 2
228
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
Act in.
SCENE HI. — Florence. Before the Duke's
Palace.
Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram,
Lords, Officers, Soldiers, and others.
Duke. The general of our horse thou art ; and we.
Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence.
Upon tliy promising fortune.
Ber. Sir, it is
A charge too heavy for my strength ; but yet
We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake.
To the extreme edge of hazard.
Duke. Then go thou forth ;
And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm.
As thy auspicious mistress !
Ber. This very day,
Great Mars, I put myself into thy file :
Make me but like my thoughts ; and I shall prove
A lover of thy drum, hater of love. \^Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — Rousillon. A Room in the
Countess's Palace.
Enter Countess and Steward.
Count. Alas ! and would you take the letter of her ?
Might you not know, she would do as she has done,
By sending me a letter ? Read it again.
Stew. I am Saint Jaques^ pilgrim, thither gone :
Ambitious love hath so in me offended.
That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon.
With sainted vow my faults to have amended.
Write, write, that from the bloody course of war.
My dearest master, your dear son may hie ;
Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far.
His name with zealous fervour sanctify :
His taken labours bid him me forgive ;
I, his despiteful Juno "*, sent him forth
From courtly friends, with camping foes to live.
Where death and danger dog the heels of worth :
He is too good and fair for death and me ;
Whom I myself embrace, to set him free.
Count. Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest
words !
Rinaldo, you did never lack advice 5 so much,
As letting her pass so ; had I spoke with her,
I could have well diverted her intents.
Which thus she hath prevented,
Sfew. Pardon me, madam:
If I had given you this at over night,
She might have been o'erta'en ; and yet she writes.
Pursuit would be in vain.
Count, What angel shall
Bless this unworthy husband? he cannot thrive,
Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear.
And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath
Of greatest justice. — Write, write, Rinaldo,
To this unworthy husband of his wife ;
Let every word weigh heavy of her worth,
That he does weigh tx>o light : my greatest grief.
Though little he do feel it, set down sharply.
Despatch the most convenient messenger : —
When, haply, he shall hear that she is gone.
He will return ; and hope I may, that she.
Hearing so much, will speed her foot again.
Led hither by pure love : which of them both
Is dearest to me, I have no skill in sense
,* Alluding to the story of Hercules.
' Discretion or thought.
To make distinction : — Provide this messenger: —
My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak ;
Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak.
{^Exeunt.
SCENE V. — Without the Walls of Florence.
A Tucket afar off. Enter an old Widow o/" Florence,
Diana, Violenta, Mariana, and other Citizens.
Wid. Nay, come ; for if they do approach the
city, we shall lose all the sight.
Dia. Tliey say, the French count has done most
honourable service.
Wid. It is reported that he has taken their great-
est commander ; and that with his own hand he
slew the duke's brother. We have lost our labour ;
they are gone a contrary way : hark ! you may know
by their trumpets.
Mar. Come, let's return again, and suffice our-
selves with the report of it. Well, Diana, take heed
of this French earl : the honour of a maid is her
name ; and no legacy is so rich as honesty.
Wid. I have told my neighbour, how you have
been solicited by a gentleman his companion.
Mar. I know that knave ; hang him ! one Pa-
rolles : a filthy officer he is in those suggestions ^
for the young earl. — Beware of them, Diana ;
their promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all
these engines, are not the things they go under 7 ;
many a maid hath been seduced by them ; and the
misery is, example, that so terrible shows in the
wreck of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade
succession, but that they are limed with the twigs
that threaten them. I hope, I need not to advise
you further ; but, I hope, your own grace will keep
you where you are, though there were no further
danger known, but the modesty which is so lost.
Dia. You shall not need to fear me.
Enter Helena, in the dress of a PUgrirru
Wid. I hope so. liOok, here comes a pil-
grim. I know she will lie at my house : thither
they send one another : I'll question her. —
God save you, pilgrim ! Whither are you bound ?
Hel. To Saint Jaques le grand.
Where do the palmers ^ lodge, I do beseech you ?
Wid. At the Saint Francis here, beside the port.
Hel. Is this the way ?
Wid. Ay, marry, is it. — Hark you !
\^A march afar off^
They come this way : — If you will tarry, holy pil-
grim.
But till the troops come by,
I will conduct you where you shall be lodg'd ;
The rather, for, I think, I know your hostess
As ample as myself.
Hel. Is it yourself?
Wid. If you shall please so, pilgrim.
Hel. I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure.
Wid. You came, I think, from France?
Hel. I did so.
Wid. Here you shall see a countryman of yours.
That has done worthy service.
Hel. His name, I pray you.
Dia. The count Rousillon : Know you such a one ?
Hel. But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him :
His face I know not.
Dia. Whatsoe'er he is.
He's bravely taken here. He stole from France,
6 Temptations. ? Not what their names express.
" Pilgrims 5 so called from a staff or bough of palm they
were wont to carry.
Scene V.
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
229
As 'tis reported, for 9 the king had married him
Against his liking : Think you it is so ?
Hel. Ay, surely, mere the truth ; I know his lady.
Dia. There is a gentleman, that serves the count,
Reports but coarsely of her.
Hel. What's his name ?
Dia. Monsieur Parolles,
Hel. O, I believe with him.
In argument of praise, or to the worth
Of the great count himself, she is too mean
To have her name repeated ; all her deserving
Is a reserved honesty, and that
I have not heard examin'd.
Dia. Alas poor lady !
'Tis a hard bondage, to become the wife
Of a detesting lord.
Wid. A right good creature : wheresoe'er she is,
Her heart weighs sadly : this young maid might do
her
A shrewd turn, if she pleas'd.
Hel. How do you mean ?
May be, the amorous count solicits her
In the unlawful purpose.
Wid. He does, indeed ;
And brokes' with all that can in such a suit
Corrupt the tender honour of a maid :
But she is arm'd for him, and keeps her guard
In honestest defence.
Enter, with Drum and Colours, a Party of the Flo-
rentine Army, Bertram and Parolles.
^[ar. The gods forbid else !
Wid. So, now they come : —
That is Antonio, the duke's eldest son ;
That, Escalus.
Hel. Which is the Frenchman ?
Dia. He ;
That with the plume : 'tis a most gallant fellow ;
I would, he lov'd his wife : if he were honester,
He were much goodlier : — Is't not a handsonie
gentleman ?
Hel. I like him well.
Dia. 'Tis pity, he is not honest : Yond's that
same knave.
That leads him to these places ; were I his lady,
I'd poison that vile rascal.
Hel. Which is he?
Dia. That jack-an-apes with scarfs : Why is he
melancholy ?
Hd. Perchance he's hurt i'the battle.
Par, Lose our drum ! well.
Mar. He's shrewdly vexed at something ; Look,
he has spied us.
Wid. Marry, hang yon !
Mar- And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier !
[Exeunt Bertram, Pakolles, Qffkers,
and Soldiers.
Wid. The troop is past : Come, pilgrim, I will
bring you
Wliere you shall host : of enjoin'd penitents
There's four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound,
Already at my house.
Hel. I humbly thank you :
Please it this matron, and this gentle maid,
To cat with us to-night, the charge, and thanking.
Shall be for me ; and, to requite you further,
I will bestow some precepts on this virgin.
Worthy the note.
Both. We'll take your offer kindly.
[Exeunt.
• Because > Demli.
SCENE VI. — Camp before Florence.
Enter Bertram, and the tivo French Lords.
1 Lord. Nay, good my lord, put him to't ; let
him have his way.
2 Lord. If your lordship find him not a hilding -,
hold me no more in your respect.
1 Lord. On my life, my lord, a bubble.
J3er. Do you think, I am so far deceived in him ?
1 Lord. Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct
knowledge, without any malice but to speak of him
as my kinsman, he's a most notable coward, an in-
finite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker,
the owner of no one good quality worthy your lord-
ship's entertainment.
2 Lord. It were fit you knew him ; lest, reposing
too far in his virtue, which he hath not, he might
at some great and trusty business, in a main danger,
fail you.
Ber I would, I knew in what particular action
to try him.
2 Lord. None better than to let him fetch off his
drum, which you hear him so confidently undertake
to do.
1 Lord. I, with a troop of Florentines, will sud-
denly surprise him ; such I will have, whom, I am
sure, he knows not from the enemy : we will bind
and hood-wink him so, that he shall suppose no
other but that he is carried into the leaguer 3 of the
adversaries, when we bring him to our tents : Be
but your lordship present at his examination; if he
do not, for the promise of his life, and in the highest
compulsion of base fear, offer to betray you, and
deliver all the intelligence in his power against you,
and that with the forfeit of his soul upon oath, never
trust my judgment in any thing.
2 Lord. O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch
his drum ; he says he has a stratagem for't : when
your lordship sees the bottom of his success in't,
and to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will
be melted, if you give him not John Drum's enter-
taiment, your inclining cannot be removed. Here
he comes.
Enter Parolles.
1 Lord. O, for the love of laughter, hinder not
the humour of his design ; let him fetch off his
drum in any hand.
Bei'. How now, monsieur? this drum sticks
sorely in your disposition.
2 Lord. A plague on't, let it go ; 'tis but a drum.
Par. But a drum ! Is't but a drum ? A drum so
lost ! — There was an excellent command ! to charge
in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend
our own soldiers.
2 Lord. Tliat was not to be blamed in the com-
mand of the service ; it was a disaster of war that
Caesar himself could not have prevented, if he had
been there to command.
Ber. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our suc-
cess : some dishonour we had in the loss of that
drum ; but it is not to be recovered.
Par. It might have been recovered.
Ber. It might, but it is not now.
Par. It is to be recovered : but that the merit of
service is seldom attributed to the true and exact
performer, I would have that drum or another, or
hicjacet. *
» A paltry fellow, a coward.
^ The lines, entrenchments.
Q 3
< i. e. An epitaph.
230
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. Act IIL Scene VII.
Ber. Why, if you have a stomach to't, monsieur,
if you think your mystery in stratagem can bring
this instrument of honour again into its native
quarter, be magnanimous in the enterprize, and go
on ; I will grace the attempt for a worthy exploit ;
if you speed well in it, the duke shall both speak
of it, and extend to you what further becomes his
greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your wor-
thiness.
Par. By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it.
Ber. But you must not now slumber in it.
Par. I'll about it this evening : and I will pre-
sently pen down my dilemmas, encourage myself
in my certainty, put myself into my mortal pre-
paration, and, by midnight, look to hear further
from me.
Ber. May I be bold to acquaint his grace, you
are gone about it ?
Par. I know not what the success will be, my
lord ; but the attempt I vow.
Ber. I know thou art valiant ; and, to the pos-
sibility of thy soldiership, will subscribe for thee.
Farewell.
Par. I love not many words. {Exit.
1 Lord. No more than a fish loves water. — Is
not this a strange fellow, my lord ? that so confi-
dently seems to undertake this business, which he
knows is not to be done.
2 Lord. You do not know him, my lord, as we
do ; certain it is, that he will steal himself into a
man's favour, and, for a week, escape a great deal of
discoveries ; but when you find him out, you have
him ever after.
Ber. Why, do you think, he will make no deed at
all of this, that so seriously he does address himself
unto?
1 Lord. None in the world ; but return with an
invention, and clap upon you two or three probable
lies : but we have almost embossed him 5 ; you shall
see his fall to-night ; for, indeed, he is not for your
lordship's respect.
2 Lord. We'll make you some sport with the fox,
ere we case him. 6 He was first smoked by the old
lord Lafeu : when his disguise and he is parted, tell
me what a sprat you shall find him; which you
shall see this very night.
1 Lord. I must go look my twigs ; he shall be
caught.
Ber. Your brother, he shall go along with me.
1 Lord. As't please your lordship : I'll leave you.
lExU.
Ber. Now will I lead you to the house, and show
you
The lass I spoke of.
2 Lord. But, you say, she's honest.
Ber. That's all the fault: I spoke with her but once.
And found her wondrous cold ; but I sent to her.
By this same coxcomb that we have i'the wind,
Tokens and letters which she did re-send;
And this is all I have done : She's a fair creature ;
Will you go see her ?
2 Lord. With all my heart, my lord.
\^Exeunt.
o To emboss a deer, is to enclose him in a wood.
6 Before we strip him naked.
SCENE VII Florence. A Room in i/ie
Widow's House.
Enter Helena and Widow.
Hel. If you misdoubt me that I am not she,
I know not how I shall assure you further,
But I shall lose the grounds I work upon.
md. Though my estate be fallen, I was well
bom,
Nothing acquainted with these businesses
And would not put my reputation now
In any staining act.
Hel. Nor would I wish you.
First give me trust, the count he is my husband ;
And, what to your sworn counsel I have spoken,
Is so, from word to word ; and then you cannot.
By the good aid that I of you shall borrow.
Err in bestowing it.
md. I should believe you ;
For you have show'd me that, which well ap-
proves
You are great in fortune.
ffel. Take this purse of gold.
And let me buy your friendly help thus far,
Wliich I will over-pay, and pay again.
When I have found it. The count he wooes your
daughter.
Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty,
Resolves to carry her ; let her, in fine, consent.
As we'll direct her how 'tis best to bear it.
Now his important 7 blood will nought deny
Tliat she'll demand : A ring the county 8 wears,
That downward hath succeeded in his house,
From son to son, some four or five descents
Since the first father wore it : this ring he holds
In most rich choice ; yet in his idle fire,
To buy his will, it would not seem too dear,
Howe'er repented after.
md. Now I see
The bottom of your purpose.
Hel. You see it lawful then : It is no more.
But that your daughter, ere she seems as won,
Desires this ring ; appoints him an encounter ;
In fine, delivers me to fill the time.
Herself most chastely absent : after this.
To marry her, I'll add three thousand crowns
To what is past already.
md. I have yielded :
Instruct my daughter how she shall pers^ver.
That time and place, with this deceit so lawful,
May prove coherent. Every night he comes
With musicks of all sorts, and songs compos'd
To her unworthiness : It nothing steads us.
To chide him from our eaves; for he persists.
As if his life lay on't.
Hel. Why then to-night
Let us assay our plot ; which, if it speed.
Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed.
And lawful meaning in a lawful act ;
Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact :
But let's about it. [Exeunt.
7 Importunate.
8 Count.
Act IV^. Scene I. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
2i^l
ACT IV.
SCENE I. — WUhout the Florentine Camp.
ErUer first Lord, with five or six Soldiers in ambush.
1 Lord. He can come no other way but by this
hedge' comer : When you sally upon him, speak
what terrible language you will ; tliough you under-
stand it not yourselves, no matter : for we must not
seem to understand him j unless some one among us,
whom we must produce for an interpreter.
1 Sold. Good captain, let me be the interpreter.
1 Lord. Art not acquainted with him ? knows he
not thy voice?
1 Sold. No sir, I warrant you.
1 Lord. But wliat linsy-woolsy hast thou to speak
to us again ?
1 Sold. Even such as you speak to me.
1 Lord. He must think us some band of strangers
i' the adversary's entertainment. ^ Now he hath a
smack of all neighbouring languages ; therefore we
must every one be a man of his own fancy, not to
know what we speak one to another ; so we seem to
know, is to know straight our purpose : chough's '
language, gabble enough, and good enough. As
for you, interpreter, you must seem very politick.
But couch, ho! here he comes; to beguile two
hours in a sleep, and then to return and swear the
lies he forges.
Enter Parolles.
Par. Ten o'clock : within these three hours 'twill
be time enough to go home. What shall I say I
have done? It must be a very plausive invention
that carries it : They begin to smoke me ; and dis-
graces have of late knocked too often at my door. J
find, my tongue is too fool-hardy ; but my heart
hath the fear of Mars before it, and of his creatures,
not daring the reports of my tongue.
1 Lord. This is the first truth that e'er thine own
tongue was guilty of. \_Aside.
Far. What the devil should move me to under-
take the recovery of this drum ; being not ignorant
of the impossibility, and knowing I had no such
purpose ? I must give myself some hurts, and say,
I got them in exploit : Yet slight ones will not
carry it : They will say, Came you off with so little ?
and great ones I dare not give. Wherefore ? what's
the instance ? 2 Tongue, I must put you into a
butter-woman's mouth, and buy another of Bajazet's
mule, if you prattle me into these perils.
1 Lord: Is it possible, he should know what he
is, and be that he is? [Aside.
Par. I would the cutting of my garments would
serve the turn ; or the breaking of my Spanish
sword.
1 Lord. We cannot afford you so. [Aside.
Par. Or the baring of my beard ; and to say, it
was in stratagem.
1 Lord. 'Twould not do. [Aside.
Par. Or to drown my clothes, and say, I was
stripped.
1 Lord. Hardly serve. [Asule.
Par. Though I swore I leaped from the window
of the citadel
1 Lord. How deep? [Aside.
* i. e. Foreign troops in the enemy's pay.
• A bird like a jack-daw. « The proof.
Par. Thirty fathom.
1 Lord. Three great oaths would scarce make
that be believed. [Aside.
Par. I would, I had any drum of the enemy's ;
I would swear, I recovered it.
1 Lord. You shall hear one anon. [Aside.
Par. A drum now of the enemy's !
[Alarum within.
1 Lord. Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo.
All. Cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, cargo.
Par. O ! ransome, ransome : — Do not liide mine
eyes. [ They seize him, and blindfold Idm.
1 Sold. Boskos thromuldo boskos.
Par. I know you are the Muskos' regiment.
And I shall lose my life for want of language :
If there be here German, or Dane, low Dutch,
Italian, or French, let him speak to me,
I will discover that which shall undo
The Florentine.
1 Sold. Boskos vauvado :
I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue : ■
Kcrelybonto : Sir,
Betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards
Are at thy bosom.
Par. Oh !
1 Sold. O, pray, pray, pray.
Manka revania dulche.
1 Lord. Oscitrbi dulchos voliuorca.
1 Sold. The general is content to spare thee yet ;
And hood-wink'd as thou art, will lead thee on
To gather from thee : haply, thou mayst inform
Something to save tliy life.
Par. O, let me live,
And all the secrets of our camp I'll show,
Their force, their puqioses : nay, I'll speak that
Which you will wonder at.
1 Sold. But wilt thou faithfully?
Par. If I do not, kill me.
1 Sold. Acordo linta. -^
Come on, thou art granted space.
[Exit, with Parolles guarded.
1 Lord. Go, tell the count Rousillon, and my
brother.
We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him
muffled,
Till we do hear from them.
2 Sold. Captain, I will.
1 Lord. He will betray us all unto ourselves ; —
Inform 'em that.
2 Sold. So I will, sir.
1 Lord. Till then, I'll keep him dark, and safely
lock'd. [ExeuiU,
SCENE n.
Florence. A Room in the Widow'*
House.
Enter Bertram arul Diana.
Ber. They told me, that your name was Fontil)ell.
Dia. No, my good lord, Diana.
Ber. Titled goddess ;
And worth it, with addition ! But, fair soul,
In your fine frame hath love no quality ?
If the quick fire of youtli light not your mind.
You are no maiden, but a monument :
When you are dead, you should be such a one
Q 4
232
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
Act IV.
As you are now, for you are cold and stern ;
And now you should be as your mother was,
Before yourself were born.
Dia. Slie then was honest.
Ber. So should you be.
Dia. No :
My mother did but duty ; such, my lord.
As you owe to your wife.
Her. No more of that !
I pr'ythee, do not strive against my vows :
I' was compeird to her ; but I love thee
By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever
Do thee all rights of service.
Dia. Ay, so you serve us.
Till we serve you : but when you have our roses,
You barely leave our thorns to wound ourselves,
And mock us with our bareness.
Ber. How have I sworn ?
Dia. 'Tis not the many oaths that make the truth ;
But the plain single vow, that is vow'd true.
What is not holy, that we swear not by.
But take the Highest to witness : Then, pray you,
tell me.
If I should swear by Jove's great attributes,
I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths.
When I did love you ill ? this has no holding.
To swear by him whom I protest to love.
That I will work against him : Therefore, your oaths,
Are words and poor conditions j but unseal'd j
At least, in my opinion.
Ber. Change it, change it ;
Be not so holy-cruel ; love is holy ;
And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts.
That you do charge men with : Stand no more off,
But give thyself unto my sick desires.
Who then recover : say, thou art mine, and ever
My love, as it begins, shall so pers^ver.
Dia. I see, that men make hopes, in such affairs.
That we'll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring.
Ber. I'll lend it thee, my dear, but have no
power
To give it from me.
Dia. Will you not, my lord ?
Ber. It is an honour 'longing to our house.
Bequeathed down from many ancestors ;
Which were the greatest obloquy i'the world
In me to lose.
Dia. Mine honour's such a ring :
My chastity's the jewel of our house.
Bequeathed down from many ancestors ;
Which were the greatest obloquy i'the world
In me to lose : Thus your own proper wisdom
Brings in the champion honour on my part,
Against your vain assault.
Ber. Here, take my ring :
My house, mine honour, yea, my life be thine.
And I'll be bid by thee.
Dia. When midnight comes, knock at my cham-
ber window ;
I'll order take, my mother shall not hear.
Now will I charge you in the band of truth.
Remain then but an hour nor speak to me :
My reasons are most strong ; and you shall know
them,
When back again this ring shall be deliver'd :
And on your finger, in the night I'll put
Another ring ; that, what in time proceeds,
May token to the future our past deeds.
Adieu, till then ; then fail not : You have won
A wife of me, though there my hope be done.
Ber. A heaven on earth I have won by wooing
thee. [ExU.
Dia. For which live long to thank both heaven
and me !
You may so in the end. — — >
My mother told me just how he would woo.
As if she sat in his heart ; she says, all men
Have the like oaths : he had sworn to marry me,
When his wife's dead ; therefore I'll lie with him,
When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid 3,
Marry that will, I'll live and die a maid :
Only, in this disguise, I think't no sin
To cozen him, that would unjustly win. \^Exit,
SCENE III. — The Florentine Camp.
Enter the two French Lords, and two or three
Soldiers.
1 Lord. You have not given him bis mother's
letter ?
2 Lord. I have delivered it an hour since : there
is something in't that stings his nature : for, on the
reading it, he changed almost into another man.
1 Lord. He has much worthy blame laid upon
him, for shaking off so good a wife, and so sweet a
lady.
2 Lord. Especially he hath incun-ed the everlast-
ing displeasure of the king, who had even tuned his
bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you a
thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you.
1 Lord. When you have spoken it, 'tis dead, and
I am the grave of it.
2 Lord. He hath perverted a young gentlewoman
here in Florence, of a most chaste renown ; he hath
given her his monumental ring, and thinks himself
made in the unchaste composition.
1 Lord. Now, heaven delay our rebellion ; as we
are ourselves, what things are we !
2 Lord. Merely our own traitors. And as in the
common course of all treasons, we still see them
reveal themselves, till they attain to their abhorred
ends ; so he, that in this action contrives against his
own nobility, in his proper stream o'erflows himself.
1 Lord. Is it not meant confoundedly in us, to
be trumpeters of our unlawful intents ? We shall
not then have his company to-night ?
2 Lord. Not till after midnight.
1 Lord. That approaches apace : I would gladly
have him see his company 4 anatomised ; that he
might take a measure of his own judgments, wherein
so curiously he had set this counterfeit.
2 L^ord. We will not meddle with him till he
come; for his presence must be the whip of the
other.
1 Lord. In the mean time, what hear you of these
wars?
2 Lord. [ hear, there is an overture of peace.
1 Lord. Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded.
2 Lord. What will count Rousillon do then ? will
he travel higher, or return again into France?
1 Lord. I perceive, by this demand, you are not
altogether of his council.
2 Lord. Let it be forbid, sir ! so should I be a
great deal of his act.
1 Lord. Sir, his wife, some two months since
fled from his house; her pretence is a pilgrimage
to Saint Jaques le grand ; which holy undertaking,
with most austere sanctimony, she accomplished :
Crafty, deceitful.
< For companion.
Scene III.
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
238
and, there residing, the tenderness of her nature
became as a prey to her grief; in fine made a groan
of her last breath, and now she sings in heaven.
2 Lord. How is this justified ? •
1 Lord. The stronger part of it by her own
letter which makes her story true, even to the point
of her death : her death itself, which could not be
her oflfice to say, is come, was faithfully confirmed
by the rector of the place.
2 Lord. Hath the count all this intelligence ?
1 Lord. Ay, and the particular confirmations,
point from point, to the full arming of the verity.
2 Lord. I am heartily sorry, that he'll be glad
of this.
1 Lord. How mightily sometimes we make us
comforts of our losses !
2 Lord. And how mightily, some other times,
we drown our gain in tears ! The great dignity, that
his valour hath here acquired for him, shall at home
be encountered with a shame as ample.
1 Lord. The web of our life is of a mingled yarn,
good and ill together : our virtues would be proud,
if our faults whipped them not ; and our crimes
would despair, if they were not cherish'd by our
virtues. —
Enter a Servant.
How now ? Where's your master ?
Serv. He met the duke in tlie street, sir, of whom
he hath taken a solemn leave ; his lordsliip will next
morning for France. The duke hath offered him
letters of commendations to the king.
2 Lord. They shall be no more than needful
there, if they were more than they can commend.
Enter Bertram.
1 Lord. They cannot be too sweet for the king's
tartness. Here's his lordship now. How now, my
lord, is't not after midnight.
Ber. I have to-night despatched sixteen busi-
nesses, a month's length a-piece, by an abstract of
success : I have co7ig6'd with the duke, done my
adieu with his nearest ; buried a wife, mourned for
her ; writ to my lady mother, I am returning ; en-
tertained my convoy ; and, between these main
parcels of despatch, effected many nicer needs ; the
last was the greatest, but that I have not ended yet.
2 Lord. If the business be of any difficulty, and
this morning your departure hence, it requires haste
of your lordship.
Ber. I mean, the business is not ended, as fearing
to hear of it hereafter : But shall we have this dia-
logue between the fool and the soldier ? Come,
bring forth this counterfeit module * ; he has de-
ceived me, like a double-meaning prophesier.
2 Lord. Bring him forth : [^Exeunt Soldiers.] he
has sat in the stocks all night, poor gallant knave.
Jier. No matter ; his heels have deserved it, in
usuqiing his spurs ^ so long. How does he carry
himself?
1 Lord. I have told your lordship already ; the
stocks carry him. But, to answer you as you would
he understood ; he weeps : he hath confessed him-
self to Morgan, whom he supposes to be a friar,
from the time of his remembrance, to this very in-
stant disaster of his sitting i'the stocks : And what
think you he hath confessed ?
Ber. Nothing of me, has he ?
■' Model, pattern.
« An allusion to the degradation of a knight by hacking off
MIS spurs.
2 Lord. His confession is taken, and it shall be
read to his face : if your lordship be in't, as I believe
you are, you must have the patience to hear it.
Re-enter Soldiers, with Parolles.
Ber. A plague upon him ! muffled ! he can say
nothing of me ; hush ! hush !
1 Lord. Hoodman comes ! — Porto tartarossa.
1 Sold. He calls for the tortures ; What will you
say without 'em ?
Par. I will confess what I 'know without con-
straint ; if he pinch me like a pasty, I can say no
more.
1 Sold. Bosko chimurcho.
2 Lord. Boblibindo chicurmurcho.
1 Sold. You are a merciful general : — Our
general bids you answer to what I shall ask you out
of a note.
Par. And truly, as I hope to live.
1 Sold. First demand of him how many horse the
duke is strong. What say you to that ?
Par. Five or six thousand ; but very weak and
unserviceable : the troops are all scattered, and the
commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation
and credit, and as I hope to live.
1 Sold. Shall I set down your answer so ?
Par. Do ; I'll take my oath on't, how and which
way you will.
Ber. All's one to him. What a past-saving slave
is this !
1 Lord. You are deceived, my lord ; this is mon-
sieur Parolles, the gallant militarist, (that was his
own phrase, ) that had the whole theorick of war in
the knot of his scarf, and the practice in the chape ^
of his dagger.
2 Lord. I will never trust a man again, for keep-
ing his sword clean ; nor believe he can have every
thing in him, by wearing his apparel neatly.
1 Sold. Well, that's set down.
Par. Five or six thousand horse, I said, — I will
say true, — or thereabouts, set down, — for I'll speak
truth.
1 Lord. He's very near the truth in this.
Ber. But I con him no thanks for't, in the nature
he delivers it.
Par. Poor rogues, I pray you, say.
1 Sold. Well, that's set down.
Par. I humbly thank you, sir : a truth's a truth,
the rogues are marvellous poor.
1 Sold. Demand of him, of what strength they are
a-foot. What say you to tliat ?
Par. By my troth, sir, if I were to live this
present hour, I will tell true. Let me see : Spurio
a hundred and fifty, Sebastian so many, Corambus
so many, Jaques so many ; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lo-
dowick, and Gratii, two hundred fifty each ; mine
own company, Chitopher, Vaumond, Bentii, two
hundred and fifty each : so that the muster-file,
rotten and sound, upon my life, amounts not to
fifleen thousand poll ; half of which dare not shake
the snow from off their cassocks 8, lest they shake
themselves to pieces.
Ber. What shall be done to him ?
1 Lord. Nothing, but let him have thanks. De-
mand of him my conditions 9, and what credit I
have with the duke.
1 Sold. Well, that's set down. You shall demand
' The point of the scabbard.
f* CaMock then signified a horseman's loote coat
* Disposition and character.
234
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
Act IV.
nj him, whether one captain Dumain be {the camp,
a Frenchman ; what his reputation is with the duke,
what his valour ^ honest'/, and erpertness in imrs ; or
ivhether he thinks it were not possible, with well-
weighing sums of tiold, to corrupt him to a revolt.
What say you to this ? what do you know of it ?
Par. I beseech you, let me answer to the par-
ticular of tlie interrogatories : Demand them singly.
1 Sold. Do you know this captain Dumain ?
Par. I know him : he was a botcher's 'prentice in
Paris, from whence he was whipped for ill conduct.
[DaaiAiN li/ls up his hand in anger.
Per. Nay, by your leave, hold your hands ;
though I know, his brains are forfeit to the next tile
that falls.
1 Sold. Well, is this captain in the duke of Flo-
rence's camp ?
Par. Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy.
1 Lo7'd. Nay, look not so upon me; we shall
hear of your lordship anon.
1 Sold. What is his reputation with the duke ?
Par. The duke knows him for no other but a
poor officer of mine ; and writ to me this other day,
to turn him out o'the band : I think I have his letter
in my pocket.
1 Sold. Marry, we'll search.
Par. In good sadness, I do not know ; either it
is there, or it is upon a file, with the duke's other
letters in my tent.
] Sold. Here 'tis ; here's a paper ? Shall I read
it to you ?
Par. I do not know if it be it or nd.
Per. Our interpreter does it well.
1 Lord. Excellently.
I Sold. Dian. The counfsafool,andJullof gold, —
Par. That is not the duke's letter, sir ; that is an
advertisement to a proper maid in Florence, one
Diana, to take heed of the allurements of one count
llousillon, a foolish idle boy : I pray you, sir, put
it up again.
1 Sold. Nay, I'll read it first, by your favour.
Par. My meaning in't, I protest, was very honest
in the behalf of the maid ; for 1 knew the young
count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy.
Per. Abominable, both sides rogue !
1 Sold. When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold,
and take it ;
After he scores, he never pays the score :
Half won, is match well made ; match, and well
make it ;
He ne'er pays after debts, take it before ;
And say, a soldier, Dian, told thee this,
Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss :
For count of this, the count's a fool, I know it,
Who pays before, but not when he does owe it.
Thine, as he vow'd to thee in thine ear,
Parollks.
Per. He shall be whipped through the army, with
this rhyme in his forehead.
2 Pord. This is your devoted friend, sir, the
manifold linguist, and the armipotent soldier.
Per. I could endure any thing before but a cat,
and now he's a cat to me.
1 Sold. I perceive, sir, by the general's looks, we
shall be fain to hang you.
Par. My life, sir, in any case: not tliat I am
afraid to die : but that, my offences being many, I
would repent out the remainder of nature : let me
live, sir, in a dungeon, i'the stocks, or any where,
so I may live.
1 Sold. We*ll see what may be done, so you con-
fess freely; therefore, once more to this captain
Dumain : You have answered to his reputation with
the duke, and to his valour : What is his honesty ?
Par. He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister.
He professes not keeping of oaths ; in breaking
them, he is stronger than Hercules. He will lie,
sir, with such volubility, that you would think truth
were a fool : drunkenness is his best virtue. I have
but little more to say, sir, of his honesty : he has
every thing that an honest man should not havej
what an honest man should have, he has nothing.
1 Lord. I begin to love him for this.
Per. For this description of thine honesty ? A
plague upon him for me, he is more and more a cat.
1 Sold. What say you to his expertness in war ?
Par. Faith, sir, he has led the drum before the
English tragedians, — to belie him, I will not, — and
more of his soldiership I know not ; except, in that
country, lie had the honour to be the officer at a
place there called Mile-end, to instruct for the
doubling of files :, I would do the man what honour
I can, but of this I am not certain.
1 Lord. He hath out-villained villainy so far,
that the rarity redeems him.
Per. A plague on him ! he's a cat still.
1 Sold. His qualities being at this poor price, I
need not ask you, if gold will corrupt him to revolt.
Par. Sir, for a quart d'ecu ' he will sell the fee-
simple of his salvation, the inheritance of it ; and
cut the entail from all remainders, and a perpetual
succession for it perpetually.
1 Sold. What's his brother, the other captain
Dumain ?
2 Lord. Why does he ask liim of me ?
1 Sold. What's he ?
Par. E'en a crow of the same nest ; not altogether
so great as the first in goodness, but greater a great
deal in evil. He excels his brother for a coward,
yet his brother is reputed one of the best that is :
In a retreat he outruns any lackey ; marry, in
coming on he has the cramp.
1 Sold. If your life be saved, will you undertake
to betray the Florentine ?
Par. Ay, and the captain of his horse, count
Rousillon.
1 Sold. I'll whisper with the general, and know
his pleasure.
Par. I'll no more drumming ; a plague of all
drums ! Only to seem to deserve well, and to beguile
the supposition ^ of that lascivious young boy, the
count, have I run into this danger : Yet, who would
have suspected an ambush where I was taken ?
[Aside.
1 Sold. There is no remedy, sir, but you must die :
the general says, you, that have so traitorously dis-
covered the secrets of your army, and made such
pestiferous reports of men very nobly held, can
serve the world for no honest use ; therefore you
must die. Come, headsmen, off with his head.
Par. O Lord, sir ; let me live, or let me see my
death.
1 Sold. That shall you, and take your leave of all
your friends. [ Unmxiffling him.
So, look you about you ; Know you any here ?
Per. Good morrow, noble captain.
2 Lord. Bless you, captain Parolles.
1 Lord. Save you, noble captain.
> The fourth part of the smaller French crowa
2 To deceive the opinion.
Scene IV.
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
235
2 Lord. Captain, what greeting will you to my
lord Lafeu ? I am for France.
1 Lord. Good captain, will you give me a copy
of the sonnet you writ to Diana in belialf of the
count Ilousillon ? an I were not a very coward, I'd
compel it of you ; but fare you well.
[Exeiinl Bertram, Lords, ^c.
1 Sold. You are undone, captain : all but your
scarf, that has a knot on't yet
Par. Who cannot be crushed with a plot ?
1 Sold. If you could find out a country where
but women were that had received so much shame,
you might begin an impudent nation. Fare you
well, sir ; I am for France too j we shall speak of
you there. [Exit.
- Par. Yet am I tliankful : if my heart were great,
'Twould burst at this : Captain, I'll be no more ;
But I will eat and drink, and sleep as soft
As captain shall : simply the thing I am
Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart,
Let him fear this ; for it will come to pass.
That every braggart shall be found an ass.
Rust, sword ! cool, blushes ! and, ParoUes, live
Safest in shame ! being fool'd, by foolery thrive !
Tliere's place, and means, for every man alive.
I'll after them. [Exit.
SCENE IV. — Florence. A Room in the Widow'*
, House.
Enter Heleka, Widow, arid Diana.
Hel. That you may well perceive I have not
wrong'd you,
One of the greatest in the Christian world
Shall be my surety ; 'fore whose tlirone, 'tis needful.
Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel :
Time was I did him a desired office.
Dear almost as his life ; which gratitude
Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth.
And answer thanks : I duly am inform'd
His grace is at Marseilles ; to which place
We have convenient convoy. You must know,
I am supposed dead : the army breaking,
My husband hies him home ; where, heaven aiding.
And by the leave of my good lord the king.
We'll be, before our welcome.
fFid. Gentle madam,
You never had a servant, to whose trust
Your business was more welcome.
Hel. Nor you, mistress,
Ever a friend, whose thoughts more truly labour
To recompense your love ; doubt not, but heaven
Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower.
As it hath fated her to be my motive
And helper to a husband. O strange men !
But more of this hereafter : . You, Diana,
Under my poor instructions yet must suffer
Sometliing in my behalf.
Dia. Let death and honesty
Go with your impositions ^ I am yours.
Upon your will to suffer.
HeL Yet, I pray you,
But with the word, the time will bring on summer.
When briars shall have leaves as well as thorns,
And be as sweet as sharp. We must away ;
Our waggon is prepar'd, and time revives us :
AlCs well that ends well ; still the fine's * the crown j
Whate'er the course, the end is the renown.
[Exeunt.
' Command* * End
SCENE V.
Bousillon. A Room in the Coun-
tess's Palace.
Elder Countess, Lafeu, and Clown.
Lqf. No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-
taifata fellow there ; whose villainous saffron ^ would
have made all the unbak'd and doughy youth of a
nation in his colour : your daughter-in-law had been
alive at this hour ; and your son here at home, more
advanced by the the king, than by that red-tailed
humble-bee I speak of.
Count. I would, I had not known him ! it was
the death of the most virtuous gentlewoman that
ever nature had praise for creating : if she had cost
me the dearest groans of a mother, I could not have
owed her a more rooted love.
Laf. 'Twas a good lady, 'twas a good lady : we
may pick a thousand salads, ere we light on such
another herb.
do- Indeed, sir, she was the sweet-marjoram of
the salad, or, rather, the herb of grace. ^
Lqf. They are not salad-herbs, you knave, they
are nose-herbs.
Clo. Sir, I have not much skill in pn— ^^ -
Lnf. Go thy ways, I begin to be a-weary of thee,
and I tell thee so before, because I would not fall
out with thee. Go thy ways; let my horses be
well looked to, without any tricks.
Clo. If I put any tricks upon 'em, sir, they shall
be jades' tricks ; which are their own right by the
law of nature. [Exit.
Lnf. A shrewd knave, and an unhappy. '
Count. So he is. My lord, that's gone, made
himself much sport out of him : by his authority he
remains here, which he thinks is a patent for his
sauciness; and, indeed, he has no pace, but runs
where he will.
Laf. I like him well ; 'tis not amiss : and I was
about to tell you. Since I heard of the good lady's
death, and that my lord your son was upon his re-
turn home, I moved the king my master, to speak
in the behalf of my daughter : which in the mino-
rity of them both, his majesty, out of a self-gracious
remembrance, did first propose : his highness hath
promised me to do it : and, to stop up the displea-
sure he hath conceived against your son, there is no
fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it ?
Count. With very much content, my lord, and I
wish it happily effected.
Laf. His highness comes post from Marseilles, of
as able body as when he numbered thirty ; he will
be here to-morrow, or I am deceived by him that
in such intelligence hath seldom failed.
Count. It rejoices me, that I hope I shall see him
ere I die. I have letters, that my son will be here
to-night : I shall beseech your lordship, to remain
with me till they meet together.
Laf. Madam, I was thinking, with what manners
I might safely be admitted.
Count. You need but plead your honourable pri-
vilege.
Laf. Lady, of that I have made a bold charter ;
but, I thank my God, it holds yet.
Re-enter Clown.
Clo. O madam, yonder's my lord your son with
a patch of velvet on's face : whether there be a scar
> There was a fashion of using yellow starch for bands and
ruffles, to which Lafeu alludes.
• i. e. Rue. ^ Mischievously unhappy, waggish.
236
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
under it, or no, the velvet knows : but 'tis a goodly
patch of velvet : his left cheek is a cheek of two
pile and a half, but his right cheek is worn bare.
I.nf. A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good
livery of honour ! so, belike, is that.
Clo. But it is your carbonadoed 8 face.
Act V.
Laf. Let us go see your son, I pray you ; I long
to talk with the young noble soldier.
Clo. There's a dozen of 'em, with delicate fine
hats, and most courteous feathers, which bow the
head, and nod at every man.
\Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I. — Marseilles. A Street.
Enter Helena, Widow, and Diana, ivUh two
Attendants.
Hel. But this exceeding posting, day and night,
Must wear your spirits low : we cannot help it ;
But since you have made the days and nights as one,
To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs,
Be bold, you do so grow in my requital,
As nothing can unroot you. In happy time ;
Enter a gentle Astringer. 9
This man may help me to his majesty's ear.
If he would spend his power. — God save you, sir.
Gent. And you.
Hel. Sir, I have seen you in the court of France.
Gent. I have been sometimes there.
Hel. I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen
From the report that goes upon your goodness ;
And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions,
Which lay nice manners by, I put you to
The use of your own virtues, for the which
I shall continue thankful.
Gent. What's your will ?
Hel. That it will please you
To give this poor petition to the king ;
And aid me with that store of power you have.
To come into his presence.
Gent. The king's not here.
Hel. Not here, sir ?
Gent. Not, indeed :
He hence remov'd last night, and with more haste
Than is his use.
Hel. AWs well that ends well ; yet ;
Though time seem so adverse, and means unfit. —
I do beseech you, whither is he gone ?
Gent. Marry, as I take it, to Rousillon ;
Whither I am going.
Hel. I do beseech you, sir.
Since you are like to see the king before me.
Commend the paper to his gracious hand ;
Which, I presume, shall render you no blame.
But rather make you thank your pains for it :
I will come after you, with what good speed
Our means will make us means.
Gent. This I'll do for you.
Hel. And you shall find yourself to be well
thank'd,
Whate'er falls more. — We must to horse again ; —
Go, go, provide. {^Exeunt.
SCENE II. — Rousillon. The inner Court of the
Countess's Palace.
Entei Clown and Parolles.
Par. Good monsieur Lavatch, give my lord Lafeu
^ Scored like a piece of meat for the gridiron.
9 A gentleman falconer.
this letter : I have, ere now, sir, been better known
to you, when I have held familiarity with fresher
clothes ; but I am now, sir, muddied in fortune's
moat, and smell somewhat strong of her strong dis-
pleasure.
Clo. Truly, fortune's displeasure is but<;sluttishJ
if it smell so strong as thou speakest of/^
here he comes himself.
Enter Lafeu.
Here is a pur of fortune's, sir, or of fortune's cat,
(but not a musk-cat,) that has fallen into the vmclean
fishpond of her displeasure, and, as he says, is mud-
died withal : Pray you, sir, use the carp as you may ;
for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish,
rascally knave. I do pity his distress in my smiles
of comfort, and leave him to your Iqrdship.
[Exit Clown.
Par. My lord, I am a man whom fortune hath
cruelly scratched.
Lctf. And what would you have me to do ? 'tis too
late to pare her nails now. Wherein have you played
the knave with fortune, that she should scratch you,
who of herself is a good lady, and would not have
knaves thrive long under her ? There's a quart d'ecu
for you : Let the justices make you and fortune
friends : I am for other business.
Far. I beseech your honour, to hear me one sin-
gle word.
Laf. You beg a single penny more : come, you
shall ha't ; save your word.
Par. My name, my good lord, is Parolles.
Laf. You beg more than one word then. — Give
me your hand : — How does your drum ?
Par. O my good lord, you were the first that
found me.
Laf. Was I, in sooth? and I was the first that
lost thee.
Par. It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some
grace, for you did bring me out.
Laf. Out upon thee, knave ! [Trumpets sound.]
The king's coming, I know by his trumpets. — Sir-
rah, inquire further after me ; I had talk of you last
night : though you are a fool and a knave, you shall
eat ; go to, follow.
Par. I praise heaven for you. [Exeunt.
SCENE III. — ^ Room in the Countess's Palace.
Flourish. Enter King, Countess, Lafeu, Lords,
Gentlemen, Guards, ^c.
Xing. We lost a jewel of her ; and our esteem '
Was made much poorer by it : but your son.
As mad in folly, lack'd the sense to know
Her estimation home. 2
Count. 'Tis past my liege :
1 Reckoning or estimate. 2 Completely, in its full extent.
Scene III.
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
23T
A nd I beseech your majesty to make it
Natural rebellion, done i'the blaze of youth ;
When oil and fire, too strong for reason's force,
O'erbears it, and burns on.
A'ing My honour'd lady,
I have forgiven and forgotten all ;
Though my revenges were high bent upon him.
And watch'd the time to shoot.
Laf. This I must say,
But first I beg my pardon, — The young lord
Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady.
Offence of mighty note ; but to himself
The greatest wrong of all : he lost a wife,
Whose beauty did astonish the survey
Of richest eyes ; whose words all cars took captive ;
Whose dear perfection, hearts that scorn'd to serve.
Humbly caird mistress.
A7/?g. Praising what is lost,
IMakes the remembrance dear. Well, call him
hither ;
We are reconcil'd, and the first view shall kill
All repetition ^; — Let him not ask our pardon ;
The nature of his great offence is dead.
And deeper than oblivion do we bury
The incensing relicks of it : let him approach,
A stranger, no offender ; and inform him,
So 'tis our will he should.
Gent. I shall, my liege.
[Exit Gentleman.
ITing. What says he to your daughter ? have you
spoke ?
Laf. All that he is hath reference to your highness.
A'ing. Then shall we have a match. I have let-
ters sent me.
That set him high in fame.
Enter Bertram.
Laf. He looks well on't.
JSTing. I am not a day of season •♦,
For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail
In me at once : But to the brightest beams
Distracted clouds give way ; so stand thou forth.
The time is fair again.
Ber. My high repented blames.
Dear sovereign, pardon to me.
Alng. All is whole ;
Not one word more of the consumed time.
Let's take the instant by the forward top ;
For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees
The inaudible and noiseless foot of time
Steals ere we can effect them : You remember
The daughter of this lord ?
Ber. Admiringly, my liege : at first
I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart
Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue :
Where the impression of mine eye infixing.
Contempt his scornful perspective did lend nje.
Which warp'd the line of every other favour ;
Scorn'd a fair colour, or expressed it stol'n ;
Extended or contracted all proportions.
To a most hideous object : Thence it came,
Tliat she, whom all men prais'd, and whom myself.
Since I have lost, have lov'd, was in mine eye
The dust that did offend it.
A'ing. Well excus'd :
That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away
From the great compt : But love, that comes too late,
Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried,
To the great sender turns a sour offence,
Crying, That's good that's gone : our rash faults
» Recollection * i. e. Of uninterrupted rata
Make trivial price of serious things we have,
Not knowing them, until we know their grave:
Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust.
Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust :
Our own love waking cries to see what's done.
While sJiameful hate sleeps out the afternoon.
Be this sweet Helen's knell, and now forget her.
Send forth your amorous token for fair JNIaudlin :
The main consents are had ; and here we'll stay
To see our widower's second marriage-day.
Count. Which better than the first, O dear heaven,
bless !
Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cease !
Laf. Come on, my son, in whom my house's name
Must be digested, give a favour from you,
To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter,
That she may quickly come. — By my old beard,
And every hair that's on't, Helen, that's dead.
Was a sweet creature ; such a ring as this.
The last tliat e'er I took her leave at court,
I saw upon her finger.
Bet: Hers it was not.
Alng. Now, pray you let me see it ; for mine eye,
Wliile I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't. —
This ring was mine ; and, when I gave it Helen,
I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood
Necessitied to help, that by this token
I would relieve her : Had you that craft, to reave her
Of what should stead her most ?
Ber. My gracious sovereign,
Howe'er it pleases you to take it so,
The ring was never hers.
Count. Son, on my life,
I have seen her wear it ; and she reckon'd it
At her life's rate.
Laf. I am sure, I saw her wear it.
Ber. You are deceiv'd, my lord, she never saw it :
In Florence was it from a casement thrown me,
Wrapp'd in a paper, which contain'd the name
Of her that threw it : noble she was, and thought
I stood ingag'd ^ : but when I had subscrib'd
To mine own fortune, and inform'd her fully,
I could not answer in that course of honour
As she had made the overture, she ceas'd,
In heavy satisfaction, and would never
Receive the ring again.
Mng. Plutus himself.
That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine®,
Hath not in nature's mystery more science.
Than I have in this ring : 'twas mine, 'twas Helen's,
Whoever gave it you : Then, if you know.
That you are well acquainted with yourself,
Confess 'twas hers, and by what rough enforcement
You got it from her : she call'd the saints to surety.
That she would never put it from her finger,
Unless she gave it to yourself in bed,
( Where you have never come) or sent it us
Upon her great disaster.
Ber. She never saw it.
Alng. Thou speak'st it falsely, as I love mine
honour ;
And mak'st conjectural fears to come into me.
Which I would fain shut out : If it should prove
That thou art so inhuman, — 'twill not prove so ; —
And yet I know not : —thou didst hate her deadly^
And she is dead ; which nothing, but to close
Her eyes myself, could win me to believe,
More than to see this ring. — Take him away. —
[Guards seize Bertram.
* In the lenfe of unengaged. " The philosopher'* stone.
238
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
Act V.
My fore-past proofs, howe'er the matter fall,
Shall tax my fears of little vanity,
Having vainly fear'd too little. — A way with him ; —
We'll sift this matter further.
Ber. If you shall prove
Tills ring was ever hers, you shall as easy
Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence,
Where yet she never was.
\^ExU Bertram, guarded.
Enter a Gentleman.
King. I am wrapp'd in dismal thinkings.
Gent. Gracious sovereign,
Whether I have been to blame, or no, I know not ;
Here's a petition from a Florentine,
Who hath for four or five removes 7, come short
To tender it herself. I undertook it,
Vanquish'd thereto by the fair grace and speech
Of the poor suppliant, who by this, I know,
Ts here attending : her business looks in her
With an important visage ; and she told me.
In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern
Your highness with herself.
King. [Reads.] Upon his many protestations to
marry me, when his wife was dead, I blush to say it,
he won me. Now is the count Rousillon a widower ;
his vows are forfeited to me, and my honour^s paid to
him. He stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I
follow him to his country for justice : Grant it me, 0
king ; in you it best lies ; otherwise a seducer flou-
rishes, and a poor maid is undone.
Diana Capulet.
Laf. I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and
toll him 8 : for this, I'll none of him.
King. The heavens have thought well on thee,
Lafeu,
To bring forth this discovery Seek these suitors : —
Go, speedily, and bring again the count.
[Exeunt Gentleman, and some attendants.
I am afeard, the life of Helen, lady.
Was foully snatch'd.
Count. Now, justice on the doers !
Enter Bertram, gjiarded.
King. I wonder, sir, since wives are monsters to
you,
And that you fly them as you swear them lordship,
Yet you desire to marry. — What woman's that ?
Re-enter Gentleman, with Widow, and Diana.
Dia. I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine,
Derived from the ancient Capulet ;
My suit, as I do understand, you know.
And therefore know how far I may be pitied.
JVid. I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour
Both suflfer under this complaint we bring,
And both shall cease ^, without your remedy.
King. Come hither, count : Do you know these
women ?
Ber. My lord, I neither can, nor will deny
But that 1 know them : Do they charge me furtlier ?
Dia. Why do you look so strange upon your wife?
Ber. She's none of mine, my lord.
Dia. If you shall marry,
You give away this hand, and that is mine ;
You give away heaven's vows, and those are mine ;
You give away myself, which is known mine ;
" Post-stagps.
9 Decease, die.
8 Pay toll for him.
For I by vow am so embodied yours,
That she, which marries you, must many me,
Either both, or none.
Lqf. Your reputation [To Bertram.] comes too
short for my daughter ; you are no husband for her.
Ber. My lord, this is a fond and desperate crea-
ture,
Whom sometime I have laugh'd with : let your
highness
Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour.
Than for to think that I would sink it here.
King. Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill
friend.
Till your deeds gain them : Fairer prove your ho-|
nour.
Than in my thought it lies !
I>ia. Good my lord.
Ask him upon his oath, if he does think
He had not my virginity.
King. What say'st thou to her ?
Ber. She's impudent, my lord ;
And was a common gamester to the camp. '
Dia. He does me wrong, my lord ; if I were so,
He might have bought me at a common price :
Do not believe him : O, behold this ring.
Whose high respect, and rich validity,
Did lack a parallel ; yet, for all that.
He gave it to a commoner o' the camp.
If I be one.
Count. He blushes, and 'tis it :
Of six preceding ancestors, that gem
Conferr'd by testament to the sequent issue.
Hath it been ow'd and worn. This is his wife ;
That ring's a thousand proofs.
King. Methought, you said.
You saw one here in court could witness it.
Dia. I did, my lord, but loatli am to produce
So bad an instrument ; his name's Parolles.
Laf I saw the man to-day, if man he be.
King. Find him, and bring him hither.
Ber. What of him ?
He's quoted 2 for a most perfidious slave.
With all the spots o' the world tax'd and debosh'd 3;
Whose nature sickens, but to speak a truth :
Am I or that, or this, for what he'll utter,
That will speak any thing ?
King. She hath that ring of yours.
Ber. I think, she has : certain it is, I lik'd her.
She knew her distance, and did angle for me,
Madding my eagerness with her restraint.
As all impediments in fancy's ^ course
Are motives of more fancy ; and, in fine.
Her insuit coming with her modern grace ^,
Subdued, me to her rate : she got the ring ;
And I had that, which any inferior might
At market-price have bought.
Dia. I must be patient ;
You, that turn'd off a first so noble wife.
May justly diet me. I pray you yet,
(Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband,)
Send for your ring, I will return it home.
And give me mine again.
Ber. I have it not.
King. What ring was yours, I pray you ?
J^ia. Sir, much like
The same upon your finger.
1 Gamester, when applied to a female, then meant a common
woman.
2 Noted. 3 Debauch'd. •> Love.
5 Her solicitation concurring with her appearance of being
common.
Scene III.
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
239
JRng. Know you this ring ? this ring was his of
late.
Dia. And this was it I gave him, being a-bed.
^ing. The story then goes false, you threw it liim,
Out of a casement.
Dia. 1 have spoke the truth.
Enter Parolles.
Ber. My lord, I do confess, the ring was hers.
lining. You boggle shrewdly, every feather starts
you.
Is this the man you speak of?
Dia. Ay, my lord.
King. Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true, I charge
you,
Not fearing the displeasure of your master,
(Which, on your just proceeding, I'll keep off,)
By him, and by this woman here, what know you ?
Par. So please your majesty, my master hath
oeen an honourable gentleman ; tricks he hath had
m him, which gentlemen have.
Jiing. Come, come, to tlie purpose : Did he love
this woman ?
Par. 'Faith, sir, he did love her ; But how ?
Xing. How, I pray you.
Par. He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a
woman.
JHng. How is that ?
Par. He loved her, sir, and loved her not.
JHrig. As thou art a knave, and no knave : —
What an equivocal companion is this ?
Par. I am a poor man, and at your majesty's
command.
Laf. He's a good drum my lord, but a naughty
orator.
Dia. Do you know, he promised me maniage ?
Par. 'Faith, I know more than I'll speak.
Xing. But wilt thou not speak all thou know'st ?
Par. Yes, so please your majesty ; I did go be-
tween them, as I said ; but more than that, he
loved her, — for indeed he was mad for her, and
talked of Satan, and of limbo, and of furies, and I
know not what : yet I was in that credit with them
at that time, that I knew of their going to bed ;
and of other motions, as promising her marriage,
and things that would derive me ill will to speak of,
therefore I will not speak what I know.
King. Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou
canst say they are married : But thou art too fine in
thy evidence : therefore stand aside —
This ring, you say, was yours ?
Dia. Ay, my good lord.
Xing. Where did you buy it ? or who gave it you ?
Dia. It was not given me, nor I did not buy it.
Xing. Who lent it you ?
Dia. It was not lent me neither.
Xing. Where did you find it then ?
Dia. I found it not
Xing. If it were yours by none of all these ways.
How could you give it him ?
Dia. I never gave it him.
Laf. This woman's an easy glove, my lord ; she
goes off and on at pleasure.
Xing. Tliis ring was mine, I gave it his first wife.
Dia. It might be yours or hers for aught I know.
Xmg. Take her away, I do not like her now ;
To prison with her, and away with him. —
Unless thou tell'st me where thou hadst this ring,
Thou diest within this hour.
Dia. I'll never tell you.
Xing. Take her away.
Dia. I'll put in bail, my liege.
Xing. I think thee now some common customer.
Dia. By Jove, if ever I knew man 'twas you.
Xing, Wherefore hast thou accus'd him all tliis
while?
Dia. Because he's guilty, and he is not guilty ;
He knows I am no maid, and he'll swear to't.
I'll swear I am a maid, and he knows not.
Great king, I am no strumpet, by my life ;
I am either maid, or else this old man's wife.
[Pointing to Lafeu.
Xing. She does abuse our ears ; to prison with her.
Dia. Good mother, fetch my bail. — Stay, royal
sir; [Exit Widow.
The jeweller, that owes ^ the ring, is sent for.
And he shall surety me. But for this lord.
Who hath abus'd me, as he knows himself,
Though yet he never harm'd me, here I quit him :
He thinks himself, my bed he hath defil'd ;
But 'twas his wife who then became with child :
And now behold the meaning.
Re-enter Widow, with Heleka.
Xing. Is there no exorcist
Beguiles the true office of mine eyes ?
Is't real, that I see ?
Hel. No, my good lord ;
'Tis but the shadow of a wife you see.
The name, and not tlie thing.
Ber. Both, botli ; O, pardon !
Hel. O, my good lord, when I was like this maid,
I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring,
And, look you, here's your letter ; This it says.
When from my finger you can get this ring.
And are by me with chUd, &c. — This is done :
Will you be mine, now you are doubly won ?
Ber. If she, my liege, can make me know tiiis
clearly,
I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly.
Hel. If it appear not plain, and prove untrue,
Deadly divorce step between me and you ! —
O, my dear mother, do I see you living ?
Laf. Mine eyes smell onions, I shall weep anon :
— Good Tom Drum, [2'o Parolles.] lend me a
handkerchief : So, I thank thee : wait on me home,
I'll make sport with thee : Let thy courtesies alone,
They are scurvy ones.
Xing. Let us from point to point this story know,
To make the even truth in pleasure flow : —
If thou be'st yet a fresh uncropped flower,
[To Diana.
Choose thou thy husband, and I'll pay thy dower ;
For I can guess, that, by thy honest aid,
Thou kept'st a wife, herself, thyself a maid
Of that, and all the progress, more and less,
Resolvedly more leisure shall express :
All yet seems well ; and if it end so meet.
The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.
[FlimriMh.
Advancing.
Tlie kings a beggar, now the play is done :
All is well ended, if this suit be won.
That you express content ; which tee unit pay,
With strife to please you^ day exceeding day :
Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts 7
1 our gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts.
lExeunU
« Owns.
J le. Take our paita, cupport and defend u«.
/
^
TAMING OF THE SHREW.
PERSONS REPRESENTED
A Lord.
Christopher Sly, a drunken Tinker. "J Persons in
Hostess, Page, Players, Huntsmen and Ktlie Indue-
other Servants attending on the Lord. J tion.
Baptista, a rich Gentleman of Padua.
ViNCENTio, 074 old Gentleman of Pisa.
LucENTio, Son to Vincentio, in love with Bianca.
Petruchio, a Gentleman of Verona, a Suitor to Ka-
tharina.
Tranio, \ Servants to Lucentio.
BlONDELLO, J
Grumio,|^^^^^^^ /o Petruchio.
Curtis, J
Pedant, an old Fellow set up to personate Vincentio,
Katharina, the Shrew .
Bianca, her Sister,
JVidow.
> Daughters to Baptista.
Tailor, Haberdasher, arid Servants attending on
Baptista and Petruchio.
SCEXE, sometimes in Padua ; and sometimes in Petruchio'* House in the Country
THERE, T4KB IT lO YOD. TRENOHKRS, CDPM, AND ALL.
TAMING OF THE SHREW,
INDUCTION.
SCENE I. — Before an Alehouse on a Heath.
Enter Hostess and Sly.
Sly' I'll pheese' you in faith.
Host. A pair of stocks, you rogue !
Sly. Y'are a baggage ; tlie Slies are no rogues :
Look in the chronicles, we came in with Richard
Conqueror. Therefore paucas pallabris"^ ; let the
world slide : Sessa ! ^
Host. You will not pay for the glasses you have
burst ?
Sly. No, not a denier : Go by, says Jeronimy ; —
Go to thy cold bed, and warm thee. ^
Host. I know my remedy ; 1 must go fetch the
thirdborough. ^ [Exit.
Sly. Third or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll an-
swer him by law : I'll not budge an inch, boy; let
him come, and kindly.
[Lies down on the ground, and falls asleep.
Wind Horns. Enter a hord from hunting, with
Huntsmen and Servants.
Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my
hounds :
Brach^ Merriman, — the poor cur is emboss'd 7, —
' Beat or knock. 2 pg^ words. 3 Be quiet.
'^ This line and scrap of Spanish is used in burlesque from
in old play called Hieronymo, or the Spanish Tragedy.
'' An otticer whose authority equals that of a constable.
* U'^o.h. 7 strained.
And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth'd brach
Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good
At the hedge corner, in the coldest fault?
I would not lose the dog for twenty pound.
1 Hun. Why, Belman is as good as he, my lord
He cried upon it at the merest loss,
And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent:
Trust me, I take him for the better dog.
Lord. Thou art a fool ; if Echo were as fleet,
I would esteem him worth a dozen such.
But sup them well, and look unto them all ;
To-morrow I intend to hunt again.
1 Hun. I will, my lord.
Lord. What's here ? one dead, or drunk ?
doth he breathe ?
2 Hun. He breathes, my lord : Were he
warm'd with ale.
This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.
Lord. O monstrous beast ! how like a swine he"
lies !
Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image [^
Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man. —
What think you, if he were convey 'd to bed,
Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers
A most delicious banquet by his bed,
And brave attendants near him when he wakes,
Would not the beggar then forget himself?
1 Hun. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot choos
2 Hmi. Jt would seem strange unto him when
wak'd.
Induction. Scene I.
TAMING OF THE SHREW.
241
Lord. Even as a flattering dream, or worthless
fancy.
Then take him up, and manage well the jest : —
Carry him gently to my fairest chamber,
And hang it round with all my wanton pictures :
Balm his foul head with warm distilled waters.
And bum sweet wood to make the lodging sweet :
Procure me musick ready when he wakes,
To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound ;
And if he chance to speak, be ready straight,
And, with a low submissive reverence,
Say, — What is it your honour will command ?
Let one attend him with a silver bason.
Full of rose-water, and bestrew'd with flowers ;
Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper.
And say, — Will't please your lordship cool your
hands ?
Some one be ready with a costly suit.
And ask him what apparel he will wear ;
Another tell him of his hounds and horse,
And that his lady mourns at his disease :
Persuade him that he liath been lunatick ;
And, when he says he is, — say that he dreams,
For he is nothing but a mighty lord.
This do, and do it kindly, gentle sirs ;
It will be pastime passing excellent,
If it be husbanded with modesty. 8
1 Hun. My lord, I warrant you, we'll play our
part.
As he shall think, by our true diligence,
He is no less than what we say he is.
Lord. Take him up gently, and to bed with him ;
And each one to his office when he wakes. —
[Some hear out Sly. A trumpet sounds.
Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis tliat sounds : —
[Exit Servant.
Belike, some noble gentlemen ; that means.
Travelling some journey, to repose him here. —
Re-enter a Servant.
How now ? who is it ?
Serv. An it please your honour,
Players that offer service to your lordship.
Lord. Bid them come near : —
Enter Players.
Now, fellows, you are welcome.
1 Play. We thank your honour.
Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to-night ?
2 Plat/. So please your lordship to accept our duty.
Lord. With all my heart. — This fellow I re-
member.
Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son ; —
'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well :
I have forgot your name ; but sure that part
Was aptly fltted, and naturally perform'd.
1 Play. I tliink, 'twas Soto that your honour
means.
Lord. 'Tis very true ; — thou didst it excellent.
Well, you are come to me in happy time ;
Tlie rather, for I have some sport in hand,
Wherein your cunning can assist me much.
There is a lord will hear you play to-night :
But I am doubtful of your modesties ;
Lest, over-eying of his odd behaviour,
(For yet his honour never heard a play,)
You break into some merry passion.
And so oflTend him ; for I tell you, sirs,
If you should smile, he grows impatient.
» Moderation.
1 Plat/. Fear not, my lord ; we can contain our-
selves,
Were he the veriest antick in the world.
Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery,
And give them friendly welcome every one :
Let them want nothing that my house affords. —
[ Exeunt Servant and Players.
Sirrah, go you to Bartholomew my page.
[To a Servant.
And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady :
That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber,
And call him — madam, do him obeisance.
Tell him from me, (as he will win my love,)
He bear himself with honourable action.
Such as he hath observ'd in noble ladies
Unto their lords, by them accomplished :
Such duty to the drunkard let him do,
With soft low tongue, and lowly courtesy ;
And say — What is't your honour will command.
Wherein your lady, and your humble wife.
May show her duty, and make known her love ?
And then — with kind embracements, tempting
kisses.
And with declining head into his bosom, —
Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd
To see her noble lord rcstor'd to health.
Who, for twice seven years, hath esteemed him
No better than a poor and loathsome beggar »
And if the boy have not a woman's gift.
To rain a shower of commanded tears,
An onion will do well for such a shift ;
Which in a napkin being close convey'd.
Shall in despite enforce a watery eye.
See this despatch'd with all the haste thou canst ;
Anon I'll give thee more instructions.
[Exit Servant.
I know, the boy will well usurp the grace.
Voice, gait, and action of a gentlewoman :
I long to hear him call the drunkard, husband ;
And how my men will stay themselves from laughteff
When they do homage to this simple peasant,
I'll in to counsel them : haply my presence
May well abate the over-merry spleen.
Which otherwise would go into extremes.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II A Bedchamber in the Lord's House.
Str is discovered in a rich night-gowHy with Attend-
ants ; some uith apparel, others with bason, ewery
and ot/ier appurtenances. Enter Lord, dressed
like a Servant.
Sly. For heaven's sake, a pot of small ale.
1 Serv. Will't please your lordship drink a cup
of sack ?
2 Serv. Will't please your honour taste of these
conserves ?
SServ. What raimentwill yourhonourwearto-day?
Sly. I am Christopher Sly ; call not me — honour,
nor lordship : I never drank sack in my life ; and if
you give me any conserves, give me conserves of
beef : Ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear ; for I
have no more doublets than backs, no more stock-
ings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet; nay,
sometimes, more feet tlian shoes, or such shoes as
my toes look tlirough the over-leather.
Lord. Heaven cease this idle humour in your
honour !
O, that a mighty man of such descent.
Of such possessions, and so high esteem,
Should be infused with so foul a spirit !
R
242
TAMING OF THE SHREW. Induction. Scene II.
Sly. What, would you make me mad ? Am not
I Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Burton-heath ;
by birth a pedler, by education a card-maker, by
transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present
profession a tinker ? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat
ale-wife of Wincot, if she know me not : if she say
I am not fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale,
score me up for the lyingest knave in Christendom.
What, I am not bestraught 9 ; Here's
1 SerV' O, this it is that makes your lady mourn.
2 Serv. O, this it is that makes your servants
droop.
Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shun
your house.
As beaten hence by your strange lunacy.
O, noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth ;
Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,
And banish hence these abject lowly dreams :
Look how thy servants do attend on thee.
Each in his office ready at thy beck.
Wilt thou have musick ? hark ! Apollo plays,
{Musick.
And twenty caged nightingales do sing :
Or wilt thou sleep ? we'll have thee to a couch.
Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed
On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis.
Say, thou wilt walk ; we will bestrew the ground :
Or wilt thou ride ? thy horses shall be trapp'd,
Their harness studded all with gold and pearl.
Dost thou love hawking ? thou hast hawks will soar
Above the morning lark : Or wilt thou hunt ?
Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them,
And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.
1 Serv. Say, thou wilt course; thy greyhounds
are as swift
As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe.
2 Serv. Dost thou love pictures? we will fetch
thee straight
Adonis, painted by a running brook :
And Cytherea all in sedges hid ;
Which seem to move and wanton with her breath.
Even as the waving sedges play, with wind.
3 Serv. Or Daphne, roaming through a thorny
wood ;
Scratching her feet that one shall swear she bleeds :
And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep,
So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.
Lord. Thou art a lord, and nothing but a lord :
Thou hast a lady far more beautiful
Than any woman in this waning age.
1 Serv. And, till the tears that she hath shed for thee,
Like envious floods, o'er-ran her lovely face.
She was the fairest creature in the world ;
And yet she is inferior to none.
Sly. Am I a lord ? and have I such a lady ?
Or do I dream ? or have I dream'd till now ?
I do not sleep ; I see, I hear, I speak ;
I smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things : —
Upon my life, I am a lord, indeed ;
And not a tinker, nor Christophero Sly. —
Well, bring our lady hither to our sight :
And once again, a pot o' the smallest ale.
2 Serv. Will't please your mightiness to wash your
hands ?
[Servants present an ewer, bason, and napkin.
9 Distracted.
O, how we joy to see your wit restor'd !
O, that once more you knew but what you are !
These fifteen years you have been in a dream ;
Or, when you wak'd, so wak'd as if you slept.
Sly. These fifteen years ! by my fay, a goodly nap.
But did I never speak of all that time ?
1 Serv. O, yes, my lord ; but very idle words : —
For though you lay here in this goodly chamber,
Yet would you say, ye were beaten out of door ;
And rail upon the hostess of the house ;
And say, you would present her at the leet ',
Because she brought stone jugs and no seal'd quarts :
Sometimes you would call out for Cicely Hacket.
Sly. Ay, the woman's maid of the house
3 Serv. Why, sir, you know no house, nor no
such maid ;
Nor no such men, as you have reckon'd up, —
As Stephen Sly, and old John Naps of Greece,
And Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpemell ;
And twenty more such names and men as these,
Which never were, nor no man ever saw.
Sly. Now, Lord be thanked for my good amends 1
All. Amen.
Sly. I thank thee ; thou shalt not lose by it.
Enter the Page, as a lady, with Attendants.
Page. How fares my noble lord ?
Sly. Marry, I fare well ; for here is cheer enough.
Where is my wife ?
Page. Here, noble lord ; What is thy will with her?
Sly. Are you my wife, and will not call me -
husband ?
My men should call me — lord ; I am your goodman.
Page. My husband and my lord, my lord and
husband ;
I am your wife in all obedience.
Sly. I know it well : — What must I call her ?
Lord. Madam.
Sly. Alice madam, or Joan madam ?
Lord. Madam, and nothing else; so lords call
ladies.
Sly. Madam wife, they say that I have dream'd,
and slept
Above some fifteen year and more.
Page. Ay, and the time seems thirty unto me.
Enter a Servant.
Serv. Your honour's players, hearing your amend-
ment.
Are come to play a pleasant comedy.
For so your doctors hold it very meet ;
Seeing too much sadness hath congeal'd your blood.
And melancholy is the nurse of frenzy,
Therefore, they thought it good you hear a play.
And frame your mind to mirth and men-iment.
Which bars a thousand harms, and lengthens life.
Sly. Marry, I will ; let them play it : Is not a
commonty"^ a Christmas gambol, or a tumbling-
trick ?
Page. No, my good lord ; it is more pleasing stuff.
Sly. What, household stuff?
Page. It is a kind of history.
Sly. Well, we'll see't : Come, madam wife, sit
by my side, and let the world slip ; we shall ne'er
be younger. [They sit dotvn.
1 Court-leet
2 far comedy.
Act I. Scene I.
TAMING OF THE SHREW.
243
ACT I.
SCENE I. — Padua. A public Place.
Enter Lucentio and Tranio.
Luc. Tranio, since — for the great desire I had
To see fair Padua, nursery of arts,—
I am arriv'd for fruitful Lombardy,
The pleasant garden of great Italy :
And, by my father's love and leave, am arm'd
With his good will, and thy good company,
Most trusty servant, well approv'd in all ;
Here let us breathe, and happily institute
A course of learning, and ingenious 3 studies.
Pisa, renowned for grave citizens,
Gave me my being, and my father first,
A merchant of great traffick through tlie world,
Vincentio, come of the Bcntivolii.
Vincentio, his son, brought up in Florence,
It shall become, to serve all hopes conceiv'd,
To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds :
And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study,
Virtue, and that part of philosophy
Will I apply, that treats of happiness
By virtue 'specially to be achiev'd.
Tell me thy mind : for I have Pisa left,
And am to Padua come : as he tliat leaves
A shallow plash 4, to plunge him in the deep
And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst.
Tra. Mi perdonate ^, gentle master mine,
I am in all affected as yourself ;
Glad that you thus continue your resolve.
To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy.
Only, good master, while we do admire
This virtue, and this moral discipline,
Let's be no stoicks, nor no stocks, I pray ;
Or so devote to Aristotle's checks 6,
As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd :
Talk logick with acquaintance that you have,
And practise rhetoric in your common talk :
Musick and poesy use to quicken you ;
The mathematicks and the metaphysicks,
Fall to them, as you find your stomach serves you :
No profit grows, where is no pleasure ta'en ; —
In brief, sir, study what you most affect.
Luc. Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise.
If, Biondello, thou wert come ashore,
We could at once put us in readiness ;
And take a lodging fit to entertain
Such friends, as time in Padua shall beget.
But stay a while : Wliat company is this ?
Tra. Master, some show, to welcome us to town.
i^n^erBAPTisTA, Katharina, Bianca, Gremio, and
HoRTENsio. Lucentio and Tranio stand aside.
Bap. Gentlemen, imp6rtune me no further.
For now I firmly am resolv'd you know ;
That is, — not to bestow my youngest daughter,
Before I have a husband for the elder :
If either of you both love Katharina,
Because I know you well, and love you well.
Leave shall you have to court her at your pleasure.
Gre. To cart her rather : Slie's too rough for me : —
There, there Hortensio, will you any wife ?
A'ath. 1 pray you, sir, [To Baf.] is it your will
To make a stale of me amongst these mates ?
Hor. Mates, maid ! how mean you that ? no mates
for you,
Unless you were of gentler, milder mould.
Aa//j. I'faith, sir, you shall never need to fear ;
I wis 7, it is not half way to her heart :
But, if it were, doubt not her care should be
To comb your noddle with a three-legg'd stool.
And paint your face, and use you like a fool.
Hor. From all such devils, heaven deliver us !
Gre. And me too.
Tra^ Hush, master ! here is some good pastime
toward ;
That wench is stark mad, or wonderful froward.
Luc. But in the other's silence I do see
Maid's mild behaviour and sobriety.
Peace, Tranio.
Tra. Well said, master ; mum ! and gaze your fill.
Bap. Gentlemen, that I may soon make good
What I have said, — Bianca, get you in :
And let it not displease tliee, good Bianca ;
For I will love thee ne'er the less, my girl.
JCath. A pretty peat ! " 'tis best
Put finger in the eye, — an she knew why.
Bian. Sister, content you in my discontent. —
Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe ;
My books, and instruments, shall be my company ;
On them to look, and practise by myself.
Luc. Hark, Tranio ! thou mayst hear Minerva
speak. [Asitle,
Hor. Signior Baptista, will you be so strange ?
Sorry am I, that our good will effects
Bianca's grief.
Gre. Why will you mew 9 her up,
Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell,
And make her bear the penance of her tongue ?
Bap. Gentlemen, content ye j I am resolv'd : —
Go in, Bianca. [ExU Bianca.
And for I know, she taketh most delight
In musick, instruments and poetry.
Schoolmasters will I keep within my house
Fit to instruct her youth. — If you, Hortensio,
Or signior Grenruo, you, — know any such,
Prefer them hither; for to cunning men
I will be very kind, and liberal
To mine own children in good bringing up ;
And so farewell. Katharina, you may stay ;
For I have more to commune with Bianca. [Edit.
Kath. Why, and I trust, I may go too ; May I
not?
What shall I be appointed hours ; as though, belike,
I knew not what tp take, and what to leave? [Ent.
Gre. You may go to Uie devil ; your gifts > are
so good, here is none will hold you. Our love is
not so great, Hortensio, but we may blow our nails
togetlier, and fast it fairly out ; our cake's dough on
both sides. Farewell : — Yet, for the love I bear
my sweet Bianca, if I can by any means light on a
fit man, to teach her that wherein slie delights, I
will wish him to her father.
Hor. So will I, signior Gremio : But a word, I
pray. Tliough the nature of our quarrel yet never
brook'd parle, know now, upon advice «, it toucheth
us both, — tliat we may yet again have access to
' Ingenuous.
* Pardon me.
* Small piece of water.
• Har«h rule*.
1 Tliiiik.
t Endowments.
» Shut
2 Consideration.
It 2
244
TAMING OF THE SHREW.
Act 1.
our fair mistress, and be happy rivals in Bianca's
love, — to labour and effect one thing 'specially.
Gre. What's that, I pray ?
Hor. Marry, sir, to get h husband for her sister.
Gre. A husband ! a devil.
Hor. I say, a husband.
Gre. I say, a devil : Think'st thou, Hortensio,
though her father be very rich, any man is so very
a fool to be married to her ?
Hor. Tush, Gremio, though it pass your patience,
and mine, to endure her loud alarums, why, man,
there be good fellows in the world, an a man could
light on them, would take her with all faults, and
money enough.
Gre. I cannot tell ; but I had as lief take her
dowry with this condition, — to be whipped at the
high-cross, every morning.
Hor. 'Faith as you say, there's small choice in
rotten apples. But, come ; since this bar in law
makes us friends, it shall be so forth friendly main-
tained, — till by helping Baptista's eldest daughter
to a husband, we set his youngest free for a hus-
band, and then have to't afresh. — Sweet Bianca !
— Happy man be his dole ! 3 How say you, signior
Gremio ?
Gre. I am agreed ; and 'would I had given him
the best horse in Padua to begin his wooing, that
would thoroughly woo her, wed her, and rid the
house of her. Come on.
[Exeunt Gremio and Hortensio.
Tra. [Advancing.] I pray, sir, tell me, — Is it
possible
That love should of a sudden take such hold ?
Luc. O Tranio, till I found it to be true,
I never thought it possible, or likely ;
But see ! while idly I stood looking on,
I found the effect of love in idleness :
And now in plainness do confess to thee, —
That art to me as secret, and as dear,
As Anna to the queen of Carthage was, —
Tranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio,
If I achieve not this young modest girl :
Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst ;
Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt.
Tra. Master, it is no time to chide you now ;
Affection is not rated ^ from the heart :
If love have touch'd you, nought remains but so, —
Redvne te captum quam queas minimo.
Luc. Gramercies, lad; go forward: this contents;
The rest will comfort, for thy counsel's sound.
Tra. Master, you look'd so longly* on the maid.
Perhaps you mark'd not what's the pith of all.
Luc. O yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face,
Such as the daughter ^ of Agenor had.
That made great Jove to humble him to her hand.
When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand.
Tra. Saw you no more ? mark'd you not, how her
sister
Began to scold ; and raise up such a storm,
That mortal ears might hardly endure the din ?
Luc. Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move.
And with her breath she did perfume the air ;
Sacred, and sweet, was all I saw in her.
Tra. Nay, then 'tis time to stir him from his
trance.
I pray, awake, sir ; If you love the maid.
Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it
stands : —
Her elder sister is so curst and shrewd,
That, till tlie father rid his hands of her.
Master, your love must live a maid at home ;
And therefore has he closely mew'd her up.
Because she shall not be annoy'd with suitors.
Luc. Ah, Tranio, wliat a cruel father's he !
But art thou not advis'd, he took some care
To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her ?
Tra. Ay, marry, am I, sir ; and now 'tis plotted.
Luc. I have it, Tranio.
Tra. Master, for my hand,
Both our inventions meet and jump in one.
Luc. Tell me thine first.
Tra. You will be schoolmaster,
And undertake the teaching of the maid :
That's your device.
Luc. It is : May it be done ?
Tra. Not possible ; For who shall bear your part.
And be in Padua here Vincentio's son ?
Keep house, and ply his book ; welcome his friends ;
Visit his countrymen, and banquet them ?
Luc. Basta ^ ; content thee ; for I have it full.
We have not yet been seen in any house ;
Nor can we be distinguished by our faces.
For man, or master : then it follows thus ; —
Thou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead.
Keep house, and port ^, and servants, as I should ••
I will some other be ; some Florentine,
Some Neapolitan, or mean man of Pisa.
'Tis hatch'd, and shall be so : — Tranio, at once
Uncase thee ; take my colour'd hat and cloak :
When Biondello comes, he waits on thee ;
But I will charm him first to keep his tongue.
Tra. So had you need. [ They exchange habits.
In brief then, sir, sith 9 it your pleasure is.
And I am tied to be obedient ;
( For so your father charg'd me at our parting ;
Be serviceable to my son, quoth he.
Although, I think, 'twas in another sense,)
I am content to be Lucentio,
Because so well I love Lucentio.
Luc Tranio, be so, because Lucentio loves :
And let me be a slave, to achieve that maid
Whose sudden sight hath thrall'd my wounded eye.
Enter Biondello.
Here comes the rogue . — Sirrah, where have you
been?
Bion. Where have I been ? Nay, how now, where
are you ?
Master, has my fellow Tranio stol'n your clothes ?
Or you stol'n his ? or both ? pray, what's the news ?
Luc. Sirrah, come hither ; 'tis no time to jest,
And therefore frame your manners to the time.
Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life.
Puts my apparel and my countenance on,
And I for my escape have put on his ;
For in a quarrel, since I came ashore,
I kill'd a man, and fear I was descried :
Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes,
While I make way from hence to save my life :
You understand me ?
Bion. I, sir, ne'er a whit.
Luc. And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth :
Tranio is chang'd into Lucentio.
Bion. The better for him ; Would I were so too !
Tra. So would I, boy, to have the next wish
after, —
' Gain or lot
* Longingly.
Driven out by chiding.
Europa.
'Tis enough.
Show, appearance.
Scene II.
TAMING OF THE SHREW
245
That Luccntio indeed had Baptista's youngest
daughter.
But, sirrah, — not for my sake, but your master's, —
I advise
You use your manners discreetly in all kind of com-
panies :
When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio ;
But in all places else, your master Lucentio.
Luc. Tranio, let's go : —
One thing more rests, that thyself execute ; —
To make one among these wooers : If thou ask me
wliy, —
Sufficcth, my reasons are both good and weighty.
{Exeunt.
SCENE II Before Hortensio's House.
Enter Petruchio and Grumio.
Pet. Verona, for a while I take my leave,
To see my friends in Padua ; but, of all,
My best beloved and approved friend,
Hortensio ; and, I trow, this is his house : —
Here, sirrah Grumio : knock, I say.
Gru. Knock, sir ! whom should I knock ? is there
any man has rebused your worship ?
Pet. Villain, I say, knock me here soundly.
Gru. Knock you here, sir ? why, sir, what am I,
sir, tliat I should knock you here, sir ?
Pet. Villain, I say, knock me at this gate.
And rap me well, or I'll knock your knave's pate.
Gru. My master is grown quarrelsome : I should
knock you first.
And then I know after who comes by the worst.
Pet. Will it not be ?
' Faith, sirrah, an you'll not knock, I'll wring it ;
I'll try how you can sol, fa, and sing it.
{He wrings Grumio 6y the ears.
Gru. Help, masters, help ! my master is mad.
Pei. Now, knock when I bid you : sirrah ! villain !
Enter Hortbnsio.
Hot. How now ? what's the matter ? — My old
friend Grumio ? and my good friend Petruchio ! —
How do you all at Verona ?
Pet. Signior Hortensio, come you to part the
fray ? Co7i tutto il core bene trovato, may I say.
Hor. Alia nostra casa bene venuto,
MoUo honorato dgnor mio Petruchio.
Rise, Grumio, rise ; we will compound this quarrel.
Gru. Nay, 'tis no matter, what he 'leges 2 in Latin.
— If this be not a lawful cause for me to leave his
service, — Look you, sir, — he bid me knock him,
and rap him soundly, sir : Well, was it fit for a ser-
vant to use his master so ; being, perhaps, (for aught
I see,) two-and-thirty, — a pip out?
Whom, 'would to heaven I had well knock'd at first.
Then had not Grumio come by the worst.
Pet. A senseless villain — Good Hortensio,
I bade the rascal knock upon your gate.
And could not get him for my heart to do it.
Grti. Knock at the gate ? — O heavens !
Spake you not these words plain — Sirrah^ knock
me here.
Rap me here, knock me u^U, and knock me soundly 9
And come you now with — knocking at the gate ?
Pet. Sirrah, he gone, or talk not, I advise you.
Hrr. Petruchio, patience ; I am Grumio's pledge :
Why, this a heavy chance 'twixt him and you ;
Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio.
1 Alleges.
And tell me now, sweet friend, — what liappy gale
Blows you to Padua here, from old Verona ?
Pet. Such wind as scatters young men through
the world,
To seek their fortunes further than at home.
Where small experience grows. But, in a few,
Signior Hortensio, thus it stands witli me : —
Antonio, my father, is deceased ;
And I have thrust myself into this maze,
Haply to wive, and thrive, as best I may :
Crowns in my purse I have, and goods at home,
And so am come abroad to see the world.
Hor. Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee,
And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favour'd wife?
Thou'dst thank me but a little for my counsel :
And yet I'll promise thee she shall be rich.
And very rich : — but thou'rt too much my friend,
And I'll not wish thee to her.
Pet. Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as we,
Few words suffice : and therefore, if thou know
One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife, *
(As wealth is burthen of my wooing dance,)
Be she as foul as was Florentius' love \
As old as Sybil, and as curst and shrewd
As Socrates' Xantippe, or a worse.
She moves me not, or not removes, at least,
Affection's edge in me ; were she as rough
As are the swilling Adriatick seas:
I come to wive it wealthily in Padua ;
If wealthily, then happily in Padua.
Gru. Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly what
his mind is : Why, give him gold enough and marry
him to a puppet, or an aglet baby ■* ; or an old trot
with ne'er a tooth in her head : why nothing comes
axniss, so money comes withal.
Hor. Petruchio, since we have stepp'd thus far in,
I will continue that I broach'd in jest.
I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife
With wealth enough, and young, and beauteous :
Brought up as best becomes a gentlewoman :
Her only fault (and that is fault enough,)
Is, — that she is intolerably curst,
And shrewd, and froward ; so beyond all measure,
That, were my state far worser than it is,
I would not wed her for a mine of gold.
Pet. Hortensio, peace ; thou know'st not gold's
eflPect : —
Tell me her father's name, and 'tis enough ;
for I will board her, though she chide as loud
As thunder, when the clouds in autumn crack.
Hor. Her father is Bapista Minola,
An affable and courteous gentleman :
Her name is Katharina Minola,
Renown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue.
Pet. I know her father, though I know not her ;
And he knew my deceased fatlier well : —
I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her ;
And therefore let me be thus bold with you,
To give you over .it this first encounter,
Unless you will accompany me thither.
Gru. I pray you, sir, let him go while the humour
lasts. O' my word, an she knew him as well as I
do, she would think scolding would do little good
upon him . She may, perhaps, call him half a score
knaves, or so: why, that's nothing; an he begin
once, he'll rail in his rope-tricks ^ I'll tell you what,
sir, — an she stand him but a little, he will throw a
3 See the itory, Na 39. of " ^ Thotaand Sotake Things.
* A iinall image on the tag ofa lace.
^ Abucive language.
R 3
246
TAMING OF THE SHREW.
Act I. Scene II.
figure in her face, and so disfigure her with it, that
she shall have no more eyes to see withal than a cat :
You know him not, sir.
Hor. Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee ;
For in Baptista's keep my treasure is :
He hath the jewel of my life in hold,
His youngest daughter, beautiful Bianca ;
And her withholds from me, and other more
Suitors to her, and rivals in my love :
Supposing it a thing impossible,
(For those defects I have before rehears'd,)
That ever Katharina will be woo'd.
Therefore this order 6 hath Baptista ta'en ; —
That none shall have access unto Bianca,
Till Katharine the curst have got a husband.
Gru. Katharine the curst !
A title for a maid, of all titles the worst.
Hor. Now shall my friend Petruchio do me grace ;
And offer me, disguis'd in sober robes.
To old Baptista as a schoolmaster
' Well seen 7 in musick, to instruct Bianca :
That so I may by this device, at least.
Have leave and leisure to make love to her,
And, unsuspected, court her by herself.
Enter Gremio; with hint 'Lvcy.^tio disguised, with
books under his arm.
Gru. Here's no knavery ! See ; to beguile the
old folks, how the young folks lay their heads to-
gether ! Master, master, look about you : Who goes
there ? ha !
Hor. Peace, Grumio ; 'tis the rival of my love : —
Petruchio, stand by a while.
Gru. A proper stripling, and an amorous !
\_They retire.
Gre. O, very well ; I have perused the note.
Hark you, sir ; I'll have them very fairly bound :
All books of love, see that at any hand ;
And see you read no other lectures to her ;
You understand me : — over and beside
Signior Bapista's liberality,
I'll mend it with a largess : — Take your papers too.
And let me have them very well perfum'd ;
For she is sweeter than perfume itself.
To whom they go. What will you read to her ?
Luc. Whate'er I read to her, I'll plead for you,
As for my patron, (stand you so assur'd,)
As firmly as yourself were still in place;
Yea, and (perhaps) with more sucessful words
Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir.
Gre. O this learning ! what a thing it is !
Gru. O this woodcock ! what an ass it is !
Pet. Peace, sirrah.
Hor. Grumio, mum ! — Save you, signior Gre-
mio !
Gre. And you're well met, signior Hortensio.
Trow you,
Whither I am going ? — To Baptista Minola.
I promis'd to enquire carefully
About a schoolmaster for fair Bianca :
And, by good fortune, I have lighted well
On this young man : for learning, and behaviour.
Fit for her turn ; well read in poetry,
And other books, — good ones, I warrant you.
Hor. 'Tis well : and I have met a gentleman.
Hath promis'd me to help me to another,
A fine musician, to instruct our mistress;
So shall I no whit be behind in duty
To fair Bianca, so belov'd of me.
6 These measures
Versed.
Gre. Belov'd of me, — and that my deeds shall
prove.
Gru. And that his bags shall prove. \ytsi<le.
Hor. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our love t
Listen to me, and if you speak me fair,
I'll tell you news indxATerent good for either.
Here is a gentleman, whom by chance I met.
Upon agreement from us to his liking.
Will undertake to woo curst Katharine ;
Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please.
Gre. So said, so done, is well : —
Hortensio, have you told him all her faults ?
Pet. I know ; she is an irksome brawling scold ;
If that be all, masters, I hear no harm.
Gre. No, say'st me so, friend ? What country-
man ?
Pet. Born in Verona, old Antonio's son :
My father dead, my fortune lives for me ;
And I do hope good days, and long, to see.
Gre. O, sir, such a life, with such a wife, were
strange :
But, if you have a stomach, to't I pray you ;
Yoo shall have me assisting you in all.
But will you woo this wild-cat ?
Pet. Will I live?
Gru, Will he woo her? ay, or I'll hang her.
[^side.
Pet. Why came I hither, but to that intent ?
Think you, a little din can daunt mine ears ?
Have I not in my time heard lions roar ?
Have I not heard the sea, puflP'd up with winds.
Rage like an angry boar, chafed with sweat ?
Have I not heard great ordnance in the field,
And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies?
Have I not in a pitched battle heard
Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' clang ?
And do you tell me of a woman's tongue ;
That gives not half so great a blow to the ear.
As will a chesnut in a farmer's fire ?
Tush ! tush ! fear boys with bugs. 8
Gru. For he fears none.
[Aside.
Gre. Hortensio, hark !
This gentleman is happily arriv'd,
My mind presumes, for his own good, and yours.
Hor. I promis'd we would be contributors.
And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe'er.
Gre. And so we will ; provided, that he win her.
Gru. I would, I were as sure of a good dinner.
\^Aside.
Enter Tranio, bravely apparelVd ; and Biondello.
Tra. Gentlemen, save you ! If I may be bold.
Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way
To the house of signior Baptista Minola ?
Gre. He that has the two fair daughters : — is't
[Aside to Tranio.] he you mean ?
Tra. Even he. Biondello !
Gre. Hark you, sir ; You mean not her to
Tra. Perhaps, him and her, sir ; What have you
to do?
Pet Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray.
Tra, I love no chiders, sir : — Biondello, let's
away.
Luc. Well begun, Tranio. [Aside.
Hor. Sir, a word ere you go ; —
Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea, or no ?
Tra. An if I be, sir, is it any ofl'ence ?
8 Fright boys with bugbears.
Act II. Scene I.
TAMING OF THE SHREW.
247
Gre. No ; if, without more words, you will get
you hence.
TVa. Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free
For me, as for you ?
Gre. But so is not she.
7Va. For what reason, I beseech you ?
Crre. For this reason, if you'll know, — —
That she's tlie choice love of signior Gremio.
^or. That she's the chosen of signior Hortensio.
Tra. Softly, my masters ! if you be gentlemen.
Do me this right, — hear me with patience.
Baptista is a noble gentleman.
To whom my father is not all unknown ;
And, were his daughter fairer than she is.
She may more suitors have, and me for one.
Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers ;
Then well one more may fair Bianca have :
And so slie shall ; Lucentio shall make one,
ITiough Paris came, in hope to speed alone.
Gre. What ! tliis gentleman wdll out-talk us all.
Luc. Sir, give him head ; I know he'll prove a
jade.
Pet. Hortensio, to what end are all these words ?
Hor. Sir, let me be so bold as to ask you,
Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter ?
Tra. No, sir ; but hear I do, that he hath two ;
Tl)e one as famous for a scolding tongue,
As is the other for beauteous modesty.
Pei. Sir, sir, the first's for me ; let her go by.
Gre. Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules ;
And let it be more than Alcides' twelve.
Pet. Sir, understand you this of me, insooth ; —
The youngest daughter, whom you hearken for,
Her father keeps from all access of suitors ;
And will not promise her to any man,
Until the elder sister first be wed :
The younger then is free, and not before.
Tra. If it be so, sir, that you are the man
Must stead us all, and me among the rest ;
An if you break the ice, and do this feat, —
Achieve the elder, set the younger free
For our access, — whose hap shall be to have her.
Will not so graceless be, to be ingrate.
Hor. Sir, you say well, and well you do con-
ceive ;
And since you do profess to be a suitor,
You must, as we do, gratify this gentleman,
To whom we all rest generally beholden.
Tra. Sir, I shall not be slack : in sign whereof
Please ye we may contrive this afternoon.
And quaff carouses to our mistress' health ;
And do as adversaries do in law, —
Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends.
Gru. Pion. O excellent motion ! Fellows 3, let's
be gone.
Hor. The motion's good indeed, and be it so ; —
Fetrucbio, I shall be your ben venuto.
\_Exeuiit.
ACT II.
SCENE I. — A Room m Baptista'5 House.
Enter Katharika and Bianca.
Bian. Good sister, wrong me not, nor wrong
yourself.
To make a bondmaid and a slave of me :
That I disdain ; but for these other gawds *,
Unbind my hands, I'll pull them off myself,
Or, what you will command me, will I do,
So well I know my duty to my elders.
Kath. Of all tliy suitors, here I charge thee, tell
Whom thou lov'st best : see thou dissemble not.
Bian. Believe me, sister, of all the men alive,
I never yet beheld that special face
Which I could fancy more than any other.
Kath. Minion, thou liest ; Is't not Hortensio ?
Bian. If you affect ' him, sister, here I swear,
I'll plead for you myself, but you shall have him.
Kath. O then, belike, you fancy riches more j
You will have Gremio to keep you fair.
Bian. Is it for him you do envy me so ?
Nay, then you jest ; and now I well perceive,
You have but jested vnih me all this while :
I pr*ythee, sister Kate, untie my hands.
KcUh. If that be jest, then all the rest was so.
[Strikes fier.
Enter Baftista.
Bap. Why, how now, dame ! whence grows this
insolence ?
Btanca, stand aside ; — poor girl ! she weeps : —
Go ply thy needle ; meddle not with her. —
For shame, tliou hilding 'i of a devilish spirit,
Why dost thou wrong her that did ne'er wrong thee ?
When did she cross thee with a bitter word ?
' Trifling urnamcnU. ' Love. » A worthless woman.
Kath. Her silence flouts me, and I'll be reveng'd.
[Flies ajler Bianca.
Bap. What, in my sight ? — Bianca, get thee in.
[Exit Bianca.
Kath. Will you not suffer me ? Nay, now I see.
She is your treasure, she must have a husband ;
I must dance barefoot on her wedding-day.
And, for your love to her, lead apes in hell.
Talk not to me ; I w ill go sit and weep.
Till I can find occasion of revenge.
[Exit Katiiarina.
Bap. Was ever gentleman thus griev'd as I ?
But who comes here ?
Enter G&kmio, uith Lucentio in the habit of a
mean mans Petruchio, with Hortensio as a
miisician ; and Tranio, tvith Biondello bearing
a lute and books.
Gre. Good-morrow, neighbour Baptista.
Bap. Good-morrow, neighbour Gremio : save
you, gentlemen !
Pet. And you, good sir ! Pray, have you not a
daughter
Call'd Katharina, fair, and virtuous ?
Bap. I have a daughter, sir, call'd Katharina.
Gre. You are too blunt, go to it orderly.
Pet. You wrong rae, signior Gremio ; give me
leave. —
I am a gentleman of Verona, sir.
That, — hearing of her beauty, and her wit.
Her affability, and bashful modesty.
Her wondrous qualities and mild behaviour, —
Am bold to show myself a forward guest
» Companions.
R 4
248
TAMING OF THE SHREW.
Act II.
Within your house, to make mine eye the witness
Of that report which I so oft have Iieard.
And, for an entrance to my entertainment,
I do present you with a man of mine,
[Presenting Hortensio.
Cunning in musick, and the mathematicks,
To instruct her fully in those sciences.
Whereof, I know, she is not ignorant :
Accept of him, or else you do me wrong ;
His name is Licio, born in Mantua.
Bc^. You're welcome, sir; and he, for your
good sake :
But for my daughter Katharine, — this I know,
She is not for your turn, the more my grief.
Pet. I see, you do not mean to part with her ;
Or else you like not of my company.
JSap. Mistake me not, I speak but as I find.
Whence are you, sir ? what may I call your name ?
Pet. Petruchio is my name ; Antonio's son,
A man well known throughout all Italy.
JBap. I know him well : you are welcome for
his sake.
Gre. Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray,
Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak too :
Baccare ! * you are marvellous forward.
Pet. O, pardon me, signior Gremio; I would
fain be doing.
Gre. I doubt it not, sir ; but you will curse your
wooing.
Neighbour, this is a gift very grateful, I am sure of
it. To express the like kindness myself, that have
been more kindly beholden to you than any, I freely
give unto you this young scholar [Presenting Lu-
CENTio.] that hath been long studying at Rheims :
as cunning in Greek, Latin, and other languages,
as the other in musick and mathematicks : his name
is Cambio ; pray, accept his service.
Bap. A thousand thanks, signior Gremio : wel-
come, good Cambio. — But, gentle sir, [To Tra-
>iio.] methinks you walk like a stranger; May I
be so bold to know the cause of your coming ?
Tra. Pardon me, sir, the boldness is mine own ;
That, being a stranger in this city here.
Do make myself a suitor to your daughter.
Unto Bianca, fair, and virtuous.
Nor is your firm resolve unknown to me,
In the preferment of the eldest sister :
This liberty is all that I request, —
That, upon knowledge of my parentage,
I may have welcome 'mongst the rest that woo.
And free access and favour as the rest.
And, toward the education of your daughters,
I heiie bestow a simple instrument, '
And this small packet of Greek and Latin books :
If you accept them, then their worth is great.
Bap. Lucentio is your name? of whence, I pray?
Tra. Of Pisa, sir ; son to Vincentio.
Bap. A mighty man of Pisa ; by report
I know him well : you are very welcome, sir. —
Take you [To Hor.] the lute, and you [To Luc]
the set of books,
You shall go see your pupils presently.
Holla, within !
Enter a Servant.
Sirrah, lead
These gentlemen to my daughters; and tell them both.
These are their turors ; bid them use them well.
[Exit Servant, with Hortensio, Lucentio,
and BioNDELLO.
'^ A proverbial exclamation then in use.
We will go walk a little in the orchard,
And then to dinner : You are passing welcome.
And so I pray you all to think yourselves.
Pet. Signior Baptista, my business asketh haste,
And every day I cannot come to woo.
You knew my father well ; and in him, me.
Left solely heir to all his lands and goods,
Which I have better'd rather than decreas'd :
Then tell me, — if I get your daughter's love,
What dowry shall I have with her to wife?
Bap. After my death, the one half of my lands :
And, in possession, twenty thousand crowns.
Pet. And, for that dowry, I'll assure her of
Her widowhood, — be it that she survive me, —
In all my lands and leases whatsoever :
Let specialties be therefore drawn between us,
That covenants may be kept on either hand.
Bap. Ay, when the special thing is well obtain'd.
This is, — her love ; for that is all in all.
Pet. Why, that is nothing ; for I tell you, father,
I am as peremptory as she proud-minded ;
And where two raging fires meet together,
They do consume the thing that feeds their fury :
Though little fire grows great with little wind,
Yet extreme gusts will blow out fire and all :
So I to her, and so she yields to me ;
For I am rough, and woo not like a babe.
Bap. Well may'st thou woo, and happy be thy
speed !
But be thou arm'd for some unhappy words.
Pet. Ay, to the proof; as mountains are for
winds.
That shake not, though they blow perpetually.
Re-enter Hortensio, with his head broken.
Bap. How now, my friend ? why dost thou look
so pale ?
Hor. For fear, I promise you, if I look pale.
Bap. What, will my daughter prove a good mu-
sician ?
Hor. I think, she*ll sooner prove a soldier ;
Iron may hold with her, but never lutes.
Baj). Why, then thou canst not break her to the
lute?
Hor. Why, no ; for she hath broke the lute to me.
I did but tell her, she mistook her frets 5,
And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering ;
When, with a most impatient devilish spirit.
Frets, call you these? quoth she: V II fume with them:
And, with that word, she struck me on the head,
And through the instrument my pate made way ;
And there I stood amazed for a while.
As on a pillory, looking through the lute
While she did call me, — rascal fiddler.
And — twangling Jack ; with twenty such vile terms.
As she had studied to misuse me so.
Pet. Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench ;
I love her ten times more than e'er I did :
O, how I long to have some chat with her !
Bap. Well, go with me, and be not so discom-
fited:
Proceed in practice with my younger daughter ;
She's apt to learn, and thankful for good turns. —
Signior Petruchio, will you go with us ;
Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you ?
Pet. I pray you do ; I will attend her here, —
[Exeunt Baptista, Gremio, Tranio,
and Hortensio.
5 A fret in music is the stop which causes or regulates the
vibration of the string.
Jll
Scene I.
TAMING OF THE SHREW.
249
And woo her with some spirit when she comes.
Say, that slie rail : Why, then I'll tell her plain,
She sings as sweetly as a nightingale :
Say, that she frown : I'll say, she looks as clear
As morning roses newly wash'd with dew :
Say, she be mute, and will not speak a word ;
Then I'll commend her volubility.
And say — she uttereth piercing eloquence :
If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thanks,
As though she bid me stay by her a week ;
If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day
When I shall ask the banns, and when be married. —
But here she comes j and now, Petruchio, speak.
Enter Katharina.
Good-morrow, Kate ; for that's your name, I hear.
Kat/i. Well have you heard, but something hard
of hearing ;
They call me — Katharine, that do talk of me.
Put. You lie, in faith ; for you are call'd plain
Kate,
And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst ;
But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom,
Kate of Kate-Hall, my super-dainty Kate,
For dainties are all cates ; and therefore, Kate,
Take this of me, Kate of my consolation ; —
Hearing thy mildness prais'd in every town,
Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded,
(Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,)
Myself am mov'd to woo thee for my wife.
Jiath. Mov'd ! in good time : let him that mov'd
you hither,
Remove you hence : I knew you at the first.
You were a moveable.
Pet. Why, what's a moveable ?
ITath. A joint-stool.
Pet. Thou hast hit it : come, sit on me.
Kath* Asses are made to bear, and so are you.
Pet. Alas, good Kate ! I will not burden thee :
For, knowing thee to be but young and light, —
A'iith. Too light for such a swain as you to catch ;
And yet as heavy as my weight should be.
Pet. Should be ? should buz.
JTath. Well ta'en, and like a buzzard.
Pet. O, slow-winged turtle ! shall a buzzard take
thee?
ITath. Ay, for a turtle ; as he takes a buzzard.
Pet. Come, come, you wasp ; i 'faith, you are too
angry.
X'ath. If I be waspish, best beware ray sting.
Pet. My remedy is then to pluck it out.
JCath. Ay, if the fool could find it where it lies.
Pet. Who knows not where a wasp doth wear his
sting?
In his tail.
ITath. In his tongue.
Pet. Nay, come again.
Good Kate ; I am a gentleman.
A^ath. That I'll try.
[Striking him.
Pet. I swear I'll cuff you, if you strike again.
ITath. So may you lose your anns :
If you strike me, you are no gentleman ;
And if no gentleman, why, then no arms.
Pet. A herald, Kate ? O, put me in thy books.
ITath. What is your crest ? a coxcomb ?
Pet. A combless cock, so Kate will be my hen.
A'ath. No cock of mine, you crow too like a
craven. <>
' A degenerate cock.
Pet. Nay, come, Kate, come j you must not look
so sour.
ITath. It is ray fashion, when I see a crab.
Pet. Why here's no crab : and therefore look
• not sour.
ITath. There is, there is.
Pet. Then show it me.
ITath. Had I a glass, I would.
Pet. What, you mean ray face ?
A'ath. Well aim'd of such a young one.
Pet. Now, by saint George, I am too young for
you.
ITath. Yet you are wither'd.
Pet. 'Tis with cares.
ITath. I care not.
Pet. Nay, hear you, Kate : in sooth, you 'scape
not so.
ITath. I chafe you, if I tarry ; let me go.
Pet, No, not a whit ; I find you passing gentle.
'Twas told me, you were rough, and coy, and sullen,
And now I find report a very liar ;
For thou art pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous ;
But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers:
Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance.
Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will ;
Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk ;
But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers.
With gentle conference, soft and affable.
Why does the world report, that Kate doth limp ?
0 slanderous world ! Kate, like the hazle-twig.
Is straight and slender ; and as brown in hue
As hazle-nuts, and sweeter than the kernels.
O, let me see thee walk : thou dost not halt.
ITath. Go, fool, and whom thou keep'st command.
Pet. Did ever Dian so become a grove,
As Kate this chamber vdth her princely gait?
O, be thou Dian, and let her be Kate ;
And then let Kate be chaste, and Dian «portful !
A'^ath. Where did you study all this goodly speech?
Pet. It is extempore, from my mother-wit.
ITath. A witty mother ! witless else her son.
Pet. Am I not wise?
A^ath. Yes.
Pet. And therefore, setting all this chat aside.
Thus in plain terms : — Your father hath consented
That you shall be ray wife ; your dowry 'greed on ;
And, will you, nill you, I will marry you.
Now, Kate, I am a husband for your turn ;
For, by this b'ght, whereby I see thy beauty,
(Thy beauty, that doth make me like thee well,)
Thou raust be raarried to no raan but me :
For I am he, am born to tame you, Kate ;
And bring you from a wild-cat to a Kate
Conformable, as other household Kates.
Here comes your father ; never make denial ;
1 must and will have Katharine to my wife.
Re-enter Baptista, Gremio, and Tranio.
Bap. Now,
Signior Petruchio : How speed you with
My daughter ?
Pet. How but well, sir ? how but well?
It were impossible I should speed amiss.
Bap. Why, how now, daughter Katharine? in
your dumps ?
ITath. Call you me, daughter ? now I promise you,
You have show'd a tender fatherly regard.
To wish me wed to one half lunatick ;
A mad-cap ruffian, and a swearing Jack,
That thinks with oaths to face the matter ouU
250
TAMING OF THE SHREW.
Act n. Scene I.
Pet. Father, 'tis thus, — yourself and all the world,
Th.at talk'd of her, have talk'd amiss of her ;
If she be curst, it is for policy :
For she's not froward, but modest as the dove j
She is not hot, but temperate as the morn ;
For patience she will prove a second Grissel ;
And Roman Lucrece for her chastity :
And to conclude, — we have 'greed so well together,
That upon Sunday is the wedding-day.
Kath. I'll see thee hang'd on Sunday first.
Gre. Hark, Petruchio ! slie says, sbe'll see thee
hang'd first.
Tra, Is this your speeding? nay, then, good
night our part !
Pet. Be patient, gentlemen ; I choose her for
myself ;
If she and I be pleas'd, what's that to you ?
Tis bargain'd 'twixt us twain, being alone,
That she shall still be curst in company.
I tell you 'tis incredible to believe
How much she loves me : O, the kindest Kate ! —
She hung about my neck ; and kiss on kiss
She vied 7 so fast, protesting oath on oath,
That in a twink she won me to her love.
Give me thy hand, Kate : I will unto Venice,
To buy apparel 'gainst the wedding-day : —
Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests ;
I will be sure, my Katharine shall be fine.
Bap. I know not what to say ; give me your
hands ;
Heaven send you joy, Petruchio ! 'tis a match.
Gre. Tra. Amen, say we ; we will be witnesses.
Pet. Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu ;
I will to Venice, Sunday comes apace :
We will have rings, and things, and fine array ;
And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o' Sunday.
\^Exeu7it Petruchio and Katharina, severally.
Ore. Was ever match clapp'd up so suddenly ?
Bap. Gentlemen, now I play a merchant's part.
And venture madly on a desperate mart.
Tra. 'Twas a commodity lay fretting by you :
'Twill bring you gain, or perish on the seas.
Bap. The gain I seek is — quiet in the match.
Gre. No doubt but he hath got a quiet catch.
But now, Baptista, to your younger daughter ; —
Now is the day we long have looked for ;
I am your neighbour, and was suitor first,
Tra. And I am one, that love Bianca more
Than words can witness, or your thoughts can guess.
Gre. Youngling ! thou canst not love so dear as I.
Tra. Grey-beard ! thy love doth freeze.
Gre. Skipper, stand back ; 'tis age that nourisheth.
Tra. But youth in ladies' eyes that flourisheth.
Bap. Content you, gentlemen ; I'll compound
this strife :
'Tis deeds must win the prize ; and he, of both.
That can assure my daughter greatest dower
Shall have Bianca's love. —
Say, signior Gremio, what can you assure her ?
Gre. First, as you, know my house within the city
Is richly furnished with plate and gold ;
Basons, and ewers, to lave her dainty hands ;
My hangings all of Tyrian tapestry :
In ivory coffers 1 have stufF'd my crowns ;
7 To vye and revye were terms at cards, now superseded by
the word brag.
In cypress chests my arras, counterpoints 8,
Costly apparel, tents and canopies.
Fine linen, Turkey cushions, boss'd with pearl.
Valance of Venice gold in needle-work,
Pewter and brass, and all things that belong
To house, or housekeeping : then, at my farm,
I have a hundred milch-kine to the pail,
Six score fat oxen standing in my stalls.
And all things answerable to this portion.
Myself am struck in years, I must confess ;
And, if I die to-morrow, this is hers.
If whilst I live, she will be only mine,
Tra. That, only, came well in Sir, list to me ;
I am my father's heir, and only son :
If I may have your daughter to my wife,
I'll leave her houses three or four as good,
Within rich Pisa walls, as any one
Old signior Gremio has in Padua ;
Besides two thousand ducats by the year,
Of fruitful land, all which shall be her jointure. —
What, have I pinch'd you, signior Gremio ?
Gre. Two thousand ducats by the year, of land !
My land amounts not to so much in all :
That she shall have ; besides an argosy 9,
That now is lying in Marseilles' road : ^^—
What, have I chok'd you with an argosy ?
Tra. Gremio, 'tis known, my father hath no less
Than three great argosies ; besides two galliasses ',
And twelve tight gallies : these I will assure her,
And twice as much, whate'er thou offer'st next.
Gre. Nay, I have offer'd all, I have no more ;
And she can have no more than all I have ;
If you like me, she shall have me and mine.
Tra. Why, then the maid is mine from all the
world.
By your firm promise ; Gremio is out-vied.
Bap. I must confess, your offer is the best :
And, let your father make her the assurance,
She is your own ; else, you must pardon me :
If you should die before him where's her dower ?
Tra. That's but a cavil ; he is old, I young.
Gre. And may not young men die, as well as old ?
Bap. Well, gentlemen,
I am thus resolv'd : — On Sunday next you know,
My daughter Katherine is to be married
Now, on the Sunday following, shall Bianca
Be bride to you, if you make this assurance ;
If not, to signior Gremio :
And so I take my leave, and thank you both.
\_Erit.
Gre. Adieu, good neighbour. — Now I fear thee
not ;
Sirrah, young gamester, your father were a fool
To give thee all, and in his waning age.
Set foot under thy table : Tut ! a toy !
An old Italian fox is not so kind, my boy. [^Exit.
Tra. A vengeance on your crafty wither'd liide !
Yet I have faced it with a card of ten. 2
'Tis in my head to do my master good : —
I see no reason, but suppos'd Lucentio
Must get a father, call'd — suppos'd Vincentio.
lExU.
8 Coverings for beds ; now called counterpanes.
9 A large merchant-ship.
1 A vessel of burthen worked both with sails and oars.
2 The highest card.
Act III. Scene I.
TAMING OF THE SHllEVV.
251
ACT III.
SCENE I. — A Room in Baptista'5 House.
Enter Lucentio, Hortknsio, and Bianca,
Luc. Fiddler, forbear ; you grow too forward, sir :
Have you so soon forgot the entertainment
Her sister Katharine welcom'd you withal ?
Hor. But, wrangling pedant, this is
The patroness of heavenly harmony ;
Then give me leave to have prerogative ;
And when in musick we have spent an hour,
Your lecture shall have leisure for as much.
Luc. Preposterous ass ! that never read so far
To know the cause why musick was ordain'd !
Was it not, to refresh tlie mind of man,
After his studies, or his usual pain ?
Then give me leave to read philosophy.
And while I pause serve in your harmony.
Hor. Sirrah, I will not bear these braves of thine.
Bian. Why, gentlemen, you do me double wrong.
To strive for that which resteth in my choice :
I'll not be tied to hours, nor 'pointed times,
But learn my lessons as I please myself.
And to cut off all strife, here sit we down : -—
Take you your instrument, play you the whiles ;
His lecture will be done, ere you have tun'd.
Hor. You'll leave his lecture when I am in tune ?
[To Bianca Hortensio retires.
Luc. That will be never ; tune your instrument.
Bian. Where left we last ?
Luc. Here, madam :
Hac ibat Simois ; his est Sigeia tellus :
Hie steterat Priami regia celsa senis.
Bian. Construe them.
Luc. Hac ibat, as I told you before, -— Simois, I
am Lucentio, — hie est, son unto Vincentio of
Pisa, — Sigeia tellus, disguised thus to get your
love; — Hie steterat, and that Lucentio that comes
a wooing, — Priami, is my man Tranio, — regia,
bearing my port, — celsa senis, that we might be-
guile the old pantaloon. 3
Hor. Madam, my instrument's in tune.
{Returning.
Bian. Let's hear; — [ Hortensio jp%s.
O fye ! the treble jars.
Luc. Spit in the hole, man, and tune again.
Bian. Now let me see if I can construe it : Hac
ibat Simois, I know you not; hie est Sigeia tellus, I
trust you not ; — Hie steterat Priami, take heed he
hear us not ; — regia, presume not ; — celsa senis,
despiur not.
Hor. Madam, 'tis now in tune.
Luc. All but the base.
Hor. The base is right ; 'tis the l>ase knave that
jars.
How fiery and forward our pedant is !
Now, for my life, the knave doth court my love :
Pediiscule*, I'll watch you better yet.
Bian. In time I may believe, yet 1 mistrust.
Luc. Mistrust it not ; for sure, ^acides
Was Ajax, — call'd so from his grandfather.
Bian. I must believe my master ; else I promise
you,
I sliould be arguing still upon that doubt :
But let it rest, — Now, Licio, to you : —
The old cully in Italian farces. * Pedant.
Good masters, take it not unkindly, pray,
That I have been thus pleasant with you both.
Hor. You may go walk, [To Lucentio.] and
give me leave awhile :
My lessons make no music in three parts.
Luc. Are you so formal, sir? well, I must wait,
And watch withal ; for, but I be deceiv'd.
Our fine musician groweth amorous. [Aside,
Hor. Madam, before you touch the instrument.
To learn the order of my fingering,
I must begin the rudiments of art ;
To teach you gamut in a briefer sort,
More pleasant, pithy, and effectual.
Than hath been taught by any of my trade :
And there it is in writing, fairly drawn.
Bian. Why, I am past my gamut long ago.
Hor. Yet read the gamut of Hortensio.
Bian. [Reads.^ Gam ut I am, the ground of all
accord,
A re, to plead Hortensio* s passion ;
B mi, Bianca, take him for thy lord,
C faut, that loves with all affectitm ;
D sol re, one cliff, two notes have I ;
E la mi, show pity, or I die.
Call you this — gamut ? tut ! I like it not :
Old fashions please me best ; I am not so nice.
To change true rules for odd inventions.
Enter a Servant.
Serv. Mistress, your father prays you leave your
books.
And help to dress your sister's chamber up ;
You know, to-morrow is the wedding day.
Bian. Farewell, sweet masters, both ; I must be
gone. [Exeunt Bianca and Servant.
Luc 'Faith, mistress, then I have no cause to
stay. , [Erii-
Hor. But I have cause to pry into this pedant ;
Methinks, he looks as though he were in love : —
Yet if thy thoughts, Bianca, be so humble.
To cast tliy wand'ring eyes on every stale *,
Seize thee, that list : If once I find thee ranging,
Hortensio will be quit with thee by changing.
[ExU.
SCENE II. — Before Baptista's House.
Enter Baptista, Gremio, Tranio, Katharina,
Bianca, Lucentio, and Attendants.
Bap. Signior Lucentio, [To Tranio.] this is
the 'pointed day
That Katharine and Petrucliio should be married,
And yet we hear not of our son-in-law :
What will be said ? what mockery will it be,
To want the bridegroom, when the priest attends
To speak the ceremonial rites of marriage ?
What says Lucentio to this shame of ours ?
Kath. No shame but mine : I must, forsooth, be
forced
To give my hand, oppos'd against my heart.
Unto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen « :
Who woo'd in haste, and m^s to wed at leisure.
T told you, I, he was a frantick fool,
Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behaviour .
i Bait, decoy. * Caprice, inconstancy.
252
TAMING OF THE SHREW.
Act hi.
And, to be noted for a merry man,
He'll woo a thousand, 'point the day of marriage,
Make friends, invite, yes, and proclaim the banns ;
Yet never means to wed where he hath woo'd.
Now must the world point at poor Katharine,
And say, — /.o, there is mad Petruchio's wife,
If it would please him come and marry her.
Tra. Patience, good Katharine, and Baptista, too ;
Upon my life, Petruchio means but well,
Whatever fortune stays him from his word :
Though he be blunt, I know him passing wise ;
Though he be merry, yet withal he's honest.
^ath. 'Would Katharine had never seen him
though !
[Exit, weeping, followed by Bianca and others.
Bap. Go, girl ; I cannot blame thee now to weep ;
For such an injury would vex a saint,
Much more a shrew of thy impatient humour.
Enter Biondello.
Bion. Master, master ! news, old news, and such
news as you never heard of !
Bap. Is it new and old too ? how may that be ?
Bion. Why, is it not news, to hear of Petruchio's
coming ?
Bap. Is he come ?
Bion. Why, no, sir.
Bap. What then ?
Bion. He is coming.
Bap. When will he be here ?
Bion. When he stands where I am, and sees you
there.
Tra. But, say, what : — To thine old news.
Bion. Why, Petruchio is coming, in a new hat
and an old jerkin ; a pair of boots that have been
candle- cases, one buckled, another laced; an old
rusty sword ta'en out of the town armory, with a
broken hilt and chapeless ; with two broken points :
His horse hipped with an old mothy saddle, the
stirrups of no kindred : besides, possessed with the
glanders, and like to mose in the chine ; troubled
with the lampass, infected with the fashions ', full
of wind-galls, sped with spavins, raied with the
yellows, past cure of the fives 8, stark spoiled with
the staggers, begnawn with the bots ; swayed in the
back, and shoulder- shotten ; ne'er legg'd before,
and with a half-check'd bit, and a head-stall of
sheep's leather ; which, being restrained to keep
him from stumbling, hath been often burst, and
now repaired with knots : one girt six times pieced,
and a woman's crupper of velure 9, which hath two
letters for her name, fairly set down in studs, and
here and there pieced with packthread.
Bap. Who comes with him ?
Bion. O, sir, his lackey, for all the world capari-
soned like the horse ; with a linen stock ' on one
leg, and a kersey boot-hose on the other, gartered
with a red and blue list ; an old hat, and The humour
of forty fancies pricked in't for a feather : a monster,
a very monster in apparel ; and not like a Christian
footboy, or a gentleman's lackey.
Tra. 'Tis some odd humour pricks him to this
fashion ;
Yet oftentimes he goes but mean apparell'd.
Bap. I am glad he is come, howsoe'er he comes.
Bion. Why, sir, he comes not.
Bap. Didst thou not say, he comes ?
7 Farcy.
^ Vives; a distemper in horses, little difffering from the
strangles.
» Velvet
Stocking.
Bion. Who ? that Petruchio came ?
Bap. Ay, that Petruchio came.
Bion. No, sir; I say, his horse comes with him
on his back.
Bap. Why, that's all one.
Bion. Nay, by saint Jamy, I hold you a penny,
A horse and a man is more than one, and yet not
many.
Enter Petruchio and G&umio.
Pet. Come, where be these gallants? who is at
home?
Bap. You are welcome, sir.
Pet. And yet I come not well.
Bap, And yet you halt not.
Tra. Not so well apparell'd
As I wish you were.
Pet. Were it better I should rush in thus.
But where is Kate ? where is my lovely bride ?
How does my father? — Gentles,methinks you frown;
And wherefore gaze this goodly company ;
As if they saw some wondrous monument,
Some comet, or unusual prodigy ?
Bap. Why, sir, you know this is your wedding-day:
First were we sad, fearing you would not come ;
Now sadder, that you come so unprovided.
Fye ! doff this habit, shame to your estate,
An eye-sore to our solemn festival.
Tra. And tell us, what occasion of import
Hath all so long detained you from your wife.
And sent you hither so unlike yourself?
Pet. Tedious it were to tell, and harsh to hear ;
Sufficeth, I am come to keep my word.
Though in some part enforced to digress ;
Which, at more leisure, I will so excuse
As you shall well be satisfied withal.
But, where is Kate ? I stay too long from her ;
The morning wears, 'tis time we were at church.
Tra. See not your bride in these unreverent robes
Go to my chamber, put on clothes of mine.
Pet. Not I, believe me ; thus I'll visit her.
Bap. But thus, I trust, you will not marry her.
Pet. Good sooth, even thus ; therefore have done
with words;
To me she's married, not unto my clothes :
Could I repair what she will wear in me,
As I can change these poor accoutrements,
'Twere well for Kate, and better for myself.
But what a fool am I, to chat with you,
When I should bid good-morrow to my bride,
And seal the title with a lovely kiss ?
{^Exeunt Petruchio, Grumio, and Biondello.
Tra. He hath some meaning in his mad attire :
We will persuade him, be it possible.
To put on better ere he go to church.
Bap. I'll after him, and see the event of this.
[ExU.
Tra. But, sir, to her love concerneth us to add
Her father's liking : Which to bring to pass.
As I before imparted to your worship,
I am to get a man, — whate'er he be,
It skills 2 not much ; we'll fit him to our turn, —
And he shall be Vincentio of Pisa ;
And make assurance, here in Padua,
Of greater sums than I have promised.
So shall you quietly enjoy your hope,
And marry sweet Bianca with consent.
Luc. Were it not that my fellow-schoolmaster
Doth watch Bianca's steps so narrowly,
2 Matters.
Scene II.
TAMING OF THE SHREW.
253
'Twere good, methinks, to steal our marriage;
Which once perform'd, let all the world say, — no,
1*11 keep mine own, despite of all the world.
Tra. That by degrees we mean to look into,
And watch our vantage in this business :
We'll over-reach the grey-beard, Gremio ;
The narrow-prying father, Minola ;
The quaint 3 musician, amorous Licio ;
All for my master's sake, Lucentio. —
Re-enter Grrmio.
Signior Gremio, came you from the church ?
Gre As willingly as e'er I came from school.
Tra. And is the bride and bridegroom coming
home ?
Gre. A bridegroom, say you ? 'tis a groom, indeed,
A grumbling groom, and that the girl shall find.
Tra. Curster than she ? why, 'tis impossible.
Gre. Why, he's a devil, a devil, a very fiend.
Tra. Why, she's a devil, a devil, the devil's dam.
Gre. Tut ! she's a lamb, a dove, a fool to him.
I'll tell you, sir Lucentio : When the priest
Should ask — if Katharine should be his wife,
Aif, by gogs-wouns, quoth he ; and swore so loud,
That, all amazed, the priest let fall the book :
And, as he stoop'd again to take it up.
The mad-brain' d bridegroom took him such a cuff.
That down fell priest and book, and book and priest ;
2^ow take them up, quoth he, if ant/ list.
Tra- What said the wench, when he arose again ?
Gre. Trembled and shook ; for why, he stamp 'd,
and swore,
As if the vicar meant to cozen him.
But after many ceremonies done,
He calls for wine : — A health, quoth he ; as if
He had been aboard carousing to his mates
After a stonn : — QuafTd off the muscadel '♦,
And threw the sops all in the sexton's face ;
Having no other reason, —
But that his beard grew thin and hungerly.
And seem'd to ask him sops as he was drinking.
This done, he took the bride about the neck ;
And kiss'd her lips with such a clamorous smack,
That, at the parting, all the church did echo.
I, seeing this, came thence for very shame j
And, after me, I know the rout is coming ;
Such a mad marriage never was before :
Hark, hark ! I hear the minstrels play. {^Musick.
Enter Petruchio, Katharina, Bianca, Baptista,
HoRTENsio, Grumio, and Train.
Pet. Gentlemen and friends, I thank you for your
pains :
I know, you think to dine with me to-day,
And have prepar'd great store of wedding cheer ;
But so it is, my haste doth call me hence.
And tlierefore here I mean to take my leave.
Bap. Is't posssible, you will away to-night ?
Pet. I must away to-day, before night come : —
^lake it no wonder; if you knew my business,
^ ou would entreat me rather go than stay,
And, honest company, 1 thank you all.
That have beheld me give away myself
To this most patient, sweet, and virtuous wife :
» Strange.
* It was the custom for the company present to drink wine
immediately after the marriage ceremony.
Dine with my father, drink a health to me ;
For I must hence, and farewell to you all.
Tra. Let us entreat you stay till after dinner.
Pet. It may not be.
Gre. Let me entreat you.
Pet. It cannot be.
^ath. Let me entreat you.
Pet. I am content.
ITath. Are you content to stay ?
Pet. I am content you shall entreat me stay?
But yet not stay, entreat me how you can.
ITath. Now, if you love me, stay.
Pit. Grumio, my horses.
Gru. Ay, sir, they be ready ; the oats have eaten
the horses.
ITath. Nay, then.
Do what thou canst, I will not go to-day ;
No, nor to-morrow, nor till I please myself.
The door is open, sir, there lies your way.
You may be jogging, whiles your boots are green ;
For me, I'll not be gone, till I please myself ; —
'Tis like, you'll prove a jolly surly groom,
That take it on you at the first so roundly.
Pet. O, Kate, content thee ; pr'ythee be not angry,
JCath I will be angry : What hast thou to do ?
Father be quiet : he shall stay my leisure.
Gre. Ay, marry, sir : now it begins to work.
ITath. Gentlemen, forward to the bridal dinner .—
I see, a woman may be made a fool.
If she had not a spirit to resist.
Pet. They shall go forward, Kate, at thy com^
mand : —
Obey the bride, you that attend on her :
Go to the feast, revel and domineer.
Be mad and merry, — or go hang yourselves ;
But for my bonny Kate, she must with me.
Nay, look not big, nor stamp , nor stare, nor fret ;
I will be master of what is mine own :
She is my goods, my chattels ; she is my hou.se,
My household stuff, my field, my barn.
My horse, my ox, my ass, my any thing ;
And here she stands, touch her whoever dare ;
I'll bring my action on the proudest he
That stops my way in Padua Grumio,
Draw forth thy weapon ; we're beset with thieves ;
Rescue thy mistress, if thou be a man : -^
Fear not, sweet wench, they shall not touch thee,
Kate:
I'll buckler thee against a million.
{^Exeunt Petruchio, KATHARiKA.anxf Grumio.
Bap. Nay, let them go, a couple of quiet ones.
Gre. Went they not quickly, I should die with
laughing.
Tra. Of all mad matches, never was the like !
Luc. Mistress, what's your opinion of your sister?
Bian. That being mad herself, she's madly mated.
Gre. I warrant him, Petruchio is Kated.
Bap. Neighbours and friends, though bride and
bridegroom wants
For to supply the places at the table,
You know, tliere wants no junkets » at the feast ; —
Lucentio, you shall supply the bridegroom's place ;
And let Bianca take her sister's room.
Tra. Shall sweet Bianca practise how to bride itV
Bap. She shall, Lucentio. — Come, gentlemen,
let's go. {Exeunt.
* DclicaciciL
254
TAMING OF THE SHREW.
Act IV.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.— J Hall in Petruchio's Country House.
Enter Grumio.
Gru. Fye, fye, on all tired jades, on all mad
masters! and all foul ways! Was ever man so
beaten ? was ever man so rayed ? ^ was ever man so
weary? I am sent before to make a fire, and they
are coming after to warm them. Now, were I not
a little pot, and soon hot, my very lips might freeze
to my teeth, ere 1 should come by a fire to thaw
me : — But, I, with blowing the fire, shall warm
myself: for, considering the weather, a taller man
than I will take cold. Holla, hoa ! Curtis !
Enter Curtis.
Curt- Who is that, calls so coldly?
Gru. A piece of ice: If thou doubt it, thou mayst
slide from my shoulder to my heel, with no greater
a run but my head and my neck. A fire, good
Curtis.
Curt. Is my master and his wife coming, Grumio ?
Gru. O, ay, Curtis, ay : and therefore fire, fire ;
cast on no water.
Curt. Is she so hot a shrew as she's reported ?
Gru. She was, good Curtis, before this frost ;
but, thou know'st, winter tames man, woman, and
beast ; for it hath tamed my old master, and my
new mistress, and myself, fellow Curtis.
Curt. Away, you three-inch fool I I am no beast.
Gru. Am I but three inches ? why, thy horn is a
foot ; and so long am I, at the least. But wilt thou
make a fire, or shall I complain on thee to our mis-
tress, whose hand (she being now at hand) thou
shalt soon feel, to thy cold comfort, for being slow
in thy hot office ?
Curt. I pr'ythee, good Grumio, tell me, How
goes the world ?
Gru. A cold world, Curtis, in every office but
thine ; and, therefore, fire : Do thy duty, and have
thy duty ; for my master and mistress are almost
frozen to death,
Curt. There's fire ready : And therefore, good
Grumio, the news ?
Gru Why, Jack boy ! ho boy ! and fire ; for I have
caught extreme cold. Where's the cook ? is supper
ready, the house trimmed, rushes strewed ; cobwebs
swept ; the serving-men in their new fustian ; their
white stockings, and every officer his wedding-
garment on ? Be the jacks fair within, the jills fair
M itliout, the carpets laid, and every thing in order ?
Curt. All ready; and therefore, I pray thee, news?
Gru. First, know, my horse is tired ; my master
and mistress fallen out.
Curt. How?
Gru. Out of their saddles into the dirt j And
thereby hangs a tale.
Curt. Let's ha't, good Grumio.
Gru. Lend thine eai*.
Curt. Here.
Gru. There. [Striking him.
Curt. This is to feel a tale, not to hear a tale.
Gru. And therefore 'tis called a sensible tale :
and tJiis cuff was but to knock at your ear, and
beseech listening. Now I begin : Imprimis, we
6 Striped.
came down a foul hill, my master riding behind my
mistress: —
Curt. Both on one horse ?
Gru. What's that to thee ?
Curt. Why, a horse.
Gru. Tell thou the tale : But hadst thou not
crossed me, thou shouldst have heard how her horse
fell, and she under her horse ; thou shouldst have
heard in how miry a place : how she was bemoiled';
how he left her with the horse upon her ; how he
beat me because her horse stumbled ; how she waded
through the dirt to pluck him off me ; how he swore ;
how she prayed — that never prayed before ; how
I cried ; how the horses ran away ; how her bridle
was burst ; how I lost my crupper ; — with many
things of worthy memory ; which now shall die in
oblivion, and thou return unexperienced to thy grave.
Curt. By this reckoning, he is more shrew than
she.
Gru. Ay ; and that, thou and the proudest of
you all shall find, when he comes home. But what
talk I of this ? — call forth Nathaniel, Joseph,
Nicholas, Philip, Walter, Sugarsop, and the rest ;
let their heads be sleekly combed, their blue coats
brushed, and their garters of an indifferent 8 knit :
let them curtsey with their left legs ; and not pre-
sume to touch a hair of my master's horse-tail, till
they kiss their hands. Are they all ready ?
Curt. They are.
Gru. Call them forth.
Curt. Do you hear, ho ! you must meet my
master, to countenance my mistress.
Gru. Why, she hatli a face of her own.
Curt. Who knows not that ?
Gru. Thou, it seems; that callest for "company
to countenance her.
Curt. I call them forth to credit her.
Gru. Why, she comes to borrow nothing of them.
Enter several Servants.
Nath. Welcome home, Grumio.
Fhil. How now, Grumio?
Jos. What, Grumio !
Nich. Fellow Grumio !
Nath. How now, old lad ?
Gru. Welcome, you ; — how now, you ; — what,
you ; — fellow, you — and thus much for greeting.
Now, my spruce companions, is all ready and all
things neat ?
Nath. All things are ready : How near is our
master?
Gru. E'en at hand, alighted by this; and there-
fore be not, silence ! I hear my master.
Enter Petruchio and Katharina.
Pet. W^here be these knaves ? What, no man at
door.
To hold my stirrup, nor to take my horse !
Where is Nathaniel, Gregory, Philip ? — -
All Serv. Here, here, sir ; here, sir.
Pet. Here, sir ! here, sir ! here, sir, here, sir ! —
You logger-headed and unpolish'd grooms !
What, no attendance ? no regard ? no duty ? —
Where is the foolish knave I sent before ?
7 Bemired. ^ Not different one from the otlicr.
Scene I.
TAMING OF THE SHREW.
255
Gru. Here, sir ; as foolish as I was before.
Pet. You peasant swain ! you malt-horse drudge !
Did I not bid thee meet me in the park,
And bring along these rascal knaves with thee ?
Gi-u. Nathaniel's coat, sir, was not fully made.
And Gabriel's jjumps were all unpink'd i'the heel ;
There was no hnk 9 to colour Peter's hat,
A nd VValter's dagger was not come from sheathing :
There were none fine, but Adam, Ralph, and Gre-
gory;
The rest were ragged, old, and beggarly ;
Yet, as they are, here are they come to meet you.
Pet. Go, rascals, go, and fetch my supper in. —
{Exeunt sortie of tlie St^rvants.
Inhere is the life that late I led — [Sings.
Where are those Sit down, Kate, and welcome.
Soud, soud, soud, soud ! i
Re-enter Servants tuith Supper.
Why, when, I say ? — Nay, good sweet Kate, be
merry.
Off with my boots, you rogues, you villains j
When ?
It was the friar of orders g>ai/, [Sings.
As he forth walked on his way : —
Out, out, you rogue ! you pluck my foot awry :
Take that, and mend the plucking off the other. —
[Strikes him.
Be merry, Kate : — Some water, here ; what, ho ! —
Where's my spaniel Troilus ? — Sirrah, get you
hence.
And bid my cousin Ferdinand come hither : —
{^Exit Servant
One, Kate, that you must kiss, and be acquainted
with
W^here are my slippers ? — Shall I have some water ?
\^A bason is presented to him.
Come, Kate, and wash, and welcome heartily : —
[Servant lets the ewer fall.
You villain ! will you let it fall ? [Strikes him
KcUh. Patience, I pray you ; 'twas a fault un-
willing.
Pet. A beetle-headed, flap-ear'd knave !
Come, Kate, sit down ; I know you have a stomach.
Will you give thanks, sweet Kate; or else shall I ? —
What is this ? mutton ?
1 Serv. Ay.
Pet. Who brought it.
1 Serv. I.
Pet. 'Tis burnt ; and so is all the meat :
What dogs are these ? — Where is the rascal cook ?
How durst you, villains, bring it from the dresser.
And serve it thus to me that love it not ?
There, take it to you, trenchers, cups, and all :
[ Throws the meal, ^c. about the stage.
You heedless jolthcads, and unmanner'd slaves !
What, do you grumble ? I'll be with you straight.
ITath. I pray you, husband, be not so disquiet ;
Tlie meat was well> if you were so contented.
Pet. I tell thee, Kate, 'twas burnt and dried away;
And I expressly am forbid to touch it.
For it engenders choler, planteth anger ;
And Ixjlter 'twere, that both of us did fast, —
Since of ourselves, ourselves are cholerick, —
Than feed it with such over-roasted flesh.
Be patient ; to-morrow it shall be mended,
• A torch of pitch.
■ A word coined by Shakspcarc to express the noise made
by a person heated and fatigtied.
And, for this night, we'll fast for company :
Come, I will bring thee to thy bridal chamber.
[Exeunt Petruchio, Katharina, arid
Curtis.
Nath. [Advancing.] Peter, didst ever see the like?
Peter. He kills her in her own humour.
Re-enter Curtis.
Gru. Where is he ?
Curt. In her chamber.
Making a sermon of continency to her :
And rails, and swears, and rates ; that she, poor soul
Knows not which way to stand, to look, to speak ;
And sits as one new-risen from a dream.
Away, away ! for he is coming hither. [ExeuJit.
Re-enter Petruchio.
Pet. Thus have I politickly begun my reign,
And 'tis my hope to end successfully :
My falcon now is sharp, and passing empty ;
And, till she stoop, she must not be full-gorg'd.
For then she never looks upon her lure. -'
Another way I have to man my haggard \
To make her come, and know her keeper's call,
That is, — to watcli her, as we watch these kites,
That bate *, and beat, and will not be obedient.
She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat ;
Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall not:
As with the meat, some undeserved fault
I'll find about the making of the bed ;
And here I'll fling the pillow, there the bolster,
This way the coverlet, another way the sheets : —
Ay, and amid this hurly, I intend ^
That all is done in reverend care of her;
And, in conclusion, she shall watch all night:
And, if she chance to nod, I'll rail and brawl,
And with the clamour keep her still awake.
This is the way to kill a wife with kindness ;
And thus I'll curb her mad and headstrong hu-
mour : —
He that knows better how to tame a shrew,
Now let him speak ; 'tis charity to shew. [EiU.
SCENE II. — Padua. Before Baptista's House.
Enter Tranio and Hortensio.
Tra. Is't possible, friend Licio, that Bianca
Doth fancy any other but Lucentio ?
I tell you, sir, she bears me fair in hand.
Hor. Sir, to satisfy you in what I have said,
Stand by, and mark tlie manner of Iris teaching.
[ They stand aside.
Enter Bianca and Lucentio.
Luc. Now, mistress, profit you in what you read?
Bian. What, master, read you ? first resolve me
that.
Luc. I read that I profess, the art of love.
Bian. And may you prove, sir, masterof your art !
Luc. While you, sweet dear, prove mistress of
my heart, [ They retire.
Hor. Quick proceeders, marry ! Now, tell me, I
pray,
You that durst swear that your mistress Bianca
Lov'd none in the world so well as Lucentio.
' A thinR stuffbd to look like the game which the hawk
ra» to pursue.
3 To tame my wild hawk.
* Flutter. » Pretend.
266
i Tra.
unconstant woman-
O despiteful love !
kind ; —
I tell thee, Licio, this is wonderful.
Hor. Mistake no more : I am not Licio,
Kor a musician as I seem to be ;
But one that scorn to live in this disguise,
For such a one as leaves a gentleman,
And makes a god of such a cuUion 6 :
Know, sir, that I am call'd — Hortensio.
Tra. Signior Hortensio, I have often heard
Of your entire affection to Bianca ;
And since mine eyes are witness of her lightness,
I will with you, — if you be so contented, —
Forswear Bianca and her love for ever.
Hor. Signior Lucentio,
Here is my hand, and here I firmly vow —
Never to woo her more ; but to forswear her.
As one unworthy all the former favours
That I have fondly flatter'd her withal.
Tra. And here I take the like unfeigned oath, —
Ne'er to marry with her though she would entreat.
Hor. 'Would, all the world, but he, had quite
forsworn !
For me, that I may surely keep mine oath,
I will be married to a wealthy widow,
Ere three days pass ; which hath as long lov'd me.
As I have lov'd this proud disdainful haggard :
And so farewell, signior Lucentio. —
Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks,
Shall win my love : — and so I take my leave,
In resolution as I swore before.
lErit Hortensio. — Lucentio and Bianca
advance.
Tra. Mistress Bianca, bless you with such grace
As 'longeth to a lover's blessed case !
Nay, I have ta'en you napping, gentle love ;
And have forsworn you, with Hortensio.
Bian. Tranio, you jest : But have you both for-
sworn me ?
Tra^ Mistress we have.
Zuc. Then we are rid of Licio.
Tra. He'll have a widow now,
That shall be woo'd and wedded in a day.
Mian. Heaven give him joy !
Tra. Ay, and he'll tame her.
Bian. He says so, Tranio.
Tra. 'Faith, he is gone unto the taming-school.
Bian. The taming-school ! what, is there such a
place ?
Tra. Ay, mistress, and Petruchio is the master ;
That teacheth tricks eleven and twenty long, —
To tame a shrew, and charm her chattering tongue.
Enter Biondello, running.
Bion. O master, master, I have watch'd so long
That I'm dog-weary ; but at last I spied
An ancient angel? coming down the hill.
Will serve the turn.
Tra. What is he, Biondello ?
Bion. Master, a mercatant^, or a pedant 8,
I know not what ; but formal in apparel.
In gait and countenance surely like a father.
Luc And what of him, Tranio ?
Tra. If he be credulous, and trust my tale,
I'll make him glad to seem Vincentio ;
And give assurance to Baptista Minola,
As if he were the right Vincentio.
Take in your love, and then let me alone.
[Exeujit Lucentio and Bianca.
8 Despicable fellow. Messenger.
8 A merchant or a schoolmaster.
TAMING OF THE SHREW.
Enter a Pedant.
Act IV.
Fed. God save you, sir !
fra. And you, sir ! you are welcome.
Travel you far on, or are you at the furthest ?
Fed. Sir, at the furthest for a week or two :
But then up further ; and as far as Rome ;
And so to Tripoly, if heaven lend me life.
Tra. What countryman, I pray ?
pg^^ Of Mantua.
Tra. Of Mantua, sir ? — marry, heaven forbid !
And come to Padua, careless of your life?
Fed. My life, sir! how, I pray? for that goes hard.
Tra. 'Tis death for any one in Mantua
To come to Padua ; Know you not the cause ?
Your ships are staid at Venice ; and the duke
(For private quarrel 'twixt your duke and him)
Hath publish'd and proclaim'd it openly :
'Tis marvel ; but that you're but newly come,
You might have heard it else proclaim'd about.
Fed. Alas, sir, it is worse for me than so ;
For I have bills for money by exchange
From Florence, and must here deliver them.
Tra. Well, sir, to do you courtesy,
This will I do, and this will I advise you ; —
First, tell me, have you ever been at Pisa ?
Fed. Ay, sir, in Pisa have I often been ;
Pisa, renowned for grave citizens.
Tra. Among them, know you one Vincentio ?
Fed. I know him not, but I have heard of him ;
A merchant of incomparable wealth.
Tra. He is my father, sir ; and, sooth to say,
In countenance somewhat doth resemble you.
Bian. As much as an apple doth an oyster, and
all one. [Aside.
Tra. To save your life in this extremity,
This favour will I do you for his sake ;
And think it not the worst of all your fortunes.
That you are like to sir Vincentio.
His name and credit shall you undertake.
And in my house you shall be friendly lodg'd ; —
Look, that you take upon you as you should ;
You understand me, sir ; — so shall you stay
Till you have done your business in the city :
If this be courtesy, sir, accept of it.
Fed. O, sir, I do ; and will repute you ever
The patron of my life and liberty.
2Va. Then go with me, to make the matter good.
This, by the way, I let you understand ;
My father is here look'd for every day.
To pass assurance of a dower in marriage
'Twixt me and one Baptista's daughter here :
In all these circumstances I'll instruct you :
Go with me, sir, to clothe you as becomes you.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. A Room in Petruchio's House.
Enter Katharina and Grumio.
Gru. No, no, forsooth : I dare not for my life.
Kath. The more my wrong, the more his spite
appears :
What, did he marry me to famish me ?
Beggars, that come unto my father's door,
Upon entreaty, have a present alms ;
If not elsewhere they meet with charity :
But I, — who never knew how to entreat, —
Nor never needed that I should entreat.
Am starv'd for meat, giddy for lack of sleep ;
With oaths kept waking, and with brawling fed :
And that which spites me more than all these wants,
Scene III.
TAMING OF THE SHREW.
257
He does it under name of perfect love ;
As who should say, — If I should sleep, or cat,
'TAvere deadly sickness, or else present death. —
I pr'ytliee go, and get me some repast ;
I care not v, hat, so it be wholesome food.
Gru. What say you to a neat's foot?
ITath. 'Tis passing good ; I pr'ythee let me have it.
Gru. I fear it is too cholerick a meat : —
How say you to a fat tripe, finely broil'd ?
A'ath. I like it well ; good Grumio, fetch it me.
Gru. I cannot tell ; I fear 'tis cholerick.
What say you to a piece of beef, and mustard ?
£'ath. A dish that I do love to feed upon.
Gru. Ay, but the mustard is too hot a little.
Kath. Why, then the beef, and let the mustard rest.
Gru. Nay, then I will not; you shall have the
mustard,
Or else you get no beef of Grumio.
ITath. Then both, or one, or any thing thou wilt.
Gru. Why then the mustard without the beef.
Xath. Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding
slave, [Beats him.
That feed'st me with the very name of meat :
Sorrow on thee, and all the pack of you,
That triumph thus upon my misery !
Go, get thee gone, I say.
Enter Petruchio with a dish of meat ; and
HOUTENSIO.
Pet. How fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all
amort? 9
Hor. Mistress, what cheer ?
JTath. 'Faith, as cold as can be.
Pet. Pluck up thy spirits, look cheerfully upon me.
Here, love ; thou seest how diligent I am.
To dress thy meat myself, and bring it thee ;
[Sets the dish on a table.
I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks.
What, not a word ? Nay then, thou lov'st it not ;
And all my pains is sorted to no proof- —
Here, take away this dish.
JTath. ' Pray you, let it stand.
Pet. The poorest service is repaid with tlianks j
And so shall mine before you touch the meat.
ITath. I thank you, sir.
Hor. Signior Petruchio, fye ! you are to blame !
Come, mistress Kate, I'll bear you company.
Pet. Eat it up all, Hortensio, if thou lov'st me. —
[^side.
Much good do it unto thy gentle heart !
Kate, eat apace : — And now, my honey love,
Will we return unto thy father's house j
And revel it as bravely as the best,
With silken coats, and caps, and golden rings.
With ruffs, and cuffs, and farthingales, and things ;
With scarfs, and fans, and double change of bravery ',
With amber bracelets, beads, and all this knavery.
What, hast thou din'd ? The tailor stays thy leisure,
To deck thy body with his ruffling treasure.
Enter Tailor.
Come, tailor, let us see these ornaments ;
Enter Haberdasher.
Lay forth the gown.— What news with you, sir ?
Hab. Here is the cap your worship did bespeak.
Pet. Why, this was moulded on a porringer?
Why, 'tis a cockle, or a walnutshell,
A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap ;
Away with it, come, let me have a bigger.
9 Dispirited ; a Gallicism. ' Finery.
A'ath. I'll have no bigger ; this doth fit the time.
And gentlewomen wear such caps as these.
Pet. When you are gentle, you shall have one too.
And not till then.
Hor. That will not be in haste. [Aside.
JCath. Why, sir, I trust, I may have leave to speak j
And speak I will ; I am no child, no babe ;
Your betters have endur'd me say my mind ;
And, if you cannot, best you stop your ears.
My tongue will tell the anger of my heart ;
Or else my heart, concealing it, will break :
And rather than it shall, I will be free
Even to the uttermost, as I please, in words.
Pet. Why, thou say'st true ; it is a paltry cap,
A custard-cofi[in % a bauble, a silken pie :
I love thee well, in that thou lik'st it not.
Kath. Love me, or love me not, I like the cap ;
And it I will have, or I will have none.
Pet. Thy gown ? why, ay : — Come, tailor, let us
see't.
0 mercy, see what masking stuff is here?
What's this ? a sleeve ? 'tis like a demi-cannon :
What ! up and down, carv'd like an apple-tart?
Here's snip, and nip, and cut, and slish, and slash,
Like to a censer 3 in a barber's shop : —
Why, what, o'devil's name, tailor, call'st thou this?
Hor. I see, she's like to have neither cap nor
gown. [Aside.
Tai. You bid me make it orderly and well,
According to the fashion, and the time.
Pet. Marry, and did ; but if you be remember'd,
1 did not bid you mar it to the time.
Go, hop me over every kennel home.
For you shall hop without my custom, sir :
I'll none of it ; hence, make your best of it.
Kath. I never saw a better-fashion'd gown,
More quaint"*, more pleasing, nor more commendable;
Belike, you mean to make a puppet of me.
Pet. Why, true ; he means to make a puppet of
thee.
Tai. She says, your worship means to make a
puppet of her.
Pet. O monstrous arrogance ! Thou liest, thou
thread.
Thou thimble.
Thou yard, three quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail.
Thou flea, thou nit, thou winter cricket thou : —
Brav'd in mine own house with a skein of thread !
Away thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant :
Or I shall so be-mete ^ thee with thy yard.
As thou shalt think on prating wliilst thou liv'st !
I tell thee, I, that thou hast marr'd her gown.
Tai. Your worship is deceiv'd ; the gown is made
Just as my master had direction :
Grumio gave order how it should be done.
Gru. I gave him no order, I gave him the stuff.
Tai. But how did you desire it should be made ?
Gru. Marry, sir, with needle and thread.
Tai. But did you not request to have it cut ?
Gru. Thou hast faced many things.
Tai. I have.
Gru. Face not me : thou hast braved many men ;
brave not me : I will neither be faced nor braved.
I say unto thee, — I bid thy master cut out the
gown ; but I did not bid him cut it to pieces : ergo^
thou liest.
Tai. Why, here is the note of the fashion to testify
s A coffin was the culinary term for raised crust
» These censers resembled our brasiers in shape.
< Curious. * Be-measur»
S
258
TAMING OF THE SHREW
Act IV.
Pet. Read it.
Gru. The note lies in his throat, if he says I said so.
Tai. Tmjmmis, a loose-bodied gaum :
Gru. Master, if ever 1 said loose-bodied gown,
sew me in the skirts of it, and beat me to death with
a bottom of brown thread : I said, a gown.
Pet. Proceed.
Tai. With a small compassed cape,-
Gru. I confess the cape.
Tai. With a trunk sleeve ;
Gru. I confess two sleeves.
Tai. The sleeves curiouslt/ cut.
Pet. Ay, there's the villainy.
Gru. Error i'the bill, sir ; error i'the bill. I com-
manded the sleeves should be cut out, and sewed
up again ; and that I'll prove upon thee, though thy
little finger be armed in a thimble.
Tai. This is true, that I say ; an I had thee in
place where, thou shouldst know it.
Gru. I am for thee straight : take thou the bill,
give me thy mete-yard 6, and spare not me.
Hor. Gramercy, Grumio ! then he shall have no
odds.
Pet. Well, sir, in brief, the gown is not for me.
Gru. You are i'the right, sir.
Pet. Hortensio, say thou wilt see the tailor
paid : — [Jside.
Go, take it hence ; be gone, and say no more.
Hor. Tailor, I'll pay thee for thy gown to-morrow.
Take no unkindness of his hasty words :
Away, I say ; commend me to thy master.
[ExU Tailor.
Pet. Well, come, my Kate ; we will unto your
father's,
Even in these honest mean habiliments ;
Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor :
For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich ;
And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds.
So honour peereth in the meanest habit.
What, is the jay more precious than the lark,
Because his feathers are more beautiful ?
Or is the adder better than the eel.
Because his painted skin contents the eye ?
O, no, good Kate ; neither art thou the worse
For this poor furniture, and mean array.
If thou account'st it shame, lay it on me :
And therefore frolick ; we will hence forthwith.
To feast and sport us at thy father's house.
Go, call my men, and let us straight to him ;
And bring our horses unto Long-lane end.
There will we mount, and thither walk on foot. —
Let's see ; I think 'tis now some seven o'clock.
And well we may come there by dinner-time.
Knth. I dare assure you, sir, 'tis almost two ;
And 'twill be supper time, ere you come there.
Pet. It shall be seven, ere I go to horse :
Look, what I speak, or do, or think to do.
You are still crossing it. — Sirs, let 't alone :
I will not go to-day ; and ere I do.
It shall be what o'clock I say it is.
Hor. Why, so ! this gallant will command the
sun. \_Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — Padua. Before Baptista'5 House.
Enter Tranio, and the Pedant dressed like
ViNCENTIO.
Tra. Sir, this is the house : Please it you, that I
call?
6 Measuring yard.
Ped. Ay, what else ? and, but I be deceived,
Signior Baptista may remember me,
Near twenty years ago, in Genoa, where
We were lodgers at the Pegasus.
Tra. 'Tis well j
And hold your own, in any case, with such
Austerity as 'longeth to a father.
Enter Biondello.
Ped. I warrant you : But, sir, here comes your boy j
'Twere good, he were school'd.
Tra. Fear you not him. Sirrah, Biondello,
Now do your duty throughly, I advise you ;
Imagine 'twere the right Vincentio.
Bion, Tut ! fear not me.
Tra. But hast thou done thy errand to Baptista ?
Bion. I told him, that your father was at Venice ;
And that you look'd for him this day in Padua.
Tra. Thou'rt a tall? fellow; hold thee that to
drink.
Here comes Baptista: — set your countenance, sir. — ■
Enter Baptista and Lucentio.
Signior Baptista, you are happily met : —
Sir, [To the Pedant.]
This is the gentleman I told you of ;
I pray you, stand good father to me now,
Give me Bianca for my patrimony.
Ped. Soft, son ! —
Sir, l>y your leave ; having come to Padua
To gather in some debts, my son Lucentio
Made me acquainted with a weighty cause
Of love between your daughter and himself:
And, — for the good report I hear of you ;
And for the love he beareth to your daughter
And she to him, — to stay him not too long,
I am content, in a good father's care.
To have him match'd ; and, — if you please to like
No worse than I, sir, — upon some agreement.
Me shall you find most ready and most willing
With one consent to have her so bestowed ;
For curious ^ I cannot be with you,
Signior Baptista, of whom I hear so well.
Bap. Sir, pardon me in what I have to say ; —
Your plainness, and your shortness, please me well.
Right true it is, your son, Lucentio here.
Doth love my daughter, and she loveth him.
Or both dissemble deeply their affections :
And therefore, if you say no more than this,
That like a father you will deal with him.
And pass 9 my daughter a sufficient dower.
The match is fully made, and all is done :
Your son shall have my daughter with consent.
Tra. I thank you, sir. Where then do you know
best.
We be affied ' ; and such assurance ta'en,
As shall with either part's agreement stand ?
Bap. Not in my house, Lucentio; for, you know,
Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants :
Besides, old Gremio is heark'ning still ;
And, happily 2, we might be interrupted.
Tra. Then at my lodging, an it like you, sir :
There doth my father lie ; and there, this night,
We'll pass the business privately and well :
Send for your daughter by your servant here.
My boy shall fetch the scrivener presently.
The worst is this, — that, at so slender warning.
You're like to have a thin and slender pittance.
7 Brave.
1 Betrothed.
Scrupulous.
9 Assure or convey
Haply, perhaps,
Scene V.
TAMING OF THE SHREW.
259
Bap. It likes mc well ; — Cambio, hie you home,
And bid Bianca make her ready straight ;
And, if you will, tell what hath happened : —
Lucentio's father is arriv'd in Padua,
And how she's like to be Lucentio's wife.
Luc. I pray the gods she may with all my heart !
Tra. Dally not with the gods, but get thee gone.
Signior Baptista, shall I lead the way ?
Welcome ! one mess is like to be your cheer :
Come, sir ; we'll better it in Pisa.
Baju I follow you.
[Exeunt Tranio, Pedant, and Baptista.
Bion» Cambio. —
Luc. What say'st thou, Biondello ?
Bion. You saw my master wink and laugh upon
you?
Luc. Biondello, what of that ?
Bian. 'Faith notliing; but he has left me here
behind, to expound the meaning or moral of his
signs and tokens.
IjUc. I pray tliee moralize them.
Bion. Then thus. Baptista is safe, talking with
the deceiving father of a deceitful son.
Luc. And what of him ?
^1071. His daughter is to be brought by you to
tlie supper.
Luc. And tlien ?
Bion. The old priest at Saint Luke's church is
at your command at all hours.
Luc. And what of all this?
Bion. I cannot tell ; except they are busied about
a counterfeit assurance : Take you assurance of her,
cu7n priiilegio ad imprimendum solum : to the church ;
— take the priest, clerk, and some sufficient honest
witnesses :
If tliis be not what you look for, I have no more to
say,
But, bid Bianca faiewell for ever and a day.
[ Going.
Luc. Hear'st thou, Biondello ?
Bion. I cannot tarry : I knew a girl married in
an afternoon as she went to the garden for parsley
to stuif a rabbit; and so may you, sir; and so adieu,
sir. My master hath appointed me to go to Saint
Luke's, to bid the priest be ready to come against
you come with your appendix. [Exit.
Luc. I may, and will, if she be so contented:
She will be pleas'd, then wherefore should I doubt ?
Hap what hap may, I'll roundly go about her.
It shall go liard, if Cambio go without her. [Exit.
SCENE V. —A public Road.
Enter Petkuchio, Katharina, and Hortensio.
Pet. Come on ; once more toward our father's
house.
Good Lord, how bright and goodly shines the moon !
Kath. The moon ! the sun ; it is not moonlight
now.
Pet. I say, it is the moon that shines so bright.
Xath. I know, it is the sun that shines so bright.
Pet. Now, by my mother's son, and that's my-
self.
It shall be moon, or star, or what I list.
Or ere I journey to your father's house :
Go on, and fetch our horses back again. —
Evermore cross'd, and cross'd ; nothing but cross'd !
Hor. Say as he says, or we shall never go.
Xoth. Forward, I pray, since we have come so far,
And be it moon, or sun, or what you please :
And if you please to call it a rush candle.
Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me.
Pet. I say, it is the moon.
JCalh. I know it is.
Pet. Nay, then you lie ; it is the blessed sun.
jffafA.Then, God be blessed, it is the blessed sun: —
But sun it is not, when you say it is not ;
And the moon changes, even as your mind.
What you will have it nam'd, even that it is ;
And so it shall be so, for Katharine.
Hor. Petruchio, go thy ways ; the field is won.
Pet. Well, forwju-d, forward : thus the bowl
should run.
And not unluckily against the bias —
But soft ; what company is coming here ?
Enter Vincentio, in a travelling dress.
Good morrow, gentle mistress : Where away ? —
[To ViNCENTIO.
Tell me, sweet Kate, and tell me truly too.
Hast thou beheld a fresher gentlewoman ?
Such war of white and red within her cheeks !
What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty,
As those two eyes become that heavenly face ? —
Fair lovely maid, once more good day to thee : —
Sweet Kate, embrace her for her beauty's sake.
Hor. 'A will make the man mad, to make a
woman of him.
JTath. Young budding virgin, fair, and fresh,
and sweet,
Whitlier away ; or where is thy abode ?
Happy the parents of so fair a child ;
Happier the man, whom favourable stars
Allot thee for his lovely bed-fellow !
Pet. Why, how now, Kate ! I hope thou art not
mad:
This is a man, old, wrinkled, faded, wither'd ;
And not a maiden, as thou say'st he is.
A'ath. Pardon, old father, my mistaking eyes,
That have been so bedazzled with tlie sun,
That every thing I look on seemeth green :
Now I perceive, thou art a reverend father ;
Pardon, I pray thee, for my mad mistaking.
Pet. Do, good old grandsire ; and, withal, make
known
Which way thou travellest : if along with us,
We shall be joyful of thy company.
Vin. Fair sir, — and you my merry mistress, —
That with your strange encounter much amaz'd me ;
My name iscall'd — Vincentio; my dwelling — Pisa;
And bound I am to Padua; there to visit
A son of mine, which long I have not seen.
Pet. What is his name ?
Vin. Lucentio, gentle sir.
Pet. Happily met ; the happier for thy son.
And now by law, as well as reverend age,
I may entitle thee — my loving father ;
The sister to my wife, this gentlewoman.
Thy son by this hath married , Wonder not.
Nor be not griev'd ; she is of good esteem,
Her dowry wealthy, and of worthy birth ;
Beside, so qualified as may beseem
The spouse of any noble gentleman.
Let me embrace with old Vincentio :
And wander we to see th> honest son.
Who will of thy arrival be full joyous.
Vin. But is this true ? or is it else your plea-^ure^
Like pleasant travellers, to break a jest
Upon the comjiany you overtake ?
Hor. I do assure thee, father, so it is.
S 2
260
TAMING OF THE SHREW.
Act V.
Pet. Come, go along, and see the truth liercof ;
For our first merriment hath made thee jealous.
[Exeunt Petruchio, Katharina, and
ViNCENTIO.
Hor. Well, Petruchio, this hath put me in heart.
Have to my widow ; and if she be froward.
Then hast thou taught Hortensio to be untoward.
[ExU.
ACT V.
SCENE I. — Padua. Before Lucentio'5 House.
Enter on one side Biondello, Lucentio, and
BlANCA ; Gremio walking on the other side.
Bion. Softly and swiftly, sir ; for the priest is ready.
Luc. I fly, Biondello : but they may chance to
need thee at home, therefore leave us.
Bion. Nay, I'll see the church o' your back ; and
then come back to my master as soon as I can.
[Exeunt Lucentio, Bianca, and Biondello.
Gre. I marvel Cambio comes not all this while.
Enter Petruchio, Katharina, Vincentio, and
jittendants.
Pet. Sir, here's the door, this is Lucentio's house,
My father's bears more toward the market-place ;
Thither must I, and here I leave you, sir.
Vin. You shall not choose but drink before you go ;
I think, I shall command your welcome here,
And by all likelihood, some cheer is toward.
[Knocks.
Gre. They're busy within, you were best knock
louder.
Enter Pedant above, at a window.
Ped. What's he, that knocks as he would beat
down the gate ?
Vin. Is signior Lucentio witliin, sir?
Ped. He's within, sir, but not to be spoken withal.
Vin. What if a man bring him a hundred pound
or two, to make merry withal ?
Ped. Keep your hundred pounds to yourself ; he
shall need none, so long as I live.
Pet. Nay, I told you, your son was beloved in
Padua. — Do you hear, sir ? — to leave frivolous
circumstances, — I pray you, tell signior Lucentio,
that his father is come from Pisa, and is here at the
door to speak with him.
Ped. Thou liest ; his father is come from Pisa,
and here looking out at the window.
Vin. Art thou his father ?
Ped. Ay, sir; so his mother says, if I may be-
lieve her.
Pet. Why, how now, gentlemen ! [To Vincen.]
why, this is flat knavery, to take upon you another
man's name.
Ped. Lay hands on the villain ; I believe 'a means
to cozen somebody in this city under my countenance.
Re-enter Biondello.
Bion. I have seen them in the church together :
But who is here ? mine old master, Vincentio ? now
we are undone, and brought to nothing.
Vin, Come hither, crack-hemp.
[Seeing Biondello.
Bion. I hope, I may choose, sir.
Vin. Come hither, you rogue : What, have you
forgot me ?
Bion. Forgot you ? no, sir : I could not forget
you, for I never saw you before in all my life.
Vin. What, you notorious villain, didst thou
never see thy master's father, Vincentio ?
Bion. What, my old, worshipful old master ? yes,
marry, sir ; see where he looks out of the window.
Vin. Is't so, indeed ? [Beats Biondello.
Bion. Help, help, help ! here's a madman will
murder me. [Exit.
Ped. Help, son ! help, signior Baptista !
[E^t, from the window.
Pet. Pr'ythee, Kate, let's stand aside, and sec
the end of this controversy. [ Thei/ retire.
Re-enter Pedant below ; Baptista, Tranio, and
Servants.
Tra. Sir, what are you, that offer to beat my
servant ?
Vin. What am I, sir? nay what are you, sir? —
O immortal gods ! O fine villain ! A silken doublet !
a velvet hose ! a scarlet cloak ! and a copatain hat ! 3
— O, I am undone ! I am undone ! while I play
the good husband at home, my son and my servant
spend all at the university.
Tra. How now ! what's the matter ?
Bap. What, is the man lunatick ?
Tra. Sir, you seem a sober ancient gentleman
by your habit, but your words show you a madman :
Why, sir, what concerns it you, if I wear pearl and
gold ? I thank my good father, I am able to main-
tain it.
Vin. Thy father ? O, villain ! he is a sail-maker
in Bergamo.
Bap. You mistake, sir ; you mistake, sir : Pray,
what do you think is his name ?
Vin. His name ? as if I knew not his name : I
have brought him up ever since he was three years
old, and his name is — Tranio.
Ped. Away, away, mad ass ! his name is Lucen-
tio ? and he is mine only son, and heir to the lands
of me, signior Vincentio.
Vin. Lucentio ! O, he hath murdered his master !
— Lay hold on him, I charge you, in the duke's
name : — O, my son, my son ! — tell me, thou villain,
where is my son Lucentio ?
Tra. Call forth an officer : — [Enter one with an
Officer. ] Carry this mad knave to the gaol : — Father
Baptista, I charge you see, that he be forthcoming,
Vin. Carry me to the gaol !
Gre. Stay, oflScer ; he shall not go to prison.
Bap. Talk not, signior Gremio ; I say he shall]
go to prison.
Gre. Take heed, signior Baptista, lest you bel
cheated in this busines ; I dare swear, this is th«
right Vincentio.
Ped. Swear, if thou darest.
Gre. Nay, I dare not swear it.
Tra. Then thou wert best say, that I am not
Lucentio.
Gre. Yes, I know thee to be signior Lucentio.
Bap. Away with the dotard-; to the gaol with him.
3 A hat with a conical crown.
Scene II.
TAMING OF THE SHREW.
261
Vin. TIius strangers may be haled and abused : —
O monstrous villain !
Re-enter Biondello, with Lucentio, and Bianca.
Bio7i. O, we are spoiled, and — Yonder he is ;
deny him, forswear him, or else we are all undone.
Luc. Pardon, sweet father. {Kneeling.
Vin. Lives my sweetest son ?
[BiONDELLO, Tranio, and Pedant run out.
Bian. Pardon, dear father. {Kneeling.
Bap. How hast tliou offended ? —
Where is Lucentio ?
Luc. Here's Lucentio,
Right son unto the right Vincentio ;
That have by marriage made thy daughter mine.
While counterfeit supposes blear'd thine eyne.*
Ore. Here's packing *, with a witness, to deceive
us all !
Vin, Where is that villain Tranio,
That fac'd and brav'd me in this matter so ?
Bap. Why, tell me, is not this my Cambio ?
Bian. Cambio is chang'd into Lucentio.
Luc. Love wrought these miracles. Bianca's love
Made me exchange my state with Tranio,
While he did bear my countenance in the town ;
And happily I have arriv'd at last
Unto the wished haven of my bliss : —
What Tranio did, myself enforc'd him to ;
Then pardon him, sweet father, for my sake.
Vin. I'll slit the villain's nose, that would have
sent me to the gaol.
Bap. But do you hear, sir? [To Lucentio.]
Have you married my daughter vithout asking my
good-will ?
Vin. Fear not, Baptista ; we will content you, go
to : But I will in, to be revenged for this villainy.
[ExU.
Bap. And I, to sound the depth of this knavery.
[Exit.
Luc Look not pale, Bianca ; thy father will not
frown. {Exeunt Luc. and Bian.
Gre. My cake is dough 6 -. But I'll in among the
rest:
Out of hope of all, — but my share of the feast.
{Exit.
Petruchio and Katharina advance.
Kath. Husband, let's follow, to see the end of
this ado.
Pet. First kiss me, Kate, and we will.
Kath. What, in the midst of the street ?
Pet. What, art thou ashamed of me ?
Kath. No, sir : Heaven forbid : — but ashamed
to kiss.
Pet. Why, then let's home again : — Come, sirrah,
let's away.
Kath. Nay, I will give thee a kiss : now pray
thee, love stay.
Pet. Is not this well? — Come, my sweet Kate ;
Better once than never, for never too late.
{Exeunt.
SCENE II. — A Room tn Lucentio'a House.
A Banquet set out. Enter Baptista, Vincentio,
Gremio, the Pedant, Lucentio, Bianca, Pe-
truchio, Katharina, Hortensio, and Widow,
Tranio, Biondello, Grumio, and others, at-
tending.
Luc. At last, though long, our jarring notes agree ;
* Deceived thine eyci
* Tricking, underhand contrivances.
' A proverbial expression, repeated after a disappointment
Arvd time it is, when raging war is done.
To smile at 'scapes and perils overblown. —
My fair Bianca, bid my father welcome.
While I with self-same kindness welcome thine : —
Brother Petruchio, — sister Katharina, —
And thou, Hortensio, with thy loving widow,
Feast with the best, and welcome to my house;
My banquet is to close our stomachs up.
After our great good cheer . Pray you, sit down
For now we sit to chat, as well as eat.
{They sit at table.
Pet. Nothing but sit and sit, and eat and eat !
Bap. Padua affords this kindness, son Petruchio.
Pet. Padua affords nothing but what is kind
Hor. For both our sakes, I would that word were
true.
Pet. Now, for my life, Hortensio fears his widow,
Wid. Then never trust me if I be afeard.
Pet. You are sensible, and yet you miss my
sense ; I mean, Hortensio is afeard of you.
Wid. He that is giddy, thinks the world turns
round.
Pet. Roundly replied.
Kath. He that is giddy, thinks the world turns
round :
I pray you, tell me what you meant by that.
Wvl. Your husband, being troul)led with a shrew,
Measures my husband's sorrow by his woe :
And now you know my meaning.
Kath. A very mean meaning.
JVid. Right, I mean you.
Kath. And I am mean, indeed, respecting you.
Pet. To her, Kate !
Hor. To her, widow !
Pet. A hundred marks, my Kate does put her
down.
Bap. How likes Gremio these quick-witted folks?
Gre. Believe me, sir, they butt together well.
Bian. Head, and butt ? an hasty- witted body
Would say, your head and butt were head and horn.
Vin. Ay, mistress bride, hath thatawaken'd you?
Bian. Ay, but not frighted me; therefore I'll
sleep again.
Pet. Nay, that you shall not; since you have
begun.
Have at you for a bitter jest or two.
Bian. Am I your bird? I mean to shift my bush.
And then pursue me as you draw your bow : —
You are welcome all.
{Exeunt Bianca, Katharina, and Widow.
Pet. She hath prevented me. — Here, signior
Tranio,
This bird you aim'd at, though you hit her not ;
Therefore, a health to all that shot and miss'd.
Tra. O, sir, Lucentio slipp'd me like his grey-
hound.
Which runs himself, and catches for his master.
Pet. A good swift simile, but something currish.
Tra. 'Tis well sir, tliat you hunted for yourself;
'Tis thought, your deer does hold you at a bay.
Bap. O ho, Petruchio, Tranio hits you now.
Luc. I thank thee for that gird?, good Tranio.
Hor. Confess, confess, hath he not hit you here ?
Pet. 'A has a little gall'd me, I confess;
And as the jest did glance away from me,
'Tis ten to one it maim'd you two outright.
Bap. Now, in good sadness, son Petruchio,
I think thou hast tlie verriest sluxiw of all.
S 3
26^2
TAMING OF THE SHREW.
Act V.
Pet. Well, I say — no : and therefore, for as-
surance,
Let's each one send unto his wife ;
And he, whose wife is most obedient
To come at first when he doth send for her,
Shall win the wager which we will propose.
Hor. Content : — What is the wager ?
Xmc. Twenty crowns.
Pet. Twenty crowns !
I'll venture so much on my hawk, or hound,
But twenty times so much upon my wife.
Luc. A hundred then.
Hor. Content.
Pet. A match ; 'tis done.
Hor. Who shall begin ?
Luc. That will I. Go,
Biondello, bid your mistress come to me.
Bion. I go. [Exit.
Bap. Son, I will be your half, Bianca comes.
Luc. I'll have no halves : I'll bear it all myself.
Re-enter Biondello.
How now ! what news ?
Bian. Sir, my mistress sends you word
That she is busy, and she cannot come.
Pet. How ! she is busy, and she cannot come !
Is that an answer ?
Gi'e. Ay, and a kind one too :
Pray heaven, sir, your wife send you not a worse.
Pet. I hope, better.
Hor. Sirrah, Biondello, go, and entreat my wife
To come to me forthwith. [Exit Biondello.
Pet. O, ho ! entreat her !
Nay, then she must needs come.
Hor. I am afraid, sir.
Do what you can, yours will not be entreated.
Re-enter Biondello.
Now, Where's my wife ?
Bion. She says, you have some goodly jest in
hand ;
She will not come ; she bids you come to her.
Pet. Worse, and worse; she will not come ! O vile.
Intolerable, not to be endur'd !
Sirrah, Grumio, go to your mistress ;
Say, I command her come to me. [Eadt Grumio.
Hor. I know her answer.
Pet. What?
Hor. She will not come.
Pet. The fouler fortune mine, and there an end.
Enter Katharina.
Bap. Now, by my holidame, here comes Ka-
tharina !
A'ath. What is your will, sir, that you send for me ?
Pet. Where is your sister, and Hortensio's wife ?
Ji'ath. They sit conferring by the parlour fire.
Pet. Go fetch them hither ; if they deny to come.
Swinge me them soundly forth unto their husbands :
Away, I say, and bring them hither straight.
[Exit Katharina.
Luc. Here is a wonder, if you talk of a wonder.
Hor. And so it is ; I wonder what it bodes.
Pet. Marry, peace it bodes, and love and quiet life.
An awful rule, and right supremacy ;
And, to be short, what not, that's sweet and happy.
Bap. Now fair befal thee, good Petruchio !
The wager thou hast won ; and I will add
Unto their losses twenty thousand crowns ;
Another dowry to another daughter,
For she is chang'd, as she had never been.
Pet. Nay, I will win my wager better yet ;
And show more sign of her obedience,
Her new-built virtue and obedience.
Re-enter Katharina, with Bianca and Widow.
See, where she comes; and brings your froward
wives
As prisoners to her womanly persuasion. —
Katharine, that cap of yours becomes you not
Off with that bauble, throw it under foot.
[Katharina pulls off her cap^ and throws
it dovm.
Wid. Well ! let me never have a cause to sigh.
Till I be brought to such a silly pass !
Bian. Fye ! what a foolish duty call you this ?
Luc. I would, your duty were as foolish too :
The wisdom of your duty, fair Bianca,
Hath cost me an hundred crowns since supper-time.
Bian. The more fool you, for laying on my duty.
Pet. Katharine, I charge thee, tell these head-
strong women
What duty they do owe their lords and husbands.
Wid. Come, come, you're mocking ; we will have
no telling.
Pet. Come on, I say ; and first begin with her,
Wid. She shall not.
Pet. I say, she shall ; — and first begin with her.
Kath. Fye, fye ! unknit that threat'ning unkind
brow;
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes,
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor ;
It blots thy beauty, as frosts bite the meads ;
Confounds thy faine, as whirlwinds shake fair buds,
And in no sense is meet, or amiable.
A woman mov'd, is like a fountain troubled.
Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty ;
And, while it is so, none so dry or thirsty
Will deign to sip, or touch one drop of it.
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
Thy head, thy sovereign ; one that cares for thee,
And for thy maintenance : commits his body
To painful labour, both by sea and land ;
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold
While thou liest warm at home, secure and safe ;
And craves no other tribute at thy hands.
But love, fair looks, and true obedience ; —
Too little payment for so great a debt.
Such duty as the subject owes the prince.
Even such, a woman oweth to her husband :
And when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sour,
And not obedient to his honest will.
What is she, but a foul contending rebel.
And graceless traitor to her loving lord ?
I am asham'd, that women are so simple
To offer war, where they should kneel for peace :
Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway,
When tliey are bound to serve, love, and obey.
Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth,
Unapt to toil and trouble in the world ;
But that our soft conditions 8 and our hearts.
Should well agree with our external parts?
Come, come, you froward and unable worms !
My mind hath been as big as one of yours.
My heart as great ; my reason, haply more
To bandy word for word, and frown for frown :
But now, I see our lances are but straws ;
Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare,—
That seeming to be most, which we least are.
Then vail your stomachs 9, for it is no boot ;
8 Gentle tempers. » Abate your spirits.
Scene II.
TAMING OF THE SHREW.
263
And place your hands below your husband's foot :
In token of which duty, if he please,
My hand is ready, may it do him ease.
Pet. Why, there's a wench ! — Come on, and kiss
me, Kate.
Lmc. Well, go thy ways, old lad ; for thou shalt
ha't.
Vin. 'Tis a good hearing, when children are to-
ward.
Luc But a harsh hearing, when women are fro-
ward.
Pet. Come, Kate, we'll to bed :
We three are married, but you two are sped.
'Twas I won the wager, though you hit the white :
\_To LuCENTIO.
And, being a winner, God give you good night !
[Exeunt Petruchio and Kath.
Hcfr. Now go thy ways, thou hast tam'd a curst
shrew.
Luc. 'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be
tam'd so. [ExeurU.
S 4
■}
i
'V
WINTER'S TALE,
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
Leontes, A'ing o/"Sicilia.
Mamillius, his Son.
Camillo, ^
-. ^ ' ' >■ Sicilian Lords.
Cleomenes, I
Diov, j
Another Sicilian Lord.
RoGERO, a Sicilian Gentleman.
An Attendant on the yoking Prince Maniilllus.
Officers of a Court of Judicature.
PoLiXENES, King (f Bohemia.
Florizel, his Son.
Archidamus, a Bohemian Lord.
A Mariner.
Gaoler.
An old Shepherd, reputed Father of Perdita.
SCENE, sometimes in
Clotvn, his Son.
Servant to the old Sliepherd.
AuTOLYCUs, a Rogue.
Time, as Chorus.
Hermione, Queen to Leontes.
Perdita, Daughter to Leontes and Hermione.
Paulina, IVife to Antigonus.
DoRcts,} Shepherdesses.
Lords, Ladies, and Attendants ; Satyrs for a Dance t
Shepherds, Shepherdesses, Guards, ^c.
Sicilia, sometimes in Bohemia.
i.IEKUV ON 3. A BAKNK. A VERY PHETTT JJAKNE ■
WINTER'S TALE.
ACT I.
SCENE
[. — Sicilia. An Antichamber in Leontes'
Palace.
Enter Camillo and Archidamus.
Arch. If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bo-
hemia, on the like occasion whereon my services
are now^ on foot, you shall see, as ] have said, great
difference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia.
Cam. I think, this coming summer, the king of
Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation which
he justly owes him.
Arch. Wherein our entertainment shall shame us,
we will be justified in our loves : for, indeed, —
Cam. 'Beseech you,
Arch. Verily, I speak it in tlie fredom of my
knowledge : we cannot with such magnificence —
in so rare — I know not wiiat to say. We will
give you sleepy drinks : that your senses, unintel-
ligent of our insufHcience, may, though they cannot
praise us, as little accuse us.
Cam. You pay a great deal too dear, for what's
given freely.
Arch. Believe me, I speak as my understanding
instructs me, and as mine honesty puts it to utterance.
Cam,. Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind to
Bohemia. They were trained together in their
cliildhoods : and tliere rooted betwixt them then
such an affection, which cannot choose but branch
now. Since their more mature dignities, and royal
necessities, made separation of their society, their
encounters, though not personal, have been royally
attornied ', with interchange of gifts, letters, loving
embassies; that they have seemed to be together,
though absent; shook hands, as over a vast-; and
embraced, as it were, from the ends of opposed
winds. The heavens continue their loves !
Arch. 1 think, there is not in the world either
malice, or matter, to alter it. You have an un-
speakable comfort of your young prince Mamillius;
it is a gentleman of the greatest promise, that ever
came into my note.
Cam,. I very well agree with you in the hopes of
him : it is a gallant child ; one that, indeed, phy-
sicks the subject ', makes old hearts fresh : they,
that went on crutches ere he was born, desire yet
their life, to see him a man.
Arch. Would they else be content to die ?
Cam. Yes: if there were no other excuse why
they should desire to live.
Arch. If the king had no son, they would desire
to live on crutches till he had one. YExeunl.
Supplied by substitution of embassies.
Wide was*^e of country.
Affords a cordial to the state.
Scene II.
WINTER'S TALE.
265
SCENE II A Room oj State in the Palace.
Enter Lkontes, Pouxekes, Hermioke, Mamil-
Lius, Camillo, and Attendants.
Pol. Nine changes of the wat'ry star have been
The shepherd's note, since we have left our throne
Without a burden : time as long again
Would be fill'd up, my brother, with our thanks ;
And yet we should for perpetuity,
Go hence in debt : And therefore, like a cipher,
Yet standing in rich place, I multiply,
With one we-thank-you, many thousands more
That go before it.
Leon. Stay your thanks awhile ;
And pay tliem when you part.
Pot. Sir, that's to-morrow
I am question'd by my fears, of what may chance,
Or broed upon our absence : That may blow
No sneaping ^ winds at home, to make us say.
This is put forth too truly ! Besides, I have stay'd
To tire your royalty.
Leon. We are tougher, brother.
Than you can put us to't.
Pul. No longer stay.
Leon. One seven-night longer.
Pol. Very sooth, to-morrov«r.
Leon. We'll part the time between's then : and
in that
I'll no gain-saying.
Pol. Press me not, 'beseech you so :
There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' the
world,
So soon as yours, could win me : so it should now,
Were there necessity in your request, although
'Twere needful I denied it. My affairs
Do even drag me homeward : which to hinder.
Were, in your love, a whip to me ; my stay.
To you a charge, and trouble : to save both.
Farewell, our brother.
Leon. Tongue-tied, our queen ? speak you.
Her. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace,
until
You had drawn oaths from him, not to stay. You,
sir.
Charge him too coldly : Tell him, you are sure,
All in Bohemia's well : this satisfaction
The by-gone day proclaim'd ; say this to him.
He's beat from his best ward.
Leon. Well said, Hermione.
Her. To tell, he longs to see liis son, were strong ;
But let him say so then, and let him go ;
But let him say so, and he shall not stay.
We'll thwack him hence with distaffs. —
Yet of your royal presence [To Polixenes.] I'll
adventure
The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia
You take my lord, I'll give him my commission.
To let him there a month, behind the gest *
Prefix'd for his parting : yet, good deed 6, Leontes,
I love thee not a jar o'the clock behind
What lady she her lord You'll stay ?
J^ol. No, madam.
Her. Nay, but you will.
Pol' I may not, verily.
Her. Verily!
You put me off" witli limber vows : But I,
\ Nipping,
•wx .!^^ ^'"* ^^^ names of tlic stages where the king ap.
•^ . .*° "e, during a royal progress.
' Indeed.
Though you would seek to unsphere the stars with
oaths,
Shoidd yet say, Sir^ no going. Verily,
You shall not go ; a lady's verily is
As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet ?
Force me to keep you as a prisoner,
Not like a guest ; so you shall pay your fees.
When you depart, and save your thanks. How say
you?
My prisoner ? or my guest ? by your dread verily,
One of them you shall be.
Pol. Your guest then, madam :
To be your prisoner, should import offending ;
Which is for me less easy to commit.
Than you to punish.
Her. Not your gaoler then.
But your kind hostess. Come, I'll question you
Of my lord's tricks, and yours, when you were boys :
You were pretty lordlings? then.
Pol. We were, fair queen.
Two lads, that thought there was no more behind.
But such a day to-morrow as to-day,
And to be boy eternal.
Her. Was not my lord the verier wag o'the two ?
Pol. We were as twinn'd lambs, that did frisk i'
the sun.
And bleat the one at the other : what we chang'd,
Was innocence for innocence ; we knew not
The doctrine of ill-doing, no, nor dream'd
That any did : Had we pursued that life.
And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd
With stronger blood, we should have answer'd
heaven
Boldly, Not Guilty : the imposition clear'd.
Hereditary ours.
Her. By this we gather.
You have tripp'd since.
Pol. O my most sacred lady.
Temptations have since then been bom to us : for
In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl ;
Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes
Of ray young play-fellow.
Her. Grace to boot !
Of this make no conclusion ; lest you say.
Your queen and I are devils : Yet, go on ;
The offences we have made you do, we'll answer ;
If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us
You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not
With any but with us.
Leon. Is he won yet ?
Her. He'll stay, my lord.
Leon. At my request, he would not.
Hermione, my dearest, thou never spok'st
To better purpose.
Her. Never ?
Leon. Never, but once.
Her. What ? have I twice said well ? when was't
before ?
I pr'yt]iee,tell me : Cram us with praise, and make us
As fat as tame things : One good deed, dying
tongueless.
Slaughters a thousand, waiting upon that.
Our praises are our wages : You may ride us,
With one soft kiss, a thousand furlongs, ere
With spur we heat an acre. But to the goal ;
My last good deed was, to entreat his stay j
What was my first ? it has an elder sister.
Or I mistake you : O, would her name were Grace!
7 A diminutive of lords.
266
WINTER'S TALE.
Act I.
But once before I spoke to the purpose : When ?
Nay, let me have't, I long.
Leon. Why, that was when
Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to
death,
Ere I could make thee open thy white hand.
And clap thyself my love ; then didst thou utter,
/ am yours for ever.
Her. It is Grace, indeed. —
Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose twice :
The one for ever eam'd a royal husband ;
The other, for some while a friend.
[Giving her hand to Polixknes.
Leon. Too hot, too hot : [Aside.
To mingle friendship far, is mingling bloods.
I have tremor cordis » on me : — my heart dances ;
But not for joy, — not joy. — This entertainment
May a free face put on : derive a liberty
From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom,
And well become the agent : it may, I grant :
But, as now they are, making practis'd smiles,
As in a looking-glass ; — and then to sigh, as 'twere
The mort o' the deer 9 ; O, that is entertainment
My bosom likes not, nor my brows. — Mamillius,
Art thou my boy ?
Mam. Ay, my good lord.
Leon. I'fecks ?
Why that's my bawcock. ' What, hast smutch'd
thy nose ? —
They say, it's a copy out of mine. Come, captain.
We must be neat ; not neat, but cleanly, captain :
And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf,
Are all call'd, neat, — Still virginalling 2
[Observing Polixenes and Hermione.
Upon his palm? — How now, you wanton calf?
Art thou my calf?
Mam. Yes, if you will, my lord.
Leon. Thou want'st a rough pash, and the shoots
that I have 3,
To be full like me : — yet, they say we are
Almost as like as eggs ; women say so,
That will say any thing : but were they false
As o'er-died blacks, as wind, as waters ; false
As dice are to be wish'd, by one that fixes
No bourn 'twixt his and mine ; yet were it true
To say this boy were like me. — Come, sir page.
Look on me with your welkin 4 eye : Sweet villain !
Most dear'st! my collop ! — Can thy dam? — may't
be?
Affection ! thy intention stabs the center :
Thou dost make possible, things not so held,
Communicat'st with dreams ; — (How can this
be?j —
With what's unreal thou co-active art.
And fellow'st nothing : Then, 'tis very credent 5,
Thou may'st co-join with something ; and thou dost :
(And that beyond commission ; and I find it,)
And that to the infection of my brains,
And hardening of my brows.
Pol. What means Sicilia ?
Her. He something seems unsettled.
Pol. How, my lord ?
What cheer ? how is't with you, best brother ?
Her. You look,
s Trembling of the heart.
8 The tune played at the death of the deer.
1 Hearty fellow.
2 i. e. Playing witli her fingers, as if on a spinet.
3 Thou wantest a rough head, and the budding horns that
I have.
" Blue, like the sky. » Credible.
As if you held a brow of much distraction :
Are you mov'd, my lord ?
Leon. No, in good earnest. —
How sometimes nature will betray its folly,
Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime
To harder bosoms ! Looking on the lines
Of my boy's face,, methoughts, I did recoil
Twenty-three years : and saw myself unbreech'd,
In my green velvet coat ; my dagger muzzled.
Lest it should bite its master, and so prove.
As ornaments oft do, too dangerous.
How like, methought, I then was to this kernel,
This squash 6, this gentleman : — Mine honest friend,
Will you take eggs for money ? 7
Mam. No, my lord, I'll fight.
Leon. You will ? why, happy man be his dole ! "
— My brother,
Are you so fond of your young prince, as we
Do seem to be of ours ?
Pol. If at home, sir,
He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter :
Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy ;
My parasite, my soldier^ statesman, all :
He makes a July's day short as December ;
And, with his varying childness, cures in me
Thoughts that would thick my blood.
Leon. So stands this squire
Offic'd with me : We two will walk, my lord.
And leave you to your graver steps. — Hermione,
How thou lov'st us, show in our brother's welcome ;
Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap :
Next to thyself, and my young rover, he's
Apparent 9 to my heart.
Her. If you would seek us.
We are your's i' the garden : Shall's attend you
there ?
Leon. To your own bents dispose you : you'll
be found.
Be you beneath the sky : — I am angling now.
Though you perceive me not how I give line.
Go to, go to !
[Aside. Observing Polixenes and Hermione.
She arms her with the boldness of a wife
To her allowing ' husband ! Gone already.
[Exeunt Polixenes, Hermione, and
Attendants.
Go, play, boy, play ; — thy mother plays, and I
Play too ; but so disgrac'd a part, whose issue
Will hiss me to my grave ; contempt and clamour
Will be my knell. — Go, play, boy, play ; — There
have been.
Or I am much deceiv'd, cuckolds ere now ;
And many a man there is, even at this present.
Now, while I speak this, holds his wife by the arm.
That little thinks she's false : Should all despair.
That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind
Would hang themselves ; but many a thousand of us
Have the disease, and feel'tnot. — How now, boy?
Mam. I am like you, they say.
Leon. Why, that's some comfort. —
What ! Camillo there ?
Cam. Ay, my good lord,
Leon. Go play, Mamillius ; thou'rt an honest
man. — [Exit Mamillius.
Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer.
Cam. You had much ado to make his anchor hold ;
When you cast out, it still came home.
6 Pea-cod. 7 will you be cajoled ?
8 May his lot in life be a happy one !
9 Heir apparent, next claimant. ' Approving.
Scene II.
WINTER'S TALE.
267
Leon. " Didst note it ?
Cam. He would not stay at your petitions j made
His business more material.
Leon. Didst perceive it ? —
They're liere with me already ; whispering, round-
SicUia is a so-forth : 'Tis far gone,
When I shall gust 3 it last. — How came't, Camillo,
That he did stay ?
Cam. At the good queen's entreaty.
Leon. At the queen's be't : good should be per-
tinent ;
But so it is, it is not. Was this taken
By any understanding pate but thine ?
For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in
More tlian the common blocks : — Not noted, is't,
But of the finer natures ? by some severals,
Of head-piece extraordinary ? lower messes ^,
Perchance, are to this business purblind : say.
Cam. Business, my lord ? I think, most under-
stand
Bohemia stays here longer.
Leon. Ha?
Cam. Stays here longer.
Leon. Ay, but why ?
Cam. To satisfy your highness, and the entreaties
Of our most gracious mistress.
Leon. Satisfy
The entreaties of your mistress ? satisfy ?
Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo,
With all the nearest things to my heart, as well
My chamber-councils : wherein, priest-like, tliou
Hast cleans'd my bosom ; I from thee departed
Thy penitent reform'd : but we have been
Deceiv'd in thy integrity, deceiv'd
In that which seems so.
Cam. Be it forbid, my lord !
Leon. To bide upon't ; — Thou art not honest : or,
If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a coward ;
Which boxes ^ honesty behind, restraining
From course requir'd : Or else thou must be counted
A servant, grafted in my serious trust.
And therein negligent ; or else a fool.
That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake
drawn,
And tak'st it all for jest.
Cam. My gracious lord,
I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful ;
In every one of these no man is free,
But that his negligence, his folly, fear,
Amongst the infinite doings of the world.
Sometime puts forth : In your affairs, my lord.
If ever I were wilful-negligent,
It was my folly ; if industriously
I play'd the fool, it was my negligence.
Not weighing well the end ; if ever fearful
To do a thing, where I the issue doubted.
Whereof the execution did cry out
Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear
Which oft affects the wisest : these, my lord,
Are such allow'd infirmities, that honesty
Is never free of. But, 'beseech your grace,
Be plainer with me ; let me know my trespass
By its own visage : if I then deny it,
'Tis none of mine.
Leon. Have not you seen, Camillo,
( But that's past doubt : you have ; or your eye-glass
Is tliickcr than a cuckold's horn ;) or heard,
* To round in tlic car was to ♦cU secretly » Taste.
4 inPorinr< in r-.,,\r » fj, )\ox U to bamstruig.
(For, to a vision so apparent, rumour
Cannot be mute,) or thought, (for cogitation
Resides not in that man, that does not think it,)
My wife is slippery ? If thou wilt confess,
(Or else be impudently negative.
To have nor eyes, nor ears, nor thought,) then say.
My wife's a woman that deserves a name
Too rank to mention : say it, and justify it
Cam. I would not be a stander-by, to hear
My sovereign mistress clouded so, without
My present vengeance taken : 'Shrew my heart.
You never spoke what did become you less
Than this : which to reiterate, were sin
As deep as that, though true.
Leon. Is whispering nothing ?
Is leaning cheek to cheek ? stopping the career
Of laughter with a sigh ? (a note infallible
Of breaking honesty : ) wishing clocks more swift ?
Hours, minutes ? noon, midnight ? and all eyes bUnd
With the pin and web ^, but theirs, theirs only.
That would unseen be wicked ? is this nothing ?
Why, then the world, and all that's in't, is nothing ;
The covering sky is nothing ; Bohemia nothing ;
My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings.
If this be nothing.
Cam. Good my lord, be cured
Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes ;
For 'tis most dangerous.
Leon. Say, it be ; 'tis true.
Cam. No, no, my lord.
Leon. It is ; you lie, you lie :
I say, thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee ;
Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave :
Or else a hovering temporizer, that
Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil.
Inclining to them both ; Were my wife's liver
Infected as her life, she would not live
The running of one glass.
Cam. Who does infect her ?
Leon. Why he, that wears her like her medal,
hanging
About his neck, Bohemia : Who — if I
Had servants true about me, that bare eyes
To see alike mine honour as their profits.
Their own particular thrifts, — they would do tliat
Which should undo more doing : Ay, and thou.
His cupbearer, — whom I from meaner form
Have bench'd, and rear'd to worship ; who may'st
see
Plainly, as heaven sees earth, and earth sees heaven.
How I am galled, — thou might'st bespice a cup.
To give mine enemy a lasting wink ;
Which draught to me were cordial.
Cam. Sir, my lord,
I could do this : and that with no rash 7 potion.
But with a ling'ring dram, that should not work
Maliciously like poison : But I cannot
Believe tliis crack to be in my dread mistress,
So sovereignly being honourable.
I have lov'd tliee,
Leon. Make't thy question, and go rot !
Dost think, I am so muddy, so unsettled.
To appoint myself in this vexation ? sully
'Ilie purity and whiteness of my sheets.
Which to preserve, is sleep ; which being spotted,
Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps ?
Give scandal to the blood o' the prince my son,
Who, I do tliink is mine, and love as mine ;
Inferiors in rank.
6 Disorders of the eye
HMty.
268
WINTER'S TALE.
Act I. Scene II.
Without ripe moving to't ? Would I do this ?
Could man so blench ? 8
Cam. I must believe you, sir ;
I do : and will fetch off Bohemia for't :
Provided, that when he's remov'd, your highness
Will take again your queen, as yours at first ;
Even for your son's sake : and, thereby, for sealing
The injury of tongues, in courts and kingdoms
Known and allied to yours.
Leon. Thou dost advise me.
Even so as I mine own course have set down :
I'll give no blemish to her honour, none.
Cam. My lord,
Go then ; and with a countenance as clear
As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia,
And with your queen : I am his cupbearer;
If from me he have wholesome beverage,
Account me not your servant.
Leon. This is all ;
Do't, and thou hast the one half of my heart ;
Do't not, thou split'st thine own.
Cam. I'll do't, my lord.
Leon. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd
me. [^Exil.
Cam. O miserable lady ! — But, for me.
What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner
Of good Polixenes : and my ground to do't
Is the obedience to a master ; one,
Who, in rebellion with himself, will have
All that are his, so too. — To do this deed,
Promotion follows : If I could find example
Of thousands, that had struck anointed kings.
And flourish'd after, I'd not do't : but since
Nor brass nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one,
Let villainy itself forswear't. I must
Forsake the court : to do't, or no, is certain
To me a break-neck. Happy star, reign now !
Here comes Bohemia.
Enter Polixenes.
Pol. This is strange, methinks,
My favour here begins to warp. Not speak ? — —
Good-day, Camillo.
Cam. Hail, most royal sir !
Pol. What is the news i' the court ?
Cam. None rare, my lord.
Pol. The king hath on him such a countenance.
As he had lost some province, and a region,
Lov'd as he loves himself: even now I met him
With customary compliment ; when he,
Wafting his eyes to the contrary, and falling
A lip of much contempt, speeds from me : and
So leaves me, to consider what is breeding.
That changes thus his manners.
Cam. I dare not know, my lord.
Pol. How ! dare not ? do not. Do you know, and
dare not
Be intelligent to me? 'Tis thereabouts j
For, to yourself, what you do know, you must ;
And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo,
Your chang'd complexions are to me a mirror.
Which shows me mine chang'd to : for I must be
A party in this alteration, finding
Myself thus alter'd with it.
Cam. There is a sickness
Which puts some of us in distemper ; but
I cannot name the disease ; and it is caught
Of you that yet are well.
» i.e. Could any man so start off from propriety.
Pol. How ? caught of me ?
Make me not sighted like the basilisk :
I have look'd on thousands, who have sped the
better
By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo, .
As you are certainly a gentleman ; thereto
Clerk-like, experienc'd, which no less adorns
Our gentry, than our parents' noble names.
In whose success 9 we are gentle ', — I beseech you,
If you know aught which does behove my know-
ledge
Thereof to be inform'd, imprison it not
In ignorant concealment.
Cam. I may not answer.
Pol. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well !
I must be answered. — Dost thou hear, Camillo,
I conjure thee, by all the parts of man.
Which honour does acknowledge, — whereof the
least
Is not this suit of mine, — that thou declare
What incidency thou dost guess of harm
Is creeping toward me ; how far off, how near ;
Which way to be prevented, if to be ;
If not, how best to bear it.
Cam. Sir, I'll tell you j
Since I am charg'd in honour, and by him
That I think honourable : Therefore, mark my
counsel ;
Which must be even as swiftly follow'd,"as
I mean to utter it ; or both yourself and me
Cry, lost, and so good night.
Pol. On, good Camillo.
Cam. I am appointed him ^ to murder you.
Pol. By whom, Camillo ?
Cam. By the king.
Pol. For what ?
Cam. He thinks, nay, with all confidence he
swears.
As he had seen't, or been an instrument
To vice 3 you to't, — that you have touch'd his queen
Forbiddenly.
Pol. O, then my best blood turn
To an infected jelly ; and my name
Be yok'd with his, that did betray the best !
Turn then my freshest reputation to
A savour, that may strike the dullest nostril
Where I arrive ; and my approach be shunn'd.
Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection
That e'er was heard, or read !
Cam. Swear his thought over
By each particular star in heaven, and
By all their influences, you may as well
Forbid the sea for to obey the moon.
As or, by oath, remove, or counsel, shake
The fabrick of his folly ; whose foundation
Is pil'd upon his faith, and will continue
The standing of his body.
Pol. How should this grow ?
Cam. I know not : but, I am sure, 'tis safer to
Avoid what's grown, than question how 'tis born.
If therefore you dare trust my honesty, —
That lies enclosed in this trunk, which you
Shall bear along impawn'd, — away to-night.
Your followers I will whisper to the business ;
And will, by twos, and threes, at several posterns,
Clear them o' the city : For myself, I'll put
My fortunes to your service, which are here
5 For succession.
' Gentle was opposed to simple ;
2 i. e. The person.
well bom.
3 Draw.
Act II. Scene I.
WINTER'S TALE.
269
By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain ;
For, by the honour of my parents, I
Have utter'd truth : which if you seek to prove,
I dare not stand by ; nor shall you be safer
Than one conderan'd j by the king's own mouth,
thereon
Is execution sworn.
Pol. I do believe thee :
I saw his heart in his face. Give me thy hand ;
Be pilot to me, and thy places shall
Still neighbour mine ; My ships are ready, and
My people did expect my hence departure
Two days ago. — — This jealousy
Is for a precious creature : as she's rare,
Must it be great ; and, as his person's mighty,
Must it be violent ; and as he does conceive
He is dishonour'd by a man which ever
Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must
In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershadcs me.
Good expedition be my friend, and comfort
Tlie gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing
Of his ill-ta'en suspicion ! Come, Camillo ;
I will respect thee as a father, if
Thou bear'st my life off hence : Let us avoid.
Cam. It is in mine authority to command
The keys of all the posterns : Please your highness
To take the urgent hour : come, sir, away.
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I. — The same.
Enter Hermionk, Mamiluus, and Ladies.
Her. Take the boy to you : he so troubles me,
'Tis past enduring.
1 Lady, Come, my gracious lord,
Sliall I be your play-fellow?
Mam. No, I'll none of you.
1 Lady. Why, my sweet lord ?
Mam. You'U kiss me hard ; and speak to me as if
I were a baby still. — I love you better.
2 Lady. And why so, my good lord ?
Mam. Not for because
Your brows are blacker ; yet black brows, they say.
Become some women best ; so that there be not
Too much hair there, but in a semi-circle,
Or half-moon made with a pen.
2 Lady. Who taught you this ?
Mam. I learn'd it out of women's faces. — Pray
now
What colour are your eye-brows ?
1 Lady. Blue, my lord.
Mam. Nay, that's a mock ; 1 have seen a lady's
nose
That has been blue, but not her eye-brows.
2 Lady. Hark ye ;
The queen, your mother, rounds apace : we shall
Present our services to a fine new prince.
One of these days ; and then you'd wanton with us
If we would have you.
1 Lady. She is spread of late
Into a goodly bulk : Good time encounter her !
Her. What wisdom stirs amongst you ? Come,
sir, now
I am for you again : Pray you sit by us,
And tell's a tale.
Mtim. Merry, or sad, shall't be ?
Her. As merry as you will.
Mam. A sad tale's best for winter :
I have one of sprites and goblins.
Her. Let's have that, sir.
Come on, sit down : — Come on, and do your
best
To fright me with your sprites : you're powerful
at it.
Mam. There was a man,
Her. Nay, come, sit down ; tlien on.
Mavu Dwelt by a church-yard ; — I will tell it
softly;
Yon crickeU shall not hear it.
Her. Come on then,
And give't me in mine ear.
Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords, and others.
Leon. Was he met there ? his train ? Camillo
with him ?
1 Lord. Behind the tuft of pines I met them ;
never
Saw I men scour so on their way : I ey'd them
Even to their ships.
Leon. How bless'd am I,
In my just censure ? * in my true opinion ? —
Alack, for lesser knowledge ! How accurs'd.
In being so blest ! — There may be in the cup
A spider steep'd, and one may drink, depart,
And yet partake no venom ; for his knowledge
Is not infected : hut if one present
The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known
How he hath drank, he cracks his gorge, his sides,
Witli violent hefts * : — I have drank, and seen tlie
spider.
Camillo was his help in this, his pander : —
There is a plot against my life, my crown ;
All's true that is mistrusted : — that false villain,
Whom I employed, was pre-employ'd by him :
He has discover'd my design, and I
Remain a pinch'd tiling ^ ; yea, a very trick
For them to play at will : — How came the posterns
So easily open?
1 Lord. By his great authority ;
Which often hath no less prevail'd than so,
On your command.
Leo7i. I know't too well.
Give me the boy ; I am glad, you did not nurse liim :
Though he does bear some signs of me, yet \ ou
Have too much blood in him.
Her. What is this ? sport ?
Leon- Bear the boy hence, he shall not come
alx)Ut her ;
Away with him : — and let her sport herself
With that she's big with ; for 'tis Polixenes
Has made thee swell thus.
Her. But I'd say, he had not.
And, I'll be sworn, you would believe my saying,
Howe'er you lean to tlie nayward.
Leon. You, my lords.
Look on her, mark her well ; be but about
To say, she is a goodly ladyy and
* Judgment. * Heavings.
< A thing pinch'd out of clouts, a puppet
270
WINTER'S TALE.
Act II.
The justice of your hearts will thereto add,
Tis pity she's not honest, honourable :
Praise her but for this her without-door form,
(Which, on my faith, deserves high speech,) and
straight
The shrug, the hum, or ha ; these petty brands.
That calumy doth use : — O, I am out.
That mercy does ; for calumny will sear 7
Virtue itself : — These shrugs, these hums, and ha's.
When you have said, she's goodly, come between,
Ere you can say she's honest : But be it known.
From him that has most cause to grieve it should be,
She's an adultress.
Her. Should a villain say so,
The most replenish'd villain in the world,
He were as much more villain : you, my lord.
Do but mistake.
Leon. You have mistook, my lady,
Polixenes for Leontes : O thou thing.
Which I'll not call a creature of thy place,
Lest barbarism, making me the precedent.
Should a like language use to all degrees.
And mannerly distinguishment leave out
Betwixt the prince and beggar ! — 1 have said.
She's an adultress ; I have said with whom :
More, she's a traitor ; and Camillo is
A federary 8 with her ; and one that knows
What she should shame to know herself:
She's privy
To this their late escape.
Her. No, by my life.
Privy to none of this : How will this grieve you,
When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that
You thus have publish'd me ? Gentle, my lord,
You scarce can right me throughly then, to say
You did mistake.
Leon. No, no ; if I mistake
In those foundations which I build upon.
The center is not big enough to bear
A school-boy's top. — Away with her to prison :
He, who shall speak for her, is afar off guilty 9,
But that he speaks, i
Her. There's some ill planet reigns :
I must be patient, till the heavens look
With an aspect more favourable. Good my lords,
I am not prone to weeping, as our sex
Commonly are ; the want of which vain dew.
Perchance, shall dry your pities : but I have
That honourable grief lodg'd here, which burns
Worse than tears drown : 'Beseech you all, my
lords.
With thoughts so qualified as your charities
Shall best instruct you, measure me ; — and so
The king's will be perform'd !
Leon. Shall I be heard ?
[ To the Guards.
Her. Who is't that goes with me ? — 'Beseech
your highness.
My women may be with me ; for, you see,
My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools ;
There is no cause : when you shall know your
mistress
Has deserv'd prison, then abound in tears.
As I come out : this action, I now go on.
Is for my better grace. — Adieu, my lord :
I never wish'd to see you sorry ; now,
I trust, I shall. My women, come ; you have
leave.
7 Brand as infamous.
9 Remotely guilty.
" Confederate.
» In merely .si>eaking.
Leon. Go do our bidding ; hence.
[Exeunt Queen and Ladies.
1 Lord. 'Beseech your highness, call the queen
again.
^nt. Be certain what you do, sir ; lest your justice
Prove violence; in the wliich three great ones suffer,
Yourself, your queen, your son.
1 Lord. For her, my lord, —
I dare my life lay down, and will do't, sir.
Please you to accept it, that the queen is spotless
I'the eyes of heaven, and to you ; I mean.
In this which you accuse her.
jint. If it prove
She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables where
I lodge my wife ; I'll go in couples with her ;
Than when I feel, and see her, no further trust her ;
For every woman in the world is false.
If she be.
Leon. Hold your peaces.
1 Lord. Good my lord, —
Ant. It is for you we speak, not for ourselves :
You are abus'd, and by some putter on.
That will be damn'd for't ; 'would I knew the villain.
Leon. Cease ; no more.
You smell this business with a sense as cold
As is a dead man's nose : I see't and feel't,
As you feel doing thus ; and see withal
The instruments that feel.
Ant. If it be so.
We need no grave to bury honesty ;
There's not a grain of it, the face to sweeten
Of the whole dungy earth.
Leon. What ! lack I credit ?
1 Lord. I had rather you did lack, than I, my lord,
Upon this ground : and more it would content me
To have her honour true, than your suspicion ;
Be blam'd for't how you might.
Leon. Why, what need we
Commune with you of this ? but rather follow
Our forceful instigation ? Our prerogative
Call not your counsels ; but our natural goodness
Imparts this : which, — if you (or stupified.
Or seeming so in skill,) cannot, or will not.
Relish as truth, like us; inform yourselves.
We need no more of your advice : the matter,
The loss, the gain, the ordering on't, is all
Properly ours.
Ant. And I wish, my liege.
You had only in your silent judgment tried it,
Without more overture.
Leon. How could that be ?
Either thou art most ignorant by age,
Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight.
Added to their familiarity,
(Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture.
That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation
But only seeing, all other circumstances
Made up to the deed,) doth push on this proceedi
Yet, for a greater confirmation,
( For, in an act of this importance, 'twere
Most piteous to be wild,) I have despatch'd in post,
To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple,
Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know
Of stuff'd sufficiency 3 ; Now, from the oracle
They will bring all ; whose spiritual counsel had,
Shall stop or spur me. Have I done well ?
1 Lord. Well done, my lord.
Leon. Though I am satisfied, and need no more
I
2 Proof.
Of abilities more than sufficient
Scene II.
WINTER'S TALE.
'271
Than what I know, yet shall the oracle
Give rest to the minds of others ; such as he,
Whose ignorant credulity will not
Come up to the truth : So have we thought it good.
From our free person she should be confin'd ;
Lest that the treadiery of tlie two, fled hence,
Be left her to perform. Come, follow us ;
We are to speak in publick ; for this business
Will raise us all.
Ant. [Aside.] To laughter, as I take it,
If the good truth were known. [Exeunt.
SCENE II The outer Room of a Prison.
Enter Paulina and Attendants.
Paul. The keeper of the prison, — call to him ; —
[Eril an Attendant.
Let him have knowledge who I am. — Good lady !
No court in Europe is too good for thee,
Wliat dost thou then in prison ? — Now, good sir.
Re-enter Attendant, tvith the Keeper.
You know me, do you not ?
Xeep. For a worthy lady.
And one whom much I honour.
Paul. Pray you, then.
Conduct me to the queen.
JCeep. I may not, madam ; to the contrary
I have express commandment.
Paul. Here's ado.
To lock up honesty and honour from
The access of gentle visitors ! Is it lawful,
Pray you, to see her women ? any of them ?
Emilia ?
Aleep. So please you, madam, to put
Apart these your attendants, I shall bring
Emilia forth.
Paul. I pray now, call her.
Withdraw yourselves. [Exeunt Attend.
Keep. And, madam,
I must be present at your conference.
Paul. Well, be it so, pr'ythee. [Exit Keeper.
Here's such ado to make no stain a stain.
As passes colouring.
Re-enter Keeper, with Emilia.
Dear gentlewoman, how fares our gracious lady ?
EniU. As well as one so great, and so forlorn.
May hold together : On her frights and griefs,
(Wliich never tender lady hath borne greater,)
She is, something before her time, deliver'd.
Paul. A boy ?
Emil. A daughter, and a goodly babe.
Lusty, and like to live : tlie queen receives
Much comfort in't : says, My poor jnisoner,
I am inyiocent as you.
Paid. I dare be sworn : —
These dangerous unsafe lunes^ o'the king! beshrew
them !
He must be told on't, and he shall : the office
Becomes a woman best ; I'll take't upon me :
If I prove honey-mouth'd let my tongue blister ;
And never to my red-look'd anger be
The trumpet any more : Pray you, Emilia,
Commend my best obedience to tlie queen ;
If she dares trust me with her little babe,
I'll show't the king, and undertake to be
Her advocate to th' loudest : We do not know
* Lunacies, fits of madness.
How he may soften at the sight o' the child ;
The silence often of pure innocence
Persuades, when speaking fails.
Emil. Most worthy madam,
Your honour, and your goodness, is so evident,
That your free undertaking cannot miss
A thriving issue ; there is no lady living.
So meet for this great errand: Please your ladyship
To visit the next room, I'll presently
Acquaint the queen of your most noble offer ;
Who, but to-day, hammer'd of this design ;
But durst not tempt a minister of honour.
Lest she should be denied.
Paul. Tell her, Emilia,
I'll use that tongue I have : if wit flow from it.
As boldness from my bosom, let it not be doubted
I shall do good.
Emil. Now be you blest for it !
I'll to the queen : Please you, come something
nearer.
JTeej). Madam, if t please the queen to send tlie
babe,
I know not what I shall incur, to pass it,
Having no warrant.
Paul. You need not fear it, sir :
The child was prisoner to the womb ; and is, •
By law and process of great nature, thence
Freed and enfranchis'd : not a party to
The anger of the king ; nor guilty of.
If any be, the trespass of the queen.
ITeep. I do believe it.
Paul. Do not you fear : upon
Mine honour, I will stand 'twixt you and danger.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IIL — A Room in the Palace.
Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords, and other
Attendants.
Leon. Nor night, nor day, no rest : It is but weak-
ness
To bear the matter thus ; mere weakness, if
The cause were not in being ; — part o'the cause.
She, the adultress ; -^ for the harlot king
Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank
And level of my brain, plot-proof: but she
I can hook to me : Say, that she were gone.
Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest
Might come to me again. Who's there ?
1 Atten. My lord ?
[Advancing.
Leon. How does the boy ?
I Atten. He took good rest to night :
'Tis hop'd, his sickness is discharged.
Leon. To see.
His nobleness !
Conceiving the dishonour of his mother.
He straight decHn'd, droop'd, took it deeply ;
Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself;
Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep.
And downright languish'd. — Leave me solely ' — go
See how he fares. [Exit Attend.] — Fye, fye ! no
thought of him ;
The very tliought of my revenges that way
Recoil upon me ; in himself too mighty ;
And in his parties, his alliance, — Let him be.
Until a time may serve : for present vengeance,
Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes
Laugh at me ; make their pastime at my sorrow :
» Alone.
272
WINTER'S TALE.
Act II. Scene III.
They should not laugh if I could reach them ; nor
Shall she, within my power.
Enter Paulina, rdth a Child.
1 Lord. You must not enter.
Paul. Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to
me:
Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas,
Than the queen's life ? a gracious innocent soul ;
More free, than he is jealous.
Ant. That's enough.
I AUen. Madam, he hath not slept to night ; com-
manded
None should come at him.
Paul. Not so hot, good sir ;
I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as you, —
That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh
At each his needless heaving, — such as you
Nourish the cause of his awaking : I
Do come with words as med'cinal as true ;
Honest, as either ; to purge him of that humour.
That presses him from sleep.
Leon. What noise there, ho ?
Paul. No noise, my lord; but needful conference.
About some gossips for your highness.
Leon. How ?
Away with that audacious lady : Antigonus,
I charg'd thee, that she should not come about me;
I knew, she would.
Ant. I told her so, my lord.
On your displeasure's peril, and on mine.
She should not visit you.
Leon. What, canst not rule her ?
Paul. From all dishonesty, he can ; in this,
(Unless he take the course that you have done.
Commit me, for committing honour,) trust it.
He shall not rule me.
Ant. Lo you now ; you hear !
When she will take the rein, I let her run ;
But she'll not stumble.
Paul. Good my liege, I come, —
And, I beseech you, hear me, who profess
Myself your loyal servant, your physician,
Your most obedient counsellor ; yet that dare
Less appear so, in comforting your evils^.
Than such as most seem yours : — I say, I come
From your good queen.
Leon. Good queen !
Paul. Good queen, my lord, good queen : I say
good queen ;
And would by combat make her good, so were I
A man, the worst 7 about you.
Leon. Force her hence.
Paul. Let him, that makes but trifles of his eyes.
First hand me : on mine own accord, I'll off;
But first, I'll do my errand. — The good queen.
For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter ;
Here 'tis ; commends it to your blessing.
[^Laying down the Child.
Leon. Out !
A very witch ! Hence with her, out o' door :
A most intelligencing bawd !
Paul. Not so :
I am as ignorant in that, as you
In so entitling me : and no less honest
Than you are mad ; which is enough, I'll warrant.
As this world goes, to pass for honest.
Leon. Traitors !
Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard : —
^ Abetting your ill courses.
7 Lowest.
Thou, dotard, [To Antigonus.] thou art woman-
tir'd ^, unroosted
By thy dame Partlet here, — take up the bastard ;
Take't up, I say ; give't to thy crone. 9
Paul. For ever
Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou
Tak'st up the princess, by that forced i baseness
Which he has put upon't !
Leon. He dreads his wife.
Paul. So, I would, you did : then, 'twere past all
doubt.
You'd call your children yours.
Leon. A nest of traitors !
Ant. I am none, by this good light.
Paul. Nor I ; nor any,
But one, that's here ; and that's himself : for he
The sacred honour of himself, his queen's.
His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander.
Whose sting is sharper than the sword's ; and will
not
( For as the case now stands, it is a curse
He cannot be compell'd to't, ) once remove
The root of his opinion, which is rotten.
As ever oak, or stone, was sound.
Leon. A callaf^^
Of boundless tongue ; who late hath beat her
•husband.
And now baits me ! — This brat is none of mine ;
It is the issue of Polixenes :
Hence with it ; and, together with the dam.
Commit them to the fire.
Paul. It is yours ;
And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge.
So like you, 'tis the worse. — Behold, my lords.
Although the print be little, the whole matter
And copy of the father : eye, nose, lip.
The trick of his frown, his foreliead ; nay, the valley.
The pretty dimples of his chin, and cheek ; lus
smiles ;
The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger : —
And thou, good goddess nature, which hast made it
So like to him that got it, if thou hast
The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours
No yellow 3 in't ; lest she suspect as he does.
Her children not her husband's!
Leon. A gross hag ! —
And lozel *, thou art worthy to be hang'd.
That wilt not stay her tongue.
Ant. Hang all the husbands
That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself
Hardly one subject.
Leon. Once more, take her hence.
Paul. A most unworthy and unnatural lord
Can do no more.
Leon. I'll have thee bum'd.
Patd. I care not :
It is an heretick, that makes the fire.
Not she, which burns in't. I'll not call you tyrant ;
But this most cruel usage of your queen
(Not able to produce more accusation
Than your own weak-hing'd fancy,) something
savours
Of tyranny, and will ignoble make you,
Yea, scandalous to the world.
Leon. On your allegiance.
Out of the chamber with her. Were I a tyrant.
fi Pecked by a woman ; hen-pecked.
9 Worn out old woman.
1 Forced is false ; uttered with violence to truth. ■^ TruU.
3 The colour of jealousy. •* Worthless fellow.
Act III. Scene I.
WINTER'S TALE.
273
Where were her life ? she durst not call me so,
If she did know me one. Away with her.
Patd. I pray you, do not push me ; I'll be gone.
Look to your babe, my lord ; 'tis yours : Jove send
her
A better guiding spirit ! — What need these hands? —
You, that are thus so tender o'er his follies.
Will never do him good, not one of you.
So, so : — Farewell ; we are gone. \^Eiit.
Leon. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.—
My child ? away with't ! even thou, that hast
A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence.
And see it instantly consum'd with fire ;
Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight:
Within this hour bring me word 'tis done,
(And by good testimony,) or I'll seize thy life,
With what thou else call'st thine : If thou refuse,
And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so;
The bastard brains with these my proper hands
Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire ;
For thou sett'st on thy wife.
Ant. I did not, sir:
These lords, my noble fellows, if they please.
Can clear me in't.
1 Lord. We can ; my royal liege.
He is not guilty of her coming hither.
Leon. You are liars all.
1 Lord. 'Beseech your highness, give us better
credit :
We have always truly serv'd you ; and beseech
So to esteem of us : And on our knees we beg,
( As recompense of our dear services.
Past, and to come,) that you do change this purpose ;
Which being so horrible, so bloody, must
Lead on to some foul issue : We all kneel.
Leon, I am a feather for each wind that blows : •: —
Shall I live on, to see this bastard kneel
And call me father ? Better burn it now.
Than curse it then. But, be it ; let it live :
It shall not neither. — You, sir, come you hither ;
[To AUTIGONUS.
You, that have been so tenderly officious
With lady Margery, your midwife, there,
To save this bastard's life : — for 'tis a bastard.
So sure as this beard's grey, — what will you ad-
venture
To save this brat's life ?
Ant. Any thing, my lord.
That my ability may undergo,
And nobleness impose : at least thus much ;
I'll pawn the little blood which I have left.
To save the innocent : any thing possible.
Leon. It shall be possible : Swear by this sword *,
Thou wilt perform my bidding.
Ant. I will, my lord.
Leon. Mark, and perform it ; (seest thou ? ) for
the fail
Of any point in't shall not only be
Death to thyself, but to thy lew'd-tongu'd wife ;
Whom, for this time, we pardon. We enjoin thee.
As thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry
This female bastard hence ; and that thou bear it
To some remote and desert place, quite out
Of our dominions ; and that there thou leave it.
Without more mercy, to its own protection.
And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune
It came to us, I do in justice charge thee, —
On thy soul's peril, and thy body's torture, —
That thou commend it strangely to some place ®,
Where chance may nurse, or end it : Take it up.
Ant. I swear to do this, though a present death
Had been more merciful. — Come on, poor babe :
Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens.
To be thy nurses ! Wolves, and bears, they say.
Casting their savageness aside, have done
Like offices of pity. — Sir, be prosperous
In more than this deed doth require ! and blessing.
Against this cruelty, fight on thy side.
Poor thing, condemn'd to loss ! [Exit unth the child,
Leon. No, I'll not rear
Another's issue.
1 Atten. Please your highness, posts.
From those you sent to the oracle, are come
An hour since : Cleomenes and Dion,
Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed.
Hasting to the court.
1 Lord. So please you, sir, their speed
Hath been beyond account.
Leon. Twenty-three days
They have been absent : 'Tis good speed ; foretells,
The great Apollo suddenly will have
The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords ;
Summon a session, that we may arraign
Our most disloyal lady : for as she hath
Been publickly accus'd, so shall she have
A just and open trial. While she lives.
My heart will be a burden to me. Leave me ;
And think upon my bidding. [Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I. — A Street in some Town.
Enter Cleomenes and Dion.
Cleo. The climate's delicate ; the air most sweet ;
Fertile the isle ; the temple much surpassing
Tlie common praise it bears.
Dion. I shall report.
For most it caught me, the celestial habits,
(Methinks, I so should term them,) and the re-
verence
Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice !
How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly
It was i'the offering !
Cleo. But, of all, the burst
And the ear-deafening voice o'the oracle.
Kin to Jove's thunder, so surpriz'd my sense,
Tliat I was nothing.
Dion. If the event o'the journey
Prove as successful to the queen, — O, be't so ! —
As it hath been to us, rare, pleasant, speedy.
The time is worth the use on't.
Cleo. Great Apollo
Turn all to the best ! These proclamations,
So forcing faults upon Hermione,
I little like.
» It was anciently a practice to swear by the cron at the hiH
of a iword.
s f. e. Conunit it to some place as « stranger.
T
274.
WINTER'S TALE.
Act III.
Dion. The violent carriage of it
Will clear, or end, the business : When the oracle.
Thus (by Apollo's great divine seal'd up,)
Shall the contents discover, something rare.
Even then, will rush to knowledge. — Go, — fresh
horses ; —
And gracious be the issue ! [Exeunt.
SCENE II. — A Court of Justice.
Leontes, Lords, and Officers, appear properly
seated.
Leon. The sessions (to our great grief, we pro-
nounce,)
Even pushes 'gainst our heart : The party tried.
The daughter of a king ; our wife j and one
Of us too much belov'd. — Let us be clear'd
Of being tyrannous, since we so openly
Proceed in justice ; which shall have due course,
Even 7 to the guilt, or the purgation.
Produce the prisoner.
Oji. It is his highness' pleasure, that the queen
Appear in person here in court. "^ ' '
Silence I
Heemione is brought in, guarded ; Paulina and
Ladies attending.
Leon. Read the indictment.
OJi. Hermione, queen to the worthy Leontes,
king of Sicilia, thou art here accused and arraigned
of high treason, in committing adultery with Polixenes,
icing of Bohemia; and conspiring with Camillo to
to take away the life of our sovereign lord the Icing,
thy royal husband; the pretence^ whereof being by
circumstances partly laid open, thou, Hermione, con-
trary to the faith and allegiance of a true subject, didst
counsel and aid them, for their better safety to fly
away by night.
Her. Since what I am to say, must be but that
Which contradicts my accusation j and
The testimony on my part, no other
But what comes from myself ; it shall scarce boot me
To say. Not guilty : mine integrity,
Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it.
Be so receiv'd. But thus, — If powers divine
Behold our human actions, (as they do,)
I doubt not then, but innocence shall make
False accusation blush, and tyranny
Tremble at patience. — You, my lord, best know,
(Who least will seem to do so,) my past life
Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true,
As I am now unhappy ; which is more
Than history can pattern, though devis'd.
And play'd to take spectators : For behold me, —
A fellow of the royal bed, which owe &
A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter.
The mother to a hopeful prince, —here standing
To prate and talk for life, and honour, 'fore
Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it
As I weigh grief, which I would spare : for honour,
'Tis a derivative from me to mine.
And only that I stand for. I appeal
To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes
Came to your court, how I was in your grace.
How merited to be so; since he came.
With what encounter so uncurrent I
Have strain'd to appear thus : if one jot beyond
The bound of honour ; or, in act, or will,
7 Equal
« Own, possess.
8 Scheme laid.
That way inclining ; harden'd be the hearts
Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin
Cry, Fye upon my grave !
Leon. I ne'er heard yet.
That any of these bolder vices wanted
Less impudence to gainsay what they did,
Than to perform it first.
j£er. That's true enough ;
Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me.
Leon. You will not own it.
jlgr. More than mistress of^
Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not
At all acknowledge. For Polixenes,
(With whom I am accus'd) I do confess,
I lov'd him, as in honour he requir'd ;
With such a kind of love, as might become
A lady like me ; with a love, even such,
So, and no other, as yourself commanded :
Which not to have done, I think, had been in me
Both disobedience and ingratitude,
To you, and toward your friend ; whose love had
spoke.
Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely,
That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy,
I know not how it tastes ; though it be dish'd
For me to try how : all I know of it
Is, that Camillo was an honest man ;
And, why he left your court, the gods themselves.
Wotting no more than I, are ignorant.
Leon. You knew of his departure, as you know
What you have underta'en to do in his absence.
Her. Sir,
You speak a language that I understand not :
My life stands in the level • of your dreams,
Which I'll lay down.
Leon. Your actions are my dreams;
You had a bastard by Polixenes,
And I but dream'd it : — As you were past all shame,
(Those of your fact 2 are so,) so past all truth :
Which to deny, concerns more than avails :
For as
Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself.
No father owning it, (which is, indeed.
More criminal in thee, than it,) so thou
Shalt feel our justice ; in whose easiest passage.
Look for no less than death.
ffpf,^ Sir, spare your threats ;
The bug, which you would fright me with, I seek.
To me can life be no commodity :
The crown and comfort of my life, your favour
I do give lost ; for I do feel it gone.
But know not how it went : My second joy,
And first-fruits of my body, from his presence,
I am barr'd, like one infectious : My third comfort,
Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast.
The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth.
Haled out to murder : Myself on every post
Proclaim'd a strumpet ; With immodest hatred,
The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs
To women of all fashion : — Lastly, hurried
Here to this place, i' the open air, before
I have got strength of limit. 3 Now, my liege.
Tell me what blessings I have here alive.
That I should fear to die? Therefore, proceed.
But yet, hear this ; mistake me not ; No ! life,
I prize it not a straw : — but for mine honour,
1 Is within the reach. « They who have done l«ke yp"-
3 i e The degree of strength which it is customary to
acquire before women are suffered to go abroad after child-
bearing.
Scene II.
WINTER'S TALE.
275
(Which I would free,) if I shall be condemn'd
Upon surmises ; all proofs sleeping else,
But what your jealousies awake ; I tell you,
'Tis rigour, and«not law. — Your honours all,
I do refer me to the oracle ;
Apollo be my judge.
1 Lord. This your request
Is altogether just : therefore, bring forth,
And in Apollo's name, his oracle,
[Exeunt certain Officers.
Her. The emperor of Russia was my father :
O, that he were alive, and here beholding
His daughter's trial ! that he did but see
The flatness of my misery ; yet with eyes
Of pity, not revenge !
Re-erUer Officers with Clkomenes and Diok.
OJJi. You here shall swear upon this sword of
justice,
That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have
Been both at Delphos; and from thence have brought
This seal'd up oracle, by the hand deliver'd
Of great Apollo's priest : and that, since then,
You have not dar'd to break the holy seal,
Nor read the secrets in't.
Cleo. Dion. All this we swear.
Leon. Break up the seals and read.
OJJi. {Reads.'\ Hermione is chaste, Polixenes
blameless, Camillo o true subject, Leontes a jealous
tyrant, his intiocent babe truly begotten ; and the king
shall live without an heir, if that, which is lost, be not
found.
Lords. 'Now blessed be the great Apollo !
Her. Praised.
Leon. Hast thou read truth ?
Offi. Ay, my lord ; even so
As it is here set down.
Leon. There is no truth at all i' the oracle :
The sessions shall proceed ; this is mere falsehood.
Enter a Servant, hastily.
Serv. My lord the king, the king !
Leon. What is the business ?
Serv. O sir, I shall be hated to report it :
The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear
Of the queen's speed-*, is gone.
Leon. How ! gone ?
Serv. Is dead.
Leon. Apollo's angry : and the heavens themselves
Do strike at my injustice. [Herhiiovk faints.] How
now there ?
Paul. This news is mortal to the queen : — Look
down.
And see what death is doing.
Leon. Take her hence :
Her heart is but o'ercharg'd ; she will recover. —
I have too much believ'd mine own suspicion : —
'Beseech you, tenderly apply to her
Some remedies for life. — Apollo, pardon
[Exeunt Paulina and Ladies, with Herm.
My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle ! —
I'll reconcile me to Polixenes ;
New woo my queen ; recall the good Camillo j
Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy :
For, being transported by my jealousies
To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose
Camillo for the minister, to poison
My friend Polixenes : which had been done,
♦ Of the event of the queen's trial
But that the good mind of Camillo tardied
My swift command, though I with death, and with
Reward, did threaten and encourage Iiim,
Not doing it, and being done : he, most humane.
And fiU'd with honour, to my kingly guest
Unclasp'd my practice ; quit his fortunes here,
Which you knew great ; and to the certain hazard
Of all incertaintics himself commended,
No richer than his honour : — How he glisters
Thorough my rust ! and how his piety
Does my deeds make the blacker !
Re-enter Paulika.
Paul. Woe the while !
O, cut my lace ; lest my heart, cracking it,
Break too !
1 Lord. What fit is this, good lady ?
Paul. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me ?
What wheels ? racks ? fires ? What flaying ? boiling,
In leads, or oils ? what old, or newer torture
Must I receive ; whose every word deserves
To taste of thy most worst ? Thy tyranny
Together working with thy jealousies, —
Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle
For girls of nine ! — O, think, what they liave done,
And then run mad, indeed ; stark mad ! for all
Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it.
That thou betray'dst Polixenes, 'twas nothing ;
That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant.
And horribly ungrateful : nor was't much.
Thou wouldst have poison'd good Camillo's honour.
To have him kill a king ; poor trespasses.
More monstrous standing by : whereof I reckon
The casting forth to crows thy baby daughter.
Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death
Of the young prince, whose honourable thoughts
(Thoughts high for one so tender,) cleft the heart
That could conceive, a gross and foolish sire
Blemish 'd his gracious dam : this is not, no,
Laid to thy answer : But the last, — O, lords.
When I have said, cry, woe ! — the queen, the queen,
The sweetest, dearest, creature's dead; and ven-
geance for't
Not dropp'd down yet.
1 Lord. The tiigher powers forbid !
Paul. I say, she's dead ; I'll swear't : if word,
nor oath,
Prevail not, go and see : if you can bring
Tincture, or lustre, in her lip, her eye.
Heat outwardly, or breath witliin, I'll serve you
As I would do the gods. — But, O, thou tyrant !
Do not repent these things ; for they are heavier
Than all thy woes can stir : therefore betake thee
To nothing but despair. A thousand knees
Ten thousand years togetlier, naked, fasting,
Upon a barren mountain, and still winter
In storm perpetual, could not move the gods
To look that way thou wert.
Leon. Go on, go on :
Thou canst not speak too much : I have deserv'd
All tongues to taUc their bitterest.
1 Lord. Say no more ;
Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault
I'the boldness of your speech.
Paul. I am sorry for't ;
All faults I make, when I shall come to know them,
I do repent : Alas, I have show'd too much
The rashness of a woman : he is touch 'd
To the noble heart. — What's gone, and what's past
help,
T 2
276
WINTER'S TALE.
Act III. Scene III.
Should be past grief : Do not receive affliction
At my petition, I beseech you ; rather
Let me be punish'd, that have minded you
Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege,
Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman :
The love I bore your queen, — lo, fool again ! —
I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children ;
I'll not remember you of my own lord,
Who is lost too : Take your patience to you,
And I'll say nothing.
Leon. Thou didst speak but well,
Wfien most the truth ; which I receive much better
Than to be pitied of thee. Pr'ythee, bring me
To the dead bodies of my queen and son :
One grave shall be for both ; upon them shall
The causes of their death appear, unto
Our shame perpetual : Once a day 1*11 visit
The chapel where they lie ; and tears shed there,
Shall be my recreation : So long as
Nature will bear up with this exercise.
So long I daily vow to use it. Come,
And lead me to these sorrows. {^Exeunt,
SCENE III. Bohemia. A desert Country near
the Sea.
Enter Antigonus, uit/i the Child; and a Mariner.
^nt. Thou art perfect ^ then, our ship hath
touch 'd upon
The deserts of Bohemia ?
Mar. Ay, my lord, and fear
We have landed in ill time : the skies look grimly.
And threaten present blusters. In my conscience,
I'he heavens with that we have in hand are angry,
And frown upon us.
Ant. Their sacred wills be done ! — Go, get aboard;
l^ook to thy bark ; I'll not be long, before
I call upon thee.
Mar. Make your best haste ; and go not
Too far i'the land : 'tis like to be loud weather ;
Besides, this place is famous for the creatures
Of prey, that keep upon't.
Ant. Go thou away :
I'll follow instantly.
Mar. 1 am glad at heart
To be so rid o'the business. [Exit.
Ant. Come, poor babe :
I have heard, (but not believ'd,) the spirits of the
dead
May walk again : if such thing be, thy mother
Appear 'd to me last night ; for ne'er was dream
So like a waking. To me comes a creature,
Sometimes her head on one side, some another ;
I never saw a vessel of like sorrow.
So fill'd, and so becoming : in pure white robes,
Like very sanctity, she did approach
My cabin where I lay : thrice bow'd before me ;
And gasping to begin some speech, her eyes
Became two spouts : the fury spent, anon
Did this break from her ; Good Antigonus,
Since fate, against thy better disposition,
Hatli made thy person for the thrower-out
Of my poor babe, according to thine oath, —
Places remote enough are in Bohemia,
IViere weep, and leave it crying ; and, for the babe
Is counted lost for ever, Perdita,
/ prythee, calCt ; for this ungentle business.
Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see
* Well-assured.
Thy wife Paulina more : — and sO, with shrieks.
She melted into air. Affrighted much,
I did in time collect myself; and thought
This was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys :
Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously,
I will be squared by this. I do believe,
Hermione hath suffer'd death ; and that
Apollo would, this being indeed the issue
Of king Polixenes, it should here be laid.
Either for life, or death, upon the earth
Of its right father. — Blossom, speed thee well !
{^Laying down the Child.
There lie; and there thy character ^ : there these ;
{^Laying down a bundle.
Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty.
And still rest thine.— i The storm begins : — Poor
wretch.
That, for thy mother's fault, art thus expos'd
To loss, and what may follow ! — Weep I cannot,
But my heart bleeds : and most accurs'd am I,
To be by oath enjoin'd to this. — Farewell !
The day frowns more and more ; thou art like to have
A lullaby too rough : I never saw
The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour? —
Well may I get aboard ! — This is the chase ;
I am gone for ever. [^Exit, pursued by a Bear.
Enter an old Shepherd.
Shep. I would there viere no age between ten
and three and twenty ; or that youth would sleep
out the rest : for there is nothing in the between
but wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting. —
Hark you now ! Would any but these boiled
brains of nineteen, and two and twenty, hunt this
weather ? They have scared away two of my best
sheep ; which, I fear, the wolf will sooner find,
than the master : if any where I have them, 'tis by
the sea-side, browzing on ivy. Good luck, an't be
thy will ! what have we here ? [ Taking up the
Child. ] Mercy on's, a barne 7 ; a very pretty barne !
A pretty one ; a very pretty one : I'll take it up for
pity : Yet I'll tarry till my son come ; he hollaed
but even now. Whoa, ho hoa !
Enter Clown.
Clo. Hilloa, loa !
Shep. What, art so near ? if thou'lt see a thing
to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come
hither. What ailest thou, man ?
Clo. I have seen two such sights, by sea and by
land ; — but I am not to say, it is a sea, for it is
now the sky ; betwixt the firaiament and it, you
cannot thrust a bodkin's point.
Shep. Why, boy, how is it ?
Clo. I would you did but see how it chafes, how
it rages, how it takes up the shore ! but that's not
to the point : O, the most piteous cry of the poor
souls ! sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em :
now the ship boring the moon with her main-mast ;
and anon swallowed with yest and froth, as you'd
thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the
land service. — To see how the bear tore out his
shoulder-bone ; how he cried to me for help, and
said his name was Antigonus, a nobleman : — But
to make an end of the ship : — to see how the sea
flap-dragoned 3 it : — but, first, how the poor souls
roared, and the sea mocked them ; — and how the
The writing afterward discovered with Perdita.
7 Child
8 Swallowed.
Act IV. Scene I,
WINTER'S TALE.
277
poor gentleman roared, and the bear mocked him,
both roaring louder than the sea or weather.
Sliep. 'Name of mercy, when was this, boy ?
Clo. Now, now J I have not winked since I saw
these sights : the men are not yet cold under water,
nor tlie bear half dined on the gentleman : he's at
it now,
Shep. Would I had been by, to have helped the
old man !
Clo. I would you had been by the ship side, to
have helped her ; there your charity would have
lacked footing. [Aside.
Shep. Heavy matters ! heavy matters ! but look
thee here, boy. Now bless thyself; thou met'st
with things dying, I with things newborn. Here's
a sight for thee ; look thee, a bearing-cloth ' for a
squire's child ! Look thee here : take up, take up,
boy ; o^jen't. So, let's see : It was told me, I should
be rich by the fairies : this is some changeling : —
open't : What's within, boy ?
Clo. You're a made old man ; if the sins of your
youth are forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold !
all gold !
Shep. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so :
up with it, keep it close ; home, home, the next
way. We are lucky, boy; and to be so still, re-
quires nothing but secrecy. — Let my sheep go : —
Come, good boy, the next way home.
Clo. Go you the next way with your findings ;
I'll go see if the bear be gone from tlie gentleman,
and how much he hath eaten : they are never curst,
but when they are hungry : if there be any of him
left, I'll bury it.
Shep. That's a good deed : If thou mayst dis-
cern by that which is left of him, what he is, fetch
me to the sight of him.
Clo. Marry, will I ; and you shall help to put him
i'the ground.
Shep. 'Tis a lucky day, boy; and we'll do good
deeds on't. [Exeunt.
ACT IV.
Enter Time, as Chorus.
Time. I, — that please some, try all ; both joy
and terror.
Of good and bad ; that make, and unfold error, —
Now take upon me, in the name of Time,
To use my wings. Impute it not a crime,
To me, or my swift passage, that I slide
O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried
Of that wide gap : since it is in my power
To o'erthrow law, and in one self-born hour
To plant and o'erwhelin custom : Let me pass
The same I am, ere ancient'st order was,
Or what is now received : I witness to
The times that brought them in ; so shall I do
To the freshest things now reigning; and make stale
The glistering of this present, as my tale
Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing,
I turn my glass ; and give my scene such growing.
As you had slept between. Leontes leaving
The effects of his fond jealousies ; so grieving.
That he shuts up himself; imagine me.
Gentle spectators, that I now may be
In fair Bohemia ; and remember well,
I mentioned a son o' the king's, which Florizel
I now name to you ; and %ith speed so pace
To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace
Equal with wond'ring : What of her ensues,
I list not prophecy ; but let Time's news
Be known, when 'tis brought forth ; — a shepherd's
daughter,
And what to her adheres which follows after.
Is the argument « of time : Of this allow.
If ever you have spent time worse ere now ;
If never yet, that Time himself doth say,
He wishes earnestly, you never may, [Exit.
SCENE I Bohemia. A Room in the Palace
of Polixenes.
Enter Polixenks and Camillo.
Pol. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more im-
• The mantle in which a child wai carried to be t)ai>ti«xl.
• Subject
portunate : 'tis a sickness, denying thee any tiling ;
a death, to grant this.
Cam. It is fifteen years, since I saw my country ;
though I have, for the most part, been aired abroad,
I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the peni-
tent king, my master, hath sent for me : to whose
feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'er-
ween ^ to think so ; which is another spur to my
departure.
Pol. As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out
the rest of thy services, by leaving me now : the
need I have of thee, thine own goodness hath made ;
better not to have had thee, than thus to want thee :
thou, having made the businesses, which none, with-
out thee, can sufficiently manage, must either stay to
execute them thyself, or take away with thee the
very services thou hast done : which if I have not
enough considered, as too much I cannot,) to be
more thankful to thee, shall be my study ; and my
profit tlierein, the heaping friendships. Of tliat
fatal country, Sicilia, pr'ythee speak no more :
whose very naming punishes me with tlie remem-
brance of that penitent, as thou call'st him, and
reconciled king, my brother ; wliose loss of his most
precious queen, and children, are even now to be
afresh lamented. Say to me, when saw'st thou tlie
prince Florizel, my son ? Kings are no less unhappy,
their issue not being gracious, than they are in losing
them, when they have approved their virtues.
Cam. Sir, it is three days, since I saw the prince:
What his happier affairs may be, are to me un-
known : but I have, missingly, noted ^ he is of late
much retired from court ; and is less frequent to his
princely exercises, than formerly he hath appeared.
Pol. I have considered so much, Camillo; and
with some care ; so far, that I have eyes under my
service, which look upon his removedness : from
whom 1 have this intelligence ; That he is seldom
from the house of a most homely shepherd ; a man,
they say, that from very nothing, and beyond the
imagination of his neighlwurs, is grown into an un-
speakable estate.
^ Think too highly of myselt * Observed at intcrvaU.
T 3
278
WINTER'S TALE.
Act IV.
Cam, I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath
a daughter of most rare note : the report of her is
extended more, than can be thought to begin from
such a cottage.
Pol. That's likewise part of my intelligence. But,
I fear the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou
shalt accompany us to the place: where we will,
not appearing what we are, have some question
with the shepherd ; from whose simplicity, I think
it not uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort
thither. Pr'ythee, be my present partner in this
business, and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia.
Cam. I willingly obey your command.
Pol. My best Camillo ! — We must disguise our-
selves. \_Exeunt.
SCENE II. — A Road 7iear the Shepherd's Cottage.
Enter Autolycus, singing.
When daffodils begin to peer, —
With heigh ! the doxy over the dale, —
Why then comes in the sweet 6" the year ;
For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.
The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, —
With, hey ! the sweet birds, 0 how they sing !
Doth set my pugging tooth on edge ;
For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.
The lark, that tirra, lira chants, —
With, hey ! with hey I the thrush and the jay :
Are summers' songs for me and my aunts.
While we lie tiunbling in the hay.
I have served prince Florizel, and, in my time,
wore three-pile ^ ; but now I am out of service :
But shall I go mourn for that, my dear ? [Sings.
The pale moon shines by night :
And when I wander here and there,
I then do most go right.
If tinkers may have leave to live,
And bear the sow-skin budget ;
Then my account I well may give,
And in the stocks avouch it.
My father named me, Autolycus; who, being, as
I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise a snap-
per-up of unconsidered trifles : With die, and drab,
I purchased this caparison ; and my revenue is the
silly cheat 6 ; Gallows, and knock, are too powerful
on the highway : beating, and hanging, are terrors
to me ; for the life to come, I sleep out the thought
of it. — A prize ! a prize !
Enter Clown.
Clo. Let me see : — Every 'leven wether — tods ;
every tod yields — pound and odd shilling : fifteen
hundred shorn, — What comes the wool to ?
Aut. If the springe hold, the cock's mine.
[Aside.
Clo. I cannot do't without counters. — Let me
see; what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast?
Three pound of sugar; five pound of currants ; rice
What will this sister of mine do with rice ? But
my father hath made her mistress of the feast, and
she lays it on. She hath made me four-and-twenty
nosegays for the shearers : three-man song-men 7
all, and very good ones ; but they are most of
* Rich velvet. '
7 Singers of catches in three parts
Picking pockets.
them means 8 and bases, I must have saffron, to
colour the warden pies 9 ; mace, — dates, — none ;
tliat's out of my note : nutmegs, seven ; a race, or
two, of ginger ; but that I may beg ; — four j^ound
of prunes, and as many of raisins o'the sun.
Aut. O, that ever I was born !
[Grovelling on the ground.
Clo. I'the name of me,
Aut. O help me, help me ! pluck but oflP these
rags ; and then, death, death !
Clo. Alack, poor soul ! thou hast need of more
rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off.
Aut. O, sir, the loathsomeness of them offends
me more than the stripes I have received; which
are mighty ones and millions.
Clo. Alas, poor man ! a million of beating may
come to a great matter.
Aut. I am robbed, sir, and beaten ; my money
and apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable
things put upon me.
Clo. What, by a horse-man, or a foot-man ?
Aut. A foot-man, sweet sir, a foot-man.
Clo. Indeed, he should be a foot-man, by the
garments he hath left with thee ; if this be a horse-
man's coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend
me thy hand, I'll help thee: come, lend me thy
hand. [Helping him up.
Aut. O ! good sir, tenderly, oh !
Clo. Alas, poor soul.
Aut. O, good sir, softly, good sir : I fear, sir, my
shoulder-blade is out.
Clo. How now ? canst stand ?
Aut. Softly, dear sir; [Picks his pocket.'] good
sir, softly : you ha' done me a charitable office.
Clo. Dost lack any money ? I have a little money
for thee.
Aut. No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir:
I have a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile
hence, unto whom I was going ; I shall there have
money, or any thing I want ; Offer me no money,
I pray you ; that kills my heart.
Clo. What manner of fellow was he that robbed
you ?
Aut. A fellow, sir, that I have known to go
about with trol-my-dames ' : I knew him once a
servant of the prince ; I cannot tell, good sir, for
which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly
whipped out of the court.
Clo. His vices, you would say ; there's no virtue
whipped out of the court : they cherish it, to make
it stay there ; and yet it will no more but abide.
Aut. Vices I would say, sir. I know this man
well : he hath been since an ape-bearer ; then a
process-server, a bailiff; then he married a tinker's
wife within a mile where my land and living lies ;
and, having flown over many knavish professions,
he settled only in rogue : some call him Autolycus.
Clo. Out upon him ! Prig, for my life, prig : he
haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings.
Aut. Very true, sir ; he, sir, he ; that's the rogue,
that put me into this apparel.
Clo. Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia ;
if you had but looked big, and spit at him, he'd
have run.
Aut. I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter :
I am false of heart that way ; and that he knew, I
warrant him.
Clo. How do you now ?
8 Tenors. ' ^ Pies made of a species of pears
1 The machine used in the game of pigeon-holes.
Scene III.
WINTER'S TALE.
279
ji%U. Sweet sir, much better than I was ; I can
stand, and walk : I will even take my leave of you,
and pace softly towards my kinsman's.
Clo. Shall I bring thee on the way ?
Aut. No, good-faced sir ; no, sweet sir.
Clo. Then fare thee well ; I must go buy spices
for our sheep-shearing.
Aut. Prosper you, sweet sir ! — \^Exit Clown.]
Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice.
I'll be with you at your sheep-shearing too : If I
make not this cheat bring out another, and the
shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled, and my
name put in the book of virtue !
Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way.
And merrily henV^ the stile-a :
A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad tires in a mile-a.
[Exit.
SCENE III. — ^ Shepherd'5 Cottage.
Enter Florizel and Perdita.
Flo. These your unusual weeds to each part of you
Do give a life : no shepherdess ; but Flora,
Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing
Is as a meeting of the petty gods,
And you the queen on't.
Per. Sir, my gracious lord.
To chide at your extremes \ it not becomes me ;
O, pardon, that I name them : your high self.
The gracious mark* o'the land, you have obscur'd
With a swain's wearing ; and me, poor lowly maid.
Most goddess-like prank'd * up : But that our feasts
In every mess have folly, and the feeders
Digest it with a custom, I should blush
To see you so attir'd ; sworn, I think.
To show myself a glass.
Flo. I bless the time,
When my good falcon made her flight across
Thy father's ground.
Per. Now Jove afford you cause !
To me, the difference "^ forges dread ; your greatness
Hath not been us'd to fear. Even now I tremble
To think, your father, by some accident.
Should pass this way, as you did : O, the fates !
How would he look, to see his work, so noble.
Vilely bound up ? What would he say ? Or how
Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold
The sternness of his presence ?
Flo. Apprehend
Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves,
Humbling their deities to love, have taken
The shapes of beasts upon them : Jupiter
Became a bull, and bellow'd ; the green Neptune
A ram, and bleated ; and the fire-rob'd god.
Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain.
As I seem now : Their transformations
Were never for a piece of beauty rarer ;
Nor in a way so chaste : since my desires
Run not before mine honour.
Per. O but, dear sir.
Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis
Oppos'd, as it must be, by the power o'the king :
One of these two must be necessities.
Which then will speak ; that you must change this
purpose,
Or I my life.
Flo. Thou dearest Perdita,
! S!^® '"''** **'"• ' EXCCSSM.
' Object of all men's noUcs. * Dres»cd with ostentation.
• I.e. Of station.
Witli these forc'd thoughts, I pr'ythee, darken not
The mirth o'the feast : Or I'll be thine, ray fair.
Or not my father's : for I cannot be
Mine own, nor any thing to any, if
I be not thine : to this 1 am most constant.
Though destiny say, no. Be merry, gentle ;
Strangle such thoughts as these, with any thing
That you behold tlie while. Your guests are coming :
Lift up your countenance : as it were the day
Of celebration of that nuptial, which
We two have sworn shall come.
Per. O lady fortune.
Stand you auspicious !
Enter Shepherd, with Polixenes and Camillo,
disguised: Clown, Mofsa, Dorcas, and otfiers.
Flo See, your guests approach :
Address yourself to entertain them sprightly.
And let's be red with mirth.
Shep, Fye, daughter ! when my old wife liv'd,
upon
This day, she was both pantler, butler, cook ;
Both dame and servant : welcom'd all ; serv'd all :
Would sing her song, and dance her turn : now here.
At upper end o'the table, now, i'the middle ;
On his shoulder, and his : her face o'fire
With labour ; and the thing, she took to quench it,
She would to each one sip : You are retir'd.
As if you were a feasted one, and not
The hostess of the meeting : Pray you, bid
These unknown friends to us welcome : for it is
A way to make us better friends, more known.
Come, quench your blushes; and present yourself
That which you are, mistress o'the feast : Come on.
And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing.
As your good flock shall prosper.
Per. Welcome, sir I [ To Pol.
It is my father's will, I should take on .me
The hostess-ship o'the day : — You're welcome, sir!
[To Camillo.
Give me those flowers there, Dorcas. Reverend
sirs.
For you there's rosemary, and rue ; these keep
Seeming, and savour?, all the winter long :
Grace, and remembrance, be to you both.
And welcome to our shearing !
Pol. Shepherdess,
(A fair one are you,) well you fit our ages
With flowers of winter.
Per. Sir, the year growing ancient. —
Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth
Of trembling winter, — the fairest flowers o'the
season
Are our carnations, and streak'd gillyflowers,
Which some call nature's bastards : of that kind
Our rustick garden's barren ; and I care not
To get slips of them.
Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden.
Do you neglect them ?
Per. For 8 I have heard it said,
There is an art, wliich, in their piedness, shares
With great creating nature.
Pol. Say, there be ;
Yet nature is made better by no mean.
But nature makes that mean : so, o'er tliat art.
Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art
That nature makes. You sec, sweet maid, we marry
A gentle scion to the wildest stock ;
7 Likeneu and smelL
T 4
■ Because that.
280
WINTER'S TALE.
Act IV.
And make conceive a bark of baser kind
By bud of nobler race ; This is an art
Which does mend nature, — change it ratlier : but
The art itself is nature.
Per. So it is.
Pol. Then make your garden rich in gillyflowers,
And do not call them bastards.
Per. I'll not put
The dibble in earth to set one slip of them :
No more than, were I painted, I would wish
This youth should say, 'twere well Here's flowers
for you ;
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram ;
The marigold, that goes to bed with the sun,
And with him rises weeping ; these are flowers
Of middle summer, and, I think, they are given
To men of middle age : You are very welcome.
Cam. I should leave grazing, were I of your flock,
And only live by gazing.
Per. Out, alas !
You'd be so lean, that blasts of January
Would blow you through and through Now, my
fairest friend,
I would, I had some flowers o'the spring, that might
Become your time of day, — O Proserpine,
For the flowers now, that frighted, thou let'st fall
From Dis's 9 waggon ! daffodils.
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty ; violets dim
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes.
Or Cytherea's breath ; pale primroses,
That die unmarried, ere they can behold
Bright Phoebus in his strength ; bold oxlips and
The crown imperial ; lilies of all kinds,
The flower-de-luce being one ! O, these, I lack,
To make you garlands of; and my sweet friend,
To strew him o'er and o'er. — Come, take your
flowers :
Methinks, I play as I have seen them do
In Whitsun' pastorals : sure, this robe of mine
Does change my disposition.
Flo. What you do.
Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,
I'd have you do it ever : when you sing,
I'd have you buy and sell so ; so give alms ;
Pray so ; and, for the ordering your affairs,
To sing them too : When you do dance, I wish you
A wave o'the sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that ; move still, still so, and own
No other function : Each your doing,
So singular in each particular.
Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds.
That all your acts are queens.
Per. O Doricles,
Your praises are too large : but that your youth,
And the true blood, which fairly peeps through it.
Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd ;
With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,
You woo'd me the false way.
Flo. I think, you have
As little skill to fear, as I have purpose
To put you to't. — But, come ; our dance, I pray :
Your hand, my Perdita : so turtles pair.
That never mean to part.
Per. I'll swear for 'em.
Pol. This is the prettiest low-born lass, that ever
Ran on the green-sward : nothing she does, or seems,
But smacks of something greater than herself;
Too noble for this place.
9 Pluto.
Cam. He tells her something,
That makes her blood look out : Good sooth, she is
The queen of curds and cream.
Clo. Come on, strike up.
Dor. Mopsa must be your mistress.
Mop. In good time !
Clo. Not a word, a word ; we stand upon our
manners. —
Come, strike up. [_Musick.
Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses.
Pol. Pray, good shepherd, what
Fair swain is this, which dances with your daughter ?
Shep. They call him Doricles ; and he boasts
himself
To have a worthy feeding ' : but I have it
Upon his own report, and I believe it ;
He looks like sooth ^ : He says, he loves my
daughter ;
1 think so too ; for never gaz'd the moon
Upon the water, as he'll stand, and read.
As 'twere, my daughter's eyes : and, to be plain,
I think, there is not half a kiss to choose.
Who loves another best.
Pol. Slie dances featly.3
Shep. So she does any thing ; though I report it.
That should be silent : if young Doricles
Do light upon her, she shall bring him that
Which he not dreams of.
Filter a Servant.
Serv. O master, if you did but hear the pedler at
the door, you would never dance again after a tabor
and pipe ; no, the bagpipe could not move you : he
sings several tunes, faster than you'll tell money ;
he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all
men's ears grew to his tunes.
Clo. He could never come better : he shall come
in : I love a ballad but even too well : if it be
doleful matter, merrily set down ; or a very pleasant
thing indeed, and sung lamentably.
Serv. He hath songs, for man, or woman, of all
sizes ; no milliner can so fit his customers with
gloves.
Pol. This is a brave fellow.
Clo. Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable
conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares ? *
Serv. He hath ribands of all the colours i'the
rainbow ; points more than all the lavryers in Bo-
hemia can learnedly handle, though they come to
him by the gross ; inkles, caddisses ^, cambricks,
lawns : why, he sings them over, as they were gods
or goddesses.
Clo. Pr'ythee, bring him in; and let him ap-
proach singing.
Per. Forewarn him, that he use no scurrilous
words in his tunes.
Clo. You have of these pedlers, that have more
in 'em than you'd think, sister.
Per. Ay, good brother, or go about to think.
Enter Autolycus, singing.
Lawn, as white as driven snow ;
Cyprus, black as e'er was crow ;
Gloves, as sweet as damask roses ;
Masks for faces, and for noses ;
Bugle bracelet, necklace amber,
Perfume for a ladys chamber :
> A valuable tract of pasturage.
3 Neatly.
s A kind of tape.
2 Truth.
■i Plain goods.
Scene III.
WINTER'S TALE.
281
Golden quoifs, and stomachers,
For my lads to give their dears ;
Come, buy of me, com£ ; come buy, come bvy ;
Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry ;
Come, buy, <^c.
Clo. If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou
shouldst take no money of me ; but being enthrall'd
as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain ribands
and gloves.
Mop. I was promis'd them against the feast ; but
they come not too late now.
Clo. Have I not told thee, how I was cozened by
the way, and lost all my money ?
Aut. And, indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad j
therefore it behoves men to be wary.
Clo. Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing
here.
Aut. I hope so, sir : for T have about me many
parcels of charge.
Clo. What hast here? ballads?
Mop. Pray now, buy some : I love a ballad in
print, a'-life ; for then we are sure they are true.
Aut. Here's a ballad, of a fish, that appeared upon
the coast, on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty
tliousand fathom above water, and sung this ballad
against the hard hearts of maids : it was thought, she
was a woman, and was turned into a cold fish. The
ballad is very pitiful, and true.
Dor. Is it true, think you ?
Aut. Five justices' hands at it ; and witnesses,
more than my pack will hold.
Clo. Lay it by : Another.
Aut. This is a merry ballad ; but a very pretty one.
Mop. Let's have some merry one.
Aut. Why this ig a passing merry one ; and goes
to the tune of. Two maids wooing a man : there's
scarce a maid westward, but she sings it ; 'tis in re-
quest, I can tell you.
Mop. We can both sing it ; if thou'lt bear a part
thou shalt hear ; 'tis in three parts.
Dor. We had the tune on't a month ago.
Aut. I can bear my part ; you must know, 'tis
my occupation : have at it with you.
SONG.
A. Get you hence, for I must go ;
Where, itfts not you to know.
D. WhUhei'? M. 0, whUher? D. WliUher?
M. It becomes thy oath full well.
Thou to me thy secrets tell :
D. Me too, let me go thither.
M. Or thou go'st to the grange, or will :
D. If to either, thou dost ill.
A. Neither. D. fVhot, neither? A. Neither.
D. Thou hast sivom my love to be ;
M. Thou hast sworn it more to me :
Then, whither go'st 9 say, whither 9
Clo. We'll have tliis song out anon by ourselves ;
My father and the gentleman are in sad 6 talk, and
we'll not trouble tliem : Come, bring away thy pack
after me. Girls, I'll buy for you boUi : — - Pedler,
let's have the first choice. — Follow me, girls.
Aut. And you shall pay well for "em. [Aside.
Will you buy any tape.
Or lace for your cape.
My dainty duck, my dear-a 9
6 Serioui
Any silk, any thread,
Any toys for your head.
Of t lie new'st, andfin'st,Jin'st wear-a
Come to the pedler ;
Money^s a medler.
That doth utter 7 all mens wear-a.
[Exeunt Clown, Autolvcus, Dorcas,
and Mopsa.
Enter a Servant.
Serv. Master, there is three carters, three shep-
herds, three neat-herds, three swine-herds that have
made themselves all men of hair 8 ; they call them-
selves saltiers 9 : and they have a dance which the
wenches say is a gallimaufry < of gambols, because
they are not in't ; but they themselves are o'the niiud,
it will please plentifully.
Shep. Away ! we'll none on't; here has been too
much humble foolery already : — I know, sir, we
weary you.
Pol. You weary those that refresh us : Pray, let's
see these four threes of herdsmen.
Serv. One three of them, by their own report,
sir, hath danced before the kmg ; and not the worst
of the three, but jumps twelve foot and a half by the
squire. *
Shep. Leave your prating ; since these good men
are pleased, let them come in ; but quickly now.
Serv. Why, they stay at door, sir. [Exit.
Re-enter Servant, with twelve Rusticks habited like
Satyrs. They dance, and then exeunt.
Pol. O, father, you'll know more of that here-
after. —
Is it not too far gone? — 'Tis time to part them.
He's simple, and tells much. [Aside.] — How now,
fair shepherd ?
Your heart is full of something, that does take
Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young,
And handed love, as you do, I was wont
To load my she with knacks : I would have ran-
sack'd
The pedler's silken treasury, and have pour'd it
To her acceptance ; you have let him go.
And nothing marted 3 with him : if your lass
Interpretation should abuse ; and call this
Your lack of love, or bounty : you were straited
For a reply, at least, if you make a care
Of happy holding her.
Flo. Old sir, I know
She prizes not such trifles as these are :
The gifts, she looks from me, are pack'd and lock'd
Up in my heart ; which I have given already.
But not delivered O, hear me breatlie my life
Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem.
Hath sometime lov'd : I take thy hand, this hand,
As soft as dove's down, and as white as it ;
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow,
Tliat's bolted * by tlie northern blasts twice o'er.
Pol. What follows this?—
How prettily the young swain seems to wash
The hand, was fair before ! — I have put you out ;
But to your protestation ; let me hear
What you profess.
Eh' Do, and be witness to't.
I Sell. 8 Dressed themselves in habiU ImitaUne hair.
•SatyriL i Medley. ^
! Square, foot-rule. s Bought, trafficked.
< The sieve used to separate flour (torn bran is called a oolt-
ing-cloth.
282
WINTER'S TALE.
Act IV.
Pol, And this my neighbour too ?
Flo, And he, and more
Than he, and men ; the earth, the heavens, and all :
That, — were I crown'd the most imperial monarch,
Thereof most worthy ; were I the fairest youth
That ever made eye swerve ; had force, and know-
ledge.
More than was ever man's, — I would not prize them,
Without her love ; for her, employ them all j
Commend them, and condemn them, to her service.
Or to their own perdition.
Pol. Fairly offer'd.
Cam. This shows a sound affection.
Shep. But, my daughter.
Say you the like to him ?
Per. I cannot speak
So well, nothing so well ; no, nor mean better :
By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out
The purity of his.
Shep. Take hands, a bargain :
And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't :
I give my daughter to him, and will make
Her portion equal his.
Flo. O, that must be
I'the virtue of your daughter : one being dead,
I shall have more than you can dream of yet ;
Enough then for your wonder : But, come on,
Contract us 'fore these witnesses.
Shep. Come, your hand ; —
And, daughter, yours.
Pol. Soft, swain, awhile, 'beseech you ;
Have you a father ?
Flo. I have : But what of him ?
Pol. Knows he of this ?
Flo. He neither does, nor shall.
Pol. Methinks, a father
Is, at the nuptial of his son, a guest
That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more ;
Is not your father grown incapable
Of reasonable affairs ? is he not stupid
With age and altering rheums ? Can he speak ? hear ?
Know man from man ? dispute his own estate ? ^
Lies he not bed-rid ? and again does nothing.
But what he did being childish ?
Flo. No, good sir ;
He has his health, and ampler strength, indeed.
Than most have of his age.
Pol. By my white beard,
You offer him, if this be so, a wrong
Something unfilial : Reason, my son
Should choose himself a wife ; but as good reason,
The father, (all whose joy is nothing else
But fair posterity,) should hold some counsel
In such a business.
Flo. I yield all this ;
But, for some other reasons, my grave sir.
Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint
My father of this business.
Pol. Let him know't.
Flo. He shall not.
Pol, Pr'ythee, let him.
Flo. - No, he must not.
Shep. Let him, my son ; he shall not need to grieve
At knowing of thy choice.
Flo. Come, come, he must not : —
Mark our contract.
Pol. Mark your divorce, young sir,
{^Discovering himself.
Whom son I dare not call ; thou art too base
5 Talk over his afifairs.
To be acknowledg'd : Thou a scei)ter's heir.
That thus affect'st a sheep-hook ! — Thou old traitor,
I am sorry, that, by hanging thee, I can but
Shorten thy life one week. — And thou, fresh piece
Of excellent witchcraft ; who, of force must know
The royal fool thou cop'st with ;
Shep. O, my heart !
Pol. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briars, and
More homely than thy state. — For thee, fond boy, —
If I may ever know, thou dost but sigh.
That thou no more shalt see this knack, (as never
I mean thou shalt,) we'll bar thee from succession ;
Not hold thee of our blood, no not our kin.
Far 6 than Deucalion off: — Mark thou my words;
Follow us to the court. — Thou churl, for ^is time.
Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee
From the dead blow of it. — And you, enchant-
ment, —
Worthy enough a herdsman ; yea, him too.
That makes himself, but for our honour therein,
Unworthy thee, — if ever, henceforth, thou
These rural latches to his entrance open,
I will devise a death as cruel for thee,
As thou art tender to't, \^Exvt»
Per. Even here undone !
I was not much afeard ; for once or twice,
I was about to speak ; and tell him plainly.
The self-same sun, that shines upon his court.
Hides not his visage from our cottage, but
Looks on alike Wilt please you, sir, begone?
{To Florizel.
I told you, what would come of this : 'Beseech you.
Of your own state take care : this dream of mine, —
Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch further,
But milk my ewes, and weep.
Cam. Why, how now, father ?
Speak ere thou diest.
Shep. I cannot speak, nor think.
Nor dare to know that which I know. — O, sir,
\_To Florizel.
You have undone a man of fourscore three,
That thought to fill his grave in quiet ; yea.
To die upon the bed my father died,
To lie close by his honest bones : but now
Some hangman must put on my shroud, and lay me
Where no priest shovels-in dust. — O wretched girl !
[To Pereita.
That knew'st this was the prince, and wouldst ad-
venture
To mingle faith with him. — Undone ! undone !
If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd
To die when I desire. {Exit.
Flo. Why look you so upon me ?
I am but sorry, not afear'd ; delay'd.
But nothing alter'd : What I was, I am ;
More straining on, for plucking back ; not following
My leash 7 unwillingly.
Cam. Gracious my lord.
You know your father's temper : at this time
He will allow no speech, — which, I do guess.
You do not purpose to him ; — and as hardly
Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear :
Then, till the fury of his highness settle,
Come not before him.
Flo. I not purpose it.
I think, Camillo.
Cam. Even he, my lord.
Per. How often have I told you, 'twould be thus I
6 Further ? a leading-string.
Scene III,
WINTER'S TALE.
How often said, my dignity would last
But till 'twere known ?
Flo. It cannot fail, but by
The violation of my faith ; And then
Let nature crush tlie sides o'the earth together,
And mar the seeds within ! — Lift up thy looks : —
From my succession wipe me, father ! I
Am heir to my affection.
Cam. Be advis'd.
Flo. I am ; and by my fancy 8 : if my reason
Will thereto be obedient, I have reason ;
If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness,
Do bid it welcome.
Cam. This is desperate, sir.
Flo. So call it : but it does fulfil my vow ;
I needs must tliink it honesty. Camillo,
Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may
Be thereat glean'd ; for all the sun sees, or
The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide
In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath
To this my fair belov'd : Therefore, I pray you.
As you have ever been my father's friend.
When he shall miss me, (as, in faith, I mean not
To see him any more,) cast your good counsels
Upon his passion ; Let myself and fortune,
fug for the time to come. This you may know.
And so deliver, — I am put to sea
Willi her, whom here I cannot hold on shore ;
And, most opportune to our need, I have
A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd
For this design. What course I mean to hold.
Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor
Concern me the reporting.
Cam. O, my lord,
I would your spirit were easier for advice.
Or stronger for your need.
Flo. Hark, Perdita. [Takes her aside.
I'll hear you by and by. \^To Camillo.
Cam. He's irremovable,
Rcsolv'd for flight : Now were I happy, if
His going I could frame to serve my turn ;
Save him from danger, do him love and honour ;
Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia,
And that unhappy king, my master, whom
I so much thirst to see.
Flo. Now, good Camillo,
I am so fraught with curious business, that
I leave out ceremony. [^Going.
Cam. Sir, I think,
You have heard of my poor services, i'the love
That I have borne your father ?
Flo. Very nobly
Have you deserv'd : it is my father's musick.
To speak your deeds ; not little of his care
To have them recompens'd as thought on.
Cam, Well, my lord.
If you may please to think I love the king ;
And, through him, what is nearest to him, which is
Your gracious self; embrace but my direction,
(If your more ponderous and settled project
IVIay suffer alteration,) on mine honour
I'll point you where you shall have such receiving
As shall become your highness ; where you may
Enjoy your mistress ; (from the whom, I see,
There's no disjunction to be made, but by.
As heavens forefend ! your ruin :) marry her;
And (with my best endeavours, in your absence,)
Your discontenting 9 father strive to qualify.
And bring him up to liking.
* Love. » For discontented.
Flo. How, Camillo,
May this, almost a miracle, be done ?
That I may call thee something more than man.
And, after that, trust to thee.
Cam. Have you thought on
A place, whereto you'll go ?
Flo. Not any yet :
But as the unthought-on accident ' is guilty
To what we wildly do ; so we profess
Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies
Of every wind that blows.
Cam. Then list to me :
This follows, — if you will not change your purpose,
But undergo this flight : — Make for Sicilia ;
And there present yourself, and your fair princess,
(For so, I see, she must be,) 'fore Leontes;
She shall be habited, as it becomes
The partner of your bed. Methinks, I see
Leontes, opening his free arms, and weeping
His welcomes forth : asks thee, the son, forgiveness,
As 'twere i'the father's person : kisses the hands
Of your fresh princess : o'er and o'er divides him
'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness ; the one
He chides to hell, and bids the other grow.
Faster than thought, or time.
Flo. Worthy Camillo,
What colour for my visitation shall I
Hold up before him ?
Cam,. Sent by the king your father
To greet him, and to give him comforts. Sir,
The manner of your bearing towards him, with
What you, as from your father, shall deliver.
Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down :
The which shall point you forth at every sitting.
What you must say ; that he shall not perceive,
But that you have your father's bosom there.
And speaik his very heart.
Flo, I am bound to you :
There is some sap in this.
Cam. A course more promising
Than a wild dedication of yourselves
To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores ; most certain.
To miseries enough : no hope to help you ;
But, as you shake off one, to take anoUier :
Nothing so certain as your anchors : who
Do their best oflSce, if they can but stay you
Where you'll be loath to be : Besides, you know.
Prosperity's the very bond of love ;
Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together
Affliction alters.
Per. One of these is true :
I think, affliction may subdue the cheek.
But not take in « the mind.
Cam. Yea, say you so ?
There shall not, at your father's house, these seven
years.
Be bom another such.
Flo. My good Camillo,
She is as forward of her breeding, as
I'the rear of birth.
Cam. I cannot say, 'tis pity
Siie lacks instructions ; for she seems a mistress
To most that teach.
Per. Your pardon, sir, for this ;
I'll blush you thanks.
Flo. My prettiest Perdita
But, O, the thorns we stand upon ! — Camillo, —
Preserver of my father, now of me :
> The unexpected discovery made by Polixenes.
i Conquer.
284*
WINTER'S TALE.
Act IV.
Tlie medicin 3 of our house ! — how shall we do ?
We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son ;
Nor shall appear in Sicily
Cam. My lord,
Fear none of this : I tliink, you know, my fortunes
Do all lie there : it shall be so my care
To have you royally appointed, as if
The scene you play, were mine. For instance, sir,
That you may know you shall not want, — one word.
[ They talk aside.
Enter Autolycus.
Aut. Ha, ha ! what a fool honesty is ! and trust,
his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman ! I have
sold all my trumpery ; not a counterfeit stone, not
a riband, glass, pomander *, brooch, table-book,
ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tye, bracelet, horn-
ring, to keep my pack from fasting : they throng
who should buy first ; as if my trinkets had been
hallowed, and brought a benediction to the buyer :
by wliich means I saw whose purse was best in
picture ; and, what I saw, to my good use, I remem-
bered. My clown (who wants but something to be
a reasonable man,) grew so in love with the song,
that he would not stir his pettitoes, till he had both
tune and words ; wliich so drew the rest of the herd
to me, that all their other senses stuck in ears. I
would have filed keys off, that hung in chains : no
hearing, no feeling, but my sir's song, and admiring
the nothing of it. So that, in this time of lethargy,
I picked and cut most of their festival purses : and
had not the old man come in with a whoobub
against his daughter and the king's son, and scared
my choughs & from the chaff, I had not left a purse
alive in, the whole army.
[Camillo, Florizel, and Perdita, come
forward-
Cam. Nay, but my letters by this means being there
So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt.
Flo. And those that you'll procure from king
Leontes,
Cam. Shall satisfy your father.
■P^^' Happy be you !
All, that you speak, shows fair.
Cam. Who have we here ?
\^Seeing Autolycus.
We'll make an instrument of this ; omit
Nothing, may give us aid.
Avt. If they have overheard me now, why
hanging. [Aside.
Cam. How now, good fellow ? Why shakest thou
so? Fear not, man; here's no harm intended to
thee.
Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir.
Cam. Why, be so still ; here's nobody will steal
that from thee : Yet, for the outside of thy poverty,
we must make an exchange : therefore, disease thee
instantly, (thou must think, there's necessity in't,)
and change garments with this gentleman : Though
the pennyworth, on his side, be the worst, yet hold
thee, there's some boot.^
Aut. I am a poor fellow, sir : — I know ye well
enough. [AsUle.
Cam. Nay, pr'ythee, despatch : the gentleman is
half flayed already.
Aut. Are you in earnest, sir ? — I smell the trick
of it— [Aside.
3 Physician.
* A little ball made of perfumes, and worn to prevent
mfection in times of plague.
^ A bird resembling a jackdaw,
o Something over and above.
Flo. Despatch, I pr'ythee.
Aut. Indeed I have had earnest ; but I cannot
with conscience take it.
Cam. Unbuckle, unbuckle. —
[Flo. and Autol. exchange garments*
Fortunate mistress, — let my prophecy
Come home to you — you must retire yourself
Into some covert : take your sweetheart's hat,
And pluck it o'er your brows ; muflfle your face ;
Dismantle you : and as you can, disliken
The truth of your own seeming ; that you may,
( For I do fear eyes over you,) to shipboard
Get undescried.
Per. I see, the play so lies,
That I must bear a part.
Cam. No remedy. —
Have you done there ?
Flo. Should I now meet my father,
He would not call me son.
Cam. Nay, you shall have
No hat: — Come, lady, come. — Farewell, my friend.
Aut. Adieu, sir.
Flo. O Perdita, what have we twain forgot ?
Pray you, a word. [ They converse apart.
Cam. What I do next, shall be, to tell the king.
[Aside,
Of this escape, and whither they are bound j
Wherein, my hope is, I shall so prevail,
To force him after : in whose company
I shall review Sicilia ; for whose siglit
I have a woman's longing.
Flo, Fortune speed us ! —
Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side.
Cam. The swifter speed, the better.
[Exeunt Florizel, Perdita, and Camillo.
Aut. I understand the business, I hear it : To
have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is
necessary for a cut-purse : a good nose is requisite
also, to smell out work for the other senses. I see,
this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive.
What an exchange had this been, without boot?
what a boot is here, with this exchange ? Sure, the
gods do this year connive at us, and we may do any
thing extempore. The prince himself is about a piece
of iniquity ; stealing away from his father, with his
clog at his heels : If I thought it were not a piece
of honesty to acquaint the king withal, I would do't :
I hold it the more knavery to conceal it : and therein
am I constant to my profession.
Enter Clown and Shepherd.
Aside, aside ; — here is more matter for a hot brain :
Every lane's end, every shop, church, session, hang-
ing, yields a careful man work.
Clo. See, see ; what a man you are now ! there
is no other way, but to tell the king she's a change-
ling, and none of your flesh and blood.
Shep. Nay, but hear me.
Clo. Nay, but hear me.
Shep. Go to then.
Clo. She being none of your flesh and blood,
your flesh and blood has not offended the king;
and, so, your flesh and blood is not to be punished
by him. Show those things you found about her.
This being done, let the law go whistle ; I warrant
you.
Shep. I will tell the king all, every word, yea,
and his son's pranks too ; who, I may say, is no
honest man neither to his father, nor to me, to go
about to make me the king's brother-in-law.
Scene III.
WINTER'S TALE.
'285
Clo. Indeed, brother-in-law was the furthest off
you could have been to him ; and then your blood
had been the dearer, by I know how much an ounce.
Aut. Very wisely ; puppies ! [Aside.
Shep. Well ; let us to the king : there is that in
this fardel 7, will make him scratch his beard.
Aut. I know not what impediment tliis complaint
may be to the flight of my master.
Clo. 'Pray heartily he be at palace.
Aut. Though I am not naturally honest, I am so
sometimes by chance : — Let me pocket up my
pedler's beard [Takes off his false beard.'] How
now, rusticks ? whither are you bound ?
Shcp. To the palace, an it like your worship.
Aut. Your affairs there? what? with whom? the
condition of that fardel, the place of your dwelling,
your names, your ages, of what having 8, breeding,
and any tiling that is fitting to be known, discover.
Clo. We are but plain fellows, sir.
Aut. A lie ; you are rough : Let me have no
lying; it becomes none but tradesmen, and they
often give us soldiers the lie : but we pay them for
it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel ; therefore
they do not give us the lie.
Clo. Your worship had like to have given us one,
if you had not taken yourself with the manner. 9
Shep. Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir?
Aut. Whether it like me, or no, I am a courtier.
Seest thou not the air of the court, in these enfold-
ings? hath not my gait in it, the measure of the
court ? receives not thy nose court-odour from me ?
reflect I not on thy baseness, court-contempt?
Think'st thou, for tliat I insinuate, or toze ' from
thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier ? I am
courtier cap-a-pe ; and one that will either push
on, or pluck back thy business there : whereupon I
command thee to open thy affair.
Shep. My business, sir, is to the king.
Avt. What advocate hast thou to him?
Shep. I know not, an't like you.
Cb. Advocate's tlie court-word for a pheasant j
say, you have none.
Shep. None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen.
Aut. How bless'd are we, that are not simple men !
Yet nature might have made me as these are,
Therefore I'll not disdain.
Clo. Tliis cannot be but a great courtier.
Shep. His garments are rich, but he wears them
not handsomely.
Clo. He seerns to be the more noble in being
fantastical ; a great man, I'll warrant ; I know, by
the picking on's teeth.
Atit. The fardel there ? what's i' the fardel ?
Wherefore tliat box ?
Shep. Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel,
and box, which none must know but the king ;
and wliich he shall know within this hour, if I may
come to the speech of him.
Aut. Age, thou hast lost thy labour.
Shep. Why, sir?
Aut. The king is not at the palace ; he is gone
aboard a new ship to purge melancholy, and air
himself: For if thou be'st capable of things serious,
tliou must know, the king is full of grief.
Shep. So 'tis said, sir ; about his son, that should
have married a shepherd's daughter.
Aut. If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let
him fly ; the curses he shall have, the tortures he
" Bundle, parcel
• In the fact.
" Estate, property.
1 I cajole or force.
shall feel, will break the back of man, tlie heart of
monster.
Clo. Tliink you so, sir ?
Aut. Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make
heavy, and vengeance bitter; but those that are
germane * to him though removed fifty times, shall
all come under the hangman : which though it be
great pity, yet it is necessary. An old sheep-
whistling rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have his
daughter come into grace ! Some say, he shall be
stoned ; but that death is too soft for him, say I :
Draw our throne into a sheep-cote ! all deaths are
too few, the sharpest too easy.
Clo. Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you hear,
an't like you, sir ?
Aut. He has a son, who shall be flayed alive ;
then, 'nointed over with honey, set on the head of a
wasp's nest ; then stand, till he be three quarters
and a dram dead : then recovered again with aqua-
vitae, or some other hot infusion : then, raw as he is,
and in the hottest day prognostication proclaims',
shall he be set against a brick-wall, the sun looking
with a southward eye upon him ; where he is to be-
hold him, with flies blown to death. But what talk
we of these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to
be smiled at, their offences being so capital ? Tell
me, (for you seem to be honest plain men,) what
you have to the king : being something gently con-
sidered*, I'll bring you whare he is aboard, tender
your persons to his presence, whisper him in your
behalfs ; and, if it be in man, besides the king, to
effect your suits, here is the man shall do it.
Clo. He seems to be of great authority : close
with him, give him gold ; and though authority be
a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with
gold : show the inside of your purse to the outside
of his hand, and no more ado : Remember stoned,
and flayed alive.
Sheju An't please you, sir, to undertake the bu-
siness for us, here is that gold I have : I'll make it
as much more ; and leave this young man in pawn,
till I bring it you.
Aut. After I have done what I promised ?
Shep. Ay, sir.
Aut. Well, give me the moiety ; — Are you a
party in this business ?
Clo. In some sort, sir ; but though my case be a
pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flayed out of it.
Avi. O, that's the case of the shepherd's son : —
Hang him, he'll be made an example.
Clo. Comfort, good comfort : we must to the
king, and show our strange sights ; he must know,
'tis none of your daughter nor my sister ; we are
gone else. Sir, I will give you as much as this old
man does, when the business is performed ; and re-
main, as he says, your pawn, till it be brought you.
Aut. I will trust you. Walk before toward the
sea side; go on the right hand; I will but look
upon the hedge, and follow you.
Clo. We are blessed in this man, as 1 may say ;
even blessed.
Shep. Let's before, as he bids us : he was pro-
vided to do us good. [Exeunt Shepherd and Clown.
Aut. If I had a mind to be honest, I see, fortune
would not suffer me; she drops booties in my mouth.
I am courted now with a double occasion ; gold,
and a means to do the prince my master good ;
which, who knows how tliat may turn back to my
s Related. * The hottest day foretold in the almanack.
* Being handsomely bribed.
286
WINTER'S TALE.
Act V.
advancement ? I will bring these two moles, these
blind ones, aboard him : if he think it fit to shore
them again, and that the complaint they have to the
king concerns him nothing, let him call me, rogue.
for being so far officious ; for I am proof against
that title, and wliat shame else belongs to't: To
him will I present them, there may be matter in it.
[ExU.
ACT V.
SCENE I. ~ Sicilia. A Room in the Palace of
Leontes.
Enter Leontes, Cleomenes, Dion, Paulina, and
others.
Cleo. Sir, you have done enough, and have per-
form'd
A saint-like sorrow : no fault could you make,
"Which you have not redeem'd ; indeed paid down
More penitence than done trespass : At the last.
Do, as the heavens have done ; forget your evil ;
With them, forgive yourself.
Leon. Whilst I remember
Her, and her virtues, I cannot forget
My blemishes in them ; and so still think of
The wrong I did myself: which was so much,
*l'hat heirless it hath made my kingdom ; and
Destroy' d the sweet'st companion, that e'er man
Bred his hopes out of.
Paul. True, too true, my lord :
If, one by one, you wedded all the world.
Or, from the all that are, took something good.
To make a perfect woman ; she you kill'd.
Would be unparallel'd.
Leon. I think so. Kill'd !
She I kill'd? I did so : but thou strik'st me
Sorely, to say I did ; it is as bitter
Upon thy tongue, as in my thought : Now, good
now,
Say so but seldom.
C2eo. Not, at all, good lady :
You might have spoken a thousand things that
would
Have done the time more benefit, and grac'd
Your kindness better.
Paul. You are one of those.
Would have him wed again.
Dion. If you would not so.
You pity not the state, nor the remembrance
Of his most sovereign dame ; consider little.
What dangers, by his highness' fail of issue.
May drop upon his kingdom, and devour
Incertain lookers-on. What were more holy.
Than to rejoice, the former queen is well ?
What holier, than, — for royalty's repair.
For present comfort and for future good, —
To bless the bed of majesty again
With a sweet fellow to't ?
Paid. There is none worthy.
Respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods
Will have fulfill'd their secret purposes :
For has not the divine Apollo said,
Is't not the tenour of his oracle.
That king Leontes shall not have an heir.
Till his lost child be found ? which, that it shall,
Is all as monstrous to our human reason.
As my Antigonus to break his grave.
And come again to me ; who, on my life.
Did perish with the infant. 'Tis your counsel,
My lord should to the heavens be contrary.
Oppose against their wills. — Care not for issue ;
[^To Leontes.
The crown will find an heir : Great Alexander
Left his to the worthiest ; so his successor
Was like to be the best.
Leon. Good Paulina, —
Who hast the memory of Hermione,
I know in honour. — O, that ever I
Had squar'd me to thy counsel ! — then, even now,
I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes ;
Have taken treasure from her lips,
Paul. And left them
More rich, for what they yielded.
Leon. Thou speak'st truth.
No more such wives; therefore, no wife: one worse,
And better us'd, would make her sainted spirit
Again possess her corpse ; and, on this stage,
(Where we offenders now appear,) soul-vex'd
Begin, And why to me ?
Paul. Had she such power.
She had just cause.
Leon. She had : and would incense me
To murder her I married.
Paul I should so :
Were I the ghost that walk'd, I'd bid you mark
Her eye ; and tell me, for what dull part in't
You chose her : then I'd shriek, that even your ears
Should rift^ to hear me; and the words that follow'd
Should be, Remember mine.
L.eon. Stars, very stars.
And all eyes else dead coals ! — fear thou no wife,
I'll have no wife, Paulina.
Paul. Will you swear
Never to marry, but by my free leave ?
Leon. Never, Paulina ; so be bless'd my spirit !
Paul. Then, good my lords, bear witness to his
oath.
Cleo. You tempt him over-much.
Paul. Unless another.
As like Hermione as is her picture.
Affront 8 his eye.
Cleo. Good madam, — —
Paul. I have done.
Yet, if my lord will marry, — if you will, sir.
No remedy, but you will ; give me the office
To choose you a queen : she shall not be so young
As was your former ; but she shall be such.
As, walk'd your first queen's ghost, it should take joy
To see her in your arms.
Leon. My true Paulina,
We shall not marry, till thou bidd'st us.
Paid. That
Shall be, when your first queen's again in breath ;
Never till then.
Enter a Gentleman.
Gent. One that gives out himself prince Florizel,
Son of Polixenes, with his princess, (she
The fairest I have yet beheld,) desires access
To your high presence.
5 Split. 6 Meet,
Scene I.
WINTER'S TALE.
287
Leon. ■ What with him ? he comes not
Like to his father's greatness : his approach,
So out of circumstance, and sudden, tells us,
'Tis not a visitation fram'd, but forc'd
By need, and accident. What train ?
Gent. But few,
And those but mean.
Leon. His princess, say you, with him?
Gent. Ay; the most peerless piece of earth, I
think.
That e'er the sun shone bright on.
Paul. O Hermione,
As every present time doth boast itself
Above a better, gone ; so must thy grave
Give way to what's seen now. Sir, you yourself
Have said, and writ so, (but your writing now
Is colder than that theme,) She had not been
Nor ivas not to be equalCd ; — thus your verse
Flow'd with her beauty once ; 'tis shrewdly ebb'd,
To say, you have seen a better.
Gent. Pardon, madam :
The one I have almost forgot; (your pardon,)
The other, when she has obtain'd your eye.
Will have your tongue too. This is such a creature.
Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal
Of all professors else ; make proselytes
Of who she but bid follow.
Paul. How ? not women ?
Gent. Women will love her, that she is a woman
More worth than any man ; men, that she is
The rarest of all women.
Leon. Go, Cleomenes:
Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends.
Bring them to our embracement. — Still 'tis strange,
[^Exetint Cleomenes, Lords, and Gentleman.
He thus should steal upon us.
Paul. Had our prince,
(Jewel of children,) seen this hour, he had pair'd
W^ell with this lord ; tliere was not full a month
Between their births.
Leon. Pr'ythee, no more ; thou know'st,
He dies to me again, when talk'd of: sure.
When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches
Will bring me to consider that, which may
Unfurnish me of reason. — They are come. — —
lie enter Cleomenes, with Florizel, Perdita,
and Attendants.
Your mother was most true to wedlock, prince ;
For she did print your royal father off.
Conceiving you : Were I but twenty-one,
Your father's image is so hit in you.
His very air, that I should call you brother.
As I did him ; and speak of something, wildly
By us perform'd before. Most dearly welcome !
And your fair princess, goddess ! — O, alas !
I lost a couple, that 'twixt heaven and earth
Might thus have stood, begetting wonder, as
You, gracious couple, do ! and then I lost
(All mine own folly,) the society,
Amity too, of your brave father ; whom,
Tliough bearing misery, I desire my life
Once more to look upon.
Flo. By his command
Have I here touch 'd Sicilia : and from him
Give you all greetings, that a king, at friend.
Can send his brother : and, but infirmity
(Which waits upon worn times,) hath something
seiz'd
His Dvish'd ability, he had himself
The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his
Measur'd, to look upon you ; whom he loves
(He bade me say so,) more than all the scepters.
And those tliat bear them, living.
Leon. O, my brother,
( Good gentleman) the wrongs I have done tliee, stir
Afresh within me ; and these thy offices,
So rarely kind, are as interpreters
Of my behind-hand slackness ! — Welcome hither,
As is the spring to the earth. And hath he too
Expos'd this paragon to the fearful usage
( At least, ungentle,) of tlie dreadful Neptune,
To greet a man, not worth her pains ; much less
The adventure of her person?
Flo. Good my lord,
She came from Libya.
Leon. Where the warlike Smalus,
That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd, and lov'd ?
JFYo. Most royal sir, from thence : from him, whose
daughter
His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her : thence
(A prosperous south-wind friendly,) we have cross'd.
To execute the charge my father gave me.
For visiting your highness : My best train
I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss'd ;
Who for Bohemia bend, to signify
Not only my success in Libya, sir.
But my arrival, and my wife's in safety
Here, where we are.
Leon. The blessed gods
Purge all infection from our air, whilst you
Do climate here ! You have a holy father,
A graceful gentleman ; against whose person,
So sacred as it is, I have done sin :
For which the heavens, taking angry note.
Have left me issueless ; and your fatlier's bless'd,
(As he from heaven merits it,) with you.
Worthy his goodness. What might I have been.
Might I a son and daughter now have look'd on.
Such goodly things as you ?
Enter a Lord.
Lord. Most noble sir.
That which I shall report, will bear no credit,
Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir,
Bohemia greets you from himself, by me :
Desires you to attach ' his son ; who has
(His dignity and duty both cast off,)
Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with
A shepherd's daughter.
Leon. Where's Bohemia ? speak.
Lord. Here in the city ; I now came from him :
I speak amazedly ; and it becomes
My marvel, and my message. To your court
Whiles he was hast'ning, (in the cliase, it seems.
Of this fair couple,) meets he on the way
The father of this seeming lady, and
Her brother, having both their country quitted
With this young prince.
Fh. Camillo has betray'd me ;
Whose honour, and whose honesty, till now,
Endur'd all weathers.
Lord. Lay't so, to his charge ;
He's with the king your father.
Leon. Who? Camillo?
Lord. Camillo, sir ; I spake with him ; who now
Has these poor men in question. 8 Never saw I
Wretches so quake : they kneel, they kiss the earth ;
Forswear tliemselves as often as they siieak :
Seize, arrest
« Coaversation.
288
WINTER'S TALE.
Act V.
Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them
With divers deatlis in death.
Per. O, my poor father ! —
The heaven set spies upon us, will not have
Our contract celebrated.
Leon. You are married?
Flo. We are not, sir, nor are we like to be ;
The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first : —
The odds for high and low's alike.9
Leon. My lord,
Is this the daughter of a king ?
Flo. She is,
When once she is my wife.
Leon. That once, I see, by your good father's
speed,
Will come on very slowly. 1 am sorry.
Most sorry, you have broken from his liking.
Where you were tied in duty : and as sorry.
Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty.
That you might well enjoy her.
Flo. Dear, look up :
Though fortune, visible an enemy.
Should chase us, with my father i power no jot
Hath she, to change our loves. — 'Beseech you, sir.
Remember since you ow'd no more to time
Than I do now : with thought of such affections.
Step forth mine advocate ; at your request,
My father will grant precious things, as trifles.
Leon. Would he do so, I'd beg your precious
mistress.
Which he counts but a trifle.
Paul. Sir, my liege.
Your eye hath too much youth in't : not a month
'Fore your queen died, she was more worth such
gazes,
Than what you look on now.
Leon. I thought of her.
Even in these looks I made. — But your petition
{^To Florizel.
Is yet vmanswer'd : I will to your father ;
Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires,
I am a friend to them, and you : upon which errand
I now go toward him ; therefore, follow me.
And mark what way I make : Come, good my lord.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II. — Before the Palace.
Enter Autolycus and a Gentleman.
Aut. 'Beseech you, sir, were you present at this
relation ?
1 Gent. I was by at the opening of the fardel,
heard the old shepherd deliver the manner how he
found it : whereupon, after a little amazedness, we
were all commanded out of the chamber ; only this
methought I heard the shepherd say, he found the
child.
Aut. I would most gladly know the issue of it.
1 Gent. I make a broken delivery of the business;
— But the changes I perceived in the king, and
Camillo, were very notes of admiration : they seemed
almost, with staring on one another, to tear the
cases of their eyes ; there was speech in their dumb-
ness, language in their very gesture ; they looked,
as they had heard of a world ransomed, or one de-
stroyed : A notable passion of wonder appeared in
them : but the wisest beholder, that knew no more
but seeing, could not say, if the importance ' were
joy, or sorrow : but in the extremity of the one, it
must need J, be.
9 A quibble on the false dice so called.
' The thing imported.
Enter another Gentleman.
Here comes a gentleman, that, happily, knows more :
The news, llogero?
2 Gent. Nothing but bonfires : The oracle is ful-
filled ; the king's daughter is found : such a deal
of wonder is broken out within this hour, that bal-
lad-makers cannot be able to express it.
Enter a third Gentleman.
Here comes the lady Paulina's steward ; he can de-
liver you more. — How goes it now, sir ? this news,
which is called true, is so like an old tale, that the
verity of it is in strong suspicion : Has the king found
his heir?
3 Gent. Most true ; if ever truth were pregnant
by circumstance ; that which you hear, you'll
swear you see, there is such unity in the proofs.
The mantle of queen Hermione : — her jewel about
the neck of it : — tlie letters of Antigonus, found
with it, which they know to be his character :
the majesty of the creature, in resemblance of the
mother ; — the affection ^ of nobleness, which nature
shows above her breeding, — and many other evi-
dences, proclaim her, with all certainty, to be the
king's daughter. Did you see the meeting of the
two kings ?
2 Gent. No.
3 Gent. Then have you lost a sight, which was
to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might you
have beheld one joy crown another ; so, and in such
manner, that it seemed, sorrow wept to take leave
of them ; for their joy waded in tears. There was
casting up of eyes, holding up of hands; with
countenance of such distraction, that they were to
be known by garment, not by favour. 3 Our king,
being ready to leap out of himself for joy of his
found daughter ; as if that joy were now become a
loss, cries, 0, thy mother, thy mother ! then asks
Bohemia forgiveness ; then embraces his son-in-law;
then again worries he his daughter, with clipping •*
her ; now he thanks the old shepherd, which stands
by, like a weather-beaten conduit of many kings'
reigns. I never heard of such another encounter,
which lames report to follow it, and undoes de-
scription to do it.
2 Gent. What, pray you, became of Antigonus,
that carried hence the child ?
3 Gent. Like an old tale still ; which will have
matter to rehearse, though credit be asleep, and not
an ear open : He was torn to pieces with a bear :
this avouches the shepherd's son ; who has not only
his innocence (which seems much) to justify him,
but a handkerchief, and rings, of his, that Paulina
knows.
1 Gent. What became of his bark, and his fol-
lowers ?
3 Gent. Wreck'd, the same instant of their mas-
ter's death ; and in the view of the shepherd : so that
all the instruments, which aided to expose the child,
were even then lost, when it was found. But, O,
the noble combat, that, 'twixt joy and sorrow, was
fought in Paulina ! She had one eye declined for
the loss of her husband ; another elevated that the
oracle was fulfilled : She lifted the Princess from
the earth ; and so locks her in embracing, as if she
would pin her to her heart, that she might no more
be in danger of losing.
2 Disposition or quality.
4 Embracing.
3 Countenance, features.
-II
Scene II.
WINTER'S TALE.
1 Gent. The dignity of this act was worth the
audience of kings and princes ; for by such was it
acted.
3 Gent. One of the prettiest touches of all, and
that which angled for mine eyes (caught the water,
though not the fish,) was, when at the relation of
the queen's death, with the manner how she came
to it, (bravely confessed, and lamented by tlie king,)
how attentiveness wounded his daughter : till, from
one sign of dolour to another, she did, with an alas !
I would fain say, bleed tears ; for, I am sure, my
heart wept blood. Who was most marble there,
changed colour ; some swooned, all sorrowed : if
all the world could have seen it, the woe had been
universal.
1 Gent. Are they returned to the court ?
8 Gent. No : the princess hearing of her mother's
statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina, — a piece
many years in doing, and now newly performed by
that rare Italian master, Julio Romano ; who, had
he himself eternity, and could put breath into his
work, would beguile nature of her custom, so per-
fectly he is her ape : he so near to Hermione hath
done Hermione, that, they say, one would speak to
her, and stand in hope of answer : thither with all
greediness of affection, are they gone; and there
they intend to sup.
2 Geni. I thought, she had some great matter
tliere in hand ; for she hath privately, twice or
thrice a day, ever since the deatli of Hermione,
visited that removed house. Shall we thither, and
with our company piece the rejoicing ?
1 Gent. Who would be thence, that has the be-
nefit of access ? every wink of an eye, some new
grace will be born ; our absence makes us unthrifty
to our knowledge. Let's along.
[Exeunt Gentlemen.
^ut. Now, had I not the dash of my former life
in me, would preferment drop on my head. I
brought the old man and his son aboard the prince ;
told him, I heard liim talk of a fardel, and I know
not what : but he at tliat time, over-fond of the
shepherd's daughter, (so he then took her to be,)
who began to be much sea-sick, and himself little
better, extremity of weather continuing, this mys-
tery remained undiscovered. But 'tis all one to me :
for had I been the finder-out of this secret, it would
not have relished among my other discredits.
Enter Shepherd and Clown.
Here come those I have done good to against
my will, and already appearing in the blossoms of
their fortune.
Shep. Come, boy ; I am past more children ; but
thy sons and daughters will be all gentlemen born.
Clo. You are well met, sir : You denied to fight
with me this other day, because I was no gentleman
bom : See you these clothes ? say, you see them
not, and think me still no gentleman born : you
were best say, these robes are not gentlemen born.
Give me the lie ; do ; and try whetlier I am not
now a gentleman born.
^tit. I know, you are now, sir, a gentleman born.
Clo. Ay, and have been so any time these four
hours.
Shep. And so have I, boy.
Clo. So you have : — but I was a gentleman bom
before my father : for tlie king's son took me by the
hand, and called me, brotlier: and tlien the two
kings called my father, brother; and then the
prince, my brother, and the princess, my sister,
called my father, father; and so we wept: and
there was the first gentleman-like tears that ever
we shed.
Shep. We may live, son, to shed many more.
Clo. Ay ; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so
preposterous estate as we are.
Aut. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all
tlie faults I have committed to your worship, and
to give me your good report to the prince my
master.
Shep. Pr'ythee, son, do ; for we must be gentle,
now we are gentlemen.
Clo. Thou wilt amend thy life ?
Aut. Ay, an it like your good worship.
Clo. Give me thy hand: I will swear to the
prince, thou art as honest a true fellow as any is in
Bohemia. — Hark ! the kings and the princes, our
kindred, are going to see the queen's picture. Come,
follow us : we'll be thy good masters. [Exeunt.
SCENE III. — ^ Room in Paulina'* House.
Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Florizel, Perdita,
Camillo, Paulina, Lords, and Attendants.
Leon. O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort
That I have had of thee !
Paul. What, sovereign sir,
I did not well, I meant well : All my services.
You have paid home : but that you have vouchsaf 'd
With your crown'd brother, and these your con-
tracted
Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit.
It is a surplus of your grace, which never
My life may last to answer.
Leon. O Pauli/ia,
We honour you with trouble : But we came
To see the statue of our queen : your gallery
Have we pass'd through, not without much content
In many singularities ; but we saw not
That which my daughter came to look upon,
The statue of her mother.
Paul. As she liv'd peerless.
So her dead likeness, I do well believe,
Excels whatever yet you look'd upon.
Or hand of man hath done ; therefore I keep it
Lonely, apart : But here it is : prepare
To see the life as lively mock'd, as ever
Still sleep mock'd death: behold; and say, 'tis well.
[Paulina undraws a Curtain, and discovers
a Statue.
I like your silence, it the more shows off
Your wonder : But yet speak ; — first, you, my
liege,
Comes it not something near ?
Leon. Her natural posture ! —
Chide me, dear stone ; that I may say, indeed.
Thou art Hermione : or, rather, thou art she.
In thy not chiding ; for she was as tender,
As infancy, and grace But yet, Paulina,
Hermione was not so much wrinkled ; nothing
So aged, as this seems.
Pot. O, not by much.
Paul' So mudi the more our carver's excel-
lence ;
Wliich lets go by some sixteen years, and makes her
As she liv'd now.
Leon. As now she might have done,
So much to my good comfort, as it is
Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood,
U
290
WINTER'S TALE.
Act V.
Even with such life of majesty, (warm life,
As LOW it coldly stands,) when first I woo'd her !
1 am asham'd : Does not the stone rebuke me,
For being more stone than it ? — O, royal piece.
There's magick in thy majesty ; which has
My evils conjur'd to remembrance ; and
From thy admiring daughter took the spirits,
Standing like stone with thee !
Per, And give me leave ;
And do not say, 'tis superstition, that
I kneel, and then implore her blessing. — Lady,
Dear queen, that ended when I but began,
Give me that hand of yours, to kiss.
Paid' O, patience ;
The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's
Not dry.
Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on
Wliich sixteen winters cannot blow away.
So many summers, dry : scarce any joy
Did ever so long live ; no sorrow.
But kill'd itself much sooner.
Pol. Dear my brother.
Let him, that was the cause of this, have power
To take off* so much grief from you, as he
Will piece up in himself.
Paul' Indeed, my lord.
If I had thought the sight of my poor image
Would thus have wrought you, (for the stone is
mine,)
I'd not have show'd it.
Leon. Do not draw the curtain.
Paul. No longer shall you gaze on*t ; lest your
fancy
May think anon, it moves.
Leon. Let be, let be.
Would I were dead, but that, methinks already —
What was he, that did make it ? — See, my lord,
Would you not deem, it breath'd? and that those
veins
Did verily bear blood ?
Pol. Masterly done :
The very life seems warm upon her lip.
Leon. The fixure of her eye has motion in't
As^ we are mock'd with art.
Paul. I'll draw the curtain ;
My lord's almost so far transported, that
He'll think anon, it lives.
Leon. O sweet Paulina,
Make me to think so twenty years together ;
No settled senses of the world can match
The pleasure of that madness. Left alone.
Paul. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you :
but
I could afflict you further.
Leon. Do, Paulina;
For this affliction has a taste as sweet
As any cordial comfort. — Still, methinks.
There is an air comes from her : What fine chizzel
Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock
me.
For I will kiss her.
Paul. Good my lord, forbear :
The ruddiness upon her lip is wet ;
You'll mar it, if you kiss it ; stain your own
With oily painting : Shall I draw the curtain ?
Leon. No, not these twenty years.
Per. So long could I
Stand by, a looker on.
Paul. Either forbear,
5 A8i£
Quit presently the chapel ; or resolve you
For more amazement : If you can behold it,
I'll make the statue move indeed ; descend.
And take you by the hand : but then you'll think,
(Which I protest against,) I am assisted
By wicked powers.
Leon. What you can make her do,
I am content to look on : what to speak
I am content lo hear : for 'tis as easy
To make her speak, as move.
Paul. It is required
You do awake your faith : Then, all stand still ;
Or those, that think it is unlawful business
I am about, let them depart.
Leon. Proceed ;
No foot shall stir.
Paul. Musick ; awake her : strike.—
[Musick.
'Tis time ; descend ; be stone no more : approach :
Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come :
I'll fill your grave up : stir ; nay, come away ;
Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him
Dear life redeems you. — You perceive she stirs :
[Hermione comes down from the Pedestal.
Start not : her actions shall be holy, as.
You hear, my spell is lawful : do not shun her.
Until you see her die again ; for then
You kill her double : Nay, present your hand :
When she was young, you woo'd her; now, in
age,
Is she become the suitor.
Leon. O, she's warm ! {^Embracing her.
If this be magick, let it be an art
Lawful as eating.
Pol. She embraces him.
Cam. She hangs about his neck ;
If she pertain to life, let her speak too.
Pol. Ay, and make't manifest where she has
liv'd.
Or, how stolen from the dead ?
Paul. That she is living.
Were it but told you, should be hooted at
Like an old tale ; but it appears, she lives
Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while. —
Please you to interpose, fair madam ; kneel.
And pray your mother's blessing. — Turn, good
lady ;
Our Perdita is found.
{^Presenting Perdita, who kneels to
Hermione.
Her. You gods, look down.
And from your sacred vials pour your graces
Upon my daughter's head ! — Tell me, mine own.
Where hast thou been preserv'd ? where liv'd ? how
found
Thy father's court ? for thou shalt hear, that I, —
Knowing by Paulina, that the oracle
Gave hope thou wast in being, — have preserv'd
Myself, to see the issue.
Paul. There's time enough for that ;
Lest they desire, upon this push, to trouble
Your joys with like relation. — Go together.
You precious winners all ; your exultation
Partake to every one. I, an old turtle.
Will wing me to some wither'd bough ; and there
My mate, that's never to be found again.
Lament till I am lost.
Leon. O peace, Paulina ;
Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent.
As I by thine, a wife : this is a match,
Scene III.
WINTERS TALE.
292
And made between's by vows. Thou hast found
mine;
But how, is to be question'd : for I saw her,
As I thought, dead ; and have, in vain, said many
A prayer upon her grave : I'll not seek far
(For him, I partly know his mind,) to find thee
An honourable husband : — Come, Camillo,
And take her by the hand ; whose wortli, and
honesty,
Is richly noted ; and here justified
By us a pair of kings. — Let's from this place. —
What ? — Look upon my brother : — both your
pardons.
That e'er I put between your holy looks
My ill suspicion. — This your son-in-law,
And son unto the king, (whom heavens directing,)
Is troth-plight to your daughter, — Good Paulina,
Lead us from hence ; where we may leisurely
Each one demand, and answer to his part
Perform'd in this wide gap of time, since first
We were dissevered : Hastily lead away.
[Exeunt.
V 2
o/
x<
^
COMEDY OF EllRORS-
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
SoLiNus, Buhe o^Ephesus.
.•Eg EON, a Merchant ©^Syracuse.
A ^ f u r Twin Brothers, and Sons
Antjpholus of Syracuse, I , , , . , .,
•^ "^ [^ but unknown to each other.
Dromio of Ephesus, 1 r«ri/i Brothers and Attend-
Dromio of Syracuse, J ants on the two Antipholus's.
Balthazar, a Merchant.
Angelo, o Goldsmith.
A Merchant, Friend to Antipholus of Syracuse.
Pinch, a Schoolmaster, and a Conjurer.
Emilia, Wife to ^geon, an Abbess at Ephesus.
Adriana« JVife to Antipholus of Ephesus.
LuciANA, her Sister.
Luce, her Servant.
A Courtezan.
Gaoler, Officers, and otfier Attendants,
SCENE, Ephesus.
PLKAU YOG TO UE, FAIH IJiME t I KNOW VOD NOT.
COMEDY OF ERRORS
ACT I.
SCENE \. — A Hall in the Duke'5 Palace.
Enter Duke, JEgeoh, Gaoler, Officers, and other
Attendants.
uEge- Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fail,
And, by the doom of death, end woes and all.
Duke. Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more ;
I am not partial to infringe our laws :
The enmity and discord, which of late
Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke
To merchants, our well dealing countrymen, —
Who, wanting gilders 1 to redeem their lives.
Have seal'd his rig'rous statutes with their bloods, —
Excludes all pity from our threat'ning looks,
For, since the mortal and intestine jars
'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us.
It hath in solemn synods been decreed.
Both by the Syracusans and ourselves,
To admit no traffick to our adverse towns :
Nay, more.
If any born at Ephesus, be seen
At any Syracusan marts and fairs ;
Again, If any Syracusan born.
Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies.
His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose ;
Unless a thousand marks be levied,
To quit the penalty, and to ransome him.
Thy substance valued at the highest rate,
Cannot amount unto a hundred marks ;
Therefore, by law thou art condemn'd to die.
JEge. Yet this my comfort ; when your word-s
are done,
My woes end likewise with the evening sun.
' Name of a coin.
Duke. Well, Syracusan, say, in brief, the cause
Why thou departedst from thy native home ;
And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus.
jEge. A heavier task could not have been impos'd
Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable :
Yet, that the world may witness, that my end
Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence,
I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave.
In Syracusa was I born ; and wed
Unto a woman, happy but for me.
And by me too, had not our hap been bad.
With her I Jiv'd in joy ; our wealth increas'd,
By prosperous voyages I often made
To Epidamnum, till ray factor's death ;
And he (great care of goods at random left)
Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse
From whom my absence was not six months old.
Before herself (almost at fainting under
The pleasing punishment that women bear,)
Had made provision for her following me,
And soon, and safe, arrived where I was.
There she had not been long, but she became
A joyful mother of two goodly sons ;
And which was strange, the one so like the other,
As could not be distinguished but by names.
That very hour, and in the self-same inn,
A poor mean woman was delivered
Of such a burden, male twins, both alike :
Those, for their parents were exceeding poor, "
I bought, and brought up to attend my sons.
My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys.
Made daily motions for our home return :
Unwilling I agreed ; alas, too soon.
We came aboard :
II
Act I. Scene I.
COMEDY OF ERRORS.
293
A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd,
Before the always-wind-obeying deep
Gave any tragic instance of our harm :
But longer did we not retain much hope ;
For what obscured light the heavens did grant
Did but convey unto our fearful minds
A doubtful warrant of immediate death ;
Which, though myself would gladly have embrac'd,
Yet the incessant weepings of my wife,
Weeping before for what she saw must come,
And piteous plainings of the pretty babes,
That mourn'd for fasluon, ignorant what to fear,
Forc'd me to seek delays for them and me.
And this it was, — for other means was none. —
The sailors sought for safety by our boat.
And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us :
My wife, more careful for the elder born,
Had fasten 'd him unto a small spare mast.
Such as sea-faring men provide for storms ;
To him one of the other twins was bound,
Whilst I had been like heedful of the other.
The children thus dispos'd, my wife and I,
Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd,
Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast ;
And floating straight, obedient to the stream.
Were carried towards Corinth, as we thought.
At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,
Dispers'd those vapours that offended us ;
And, by the benefit of his wish'd light,
The seas wax'd calm, and we discover'd
Two ships from far making amain to us.
Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this :
But ere they came, — O, let me say no more !
Gather the sequel by that went before.
Duke. Nay, forward, old man, do not break oflTso ;
For we may pity, though not pardon thee.
JEge. O, had the gods done so, I had not now
Worthily term'd them merciless to us !
For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues.
We were encounter'd by a mighty rock ;
Which being violently borne upon.
Our helpful ship was splitted in the midstt
So that, in this unjust divorce of us.
Fortune had left to both of us alike
What to delight in, what to sorrow for.
Her part, poor soul ! seeming as burdened
With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe.
Was carried with more speed before the wind ;
And in our sight they three were taken up
By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.
At length, another ship had seiz'd on us ;
And, knowing whom it was their hap to save,
Gave helpful welcome to their shipwreck'd guests ;
And would have reft '• the fishers of their prey.
Had not their bark been very slow of sail,
And therefore homeward did they bend their
course. —
Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss ;
TTiat by misfortunes was my life prolong'd.
To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.
Duke. And, for the sake of them thou sorrowest
for,
Do me the favour to dilate at full
What hath befallen of them, and thee, till now.
^ge. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,
At eighteen years became inquisitive
After his brother ; and importun'd me.
That his attendant, (for his case was like.
Red of his brother, but retain'd his name,)
« Bereft, deprived.
Might bear him company in the quest of him :
Whom whilst I labour'd of a love to see
I hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd.
Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece,
Roaming clean 3 through the bounds of Asia,
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus ;
Hopeless to find, yet loth to leave unsought.
Or that, or any place that harbours men.
But here must end the story of my life ;
And happy were I in my timely death.
Could all my travels warrant me they live.
Duke. Hapless iEgeon, whom the fates have
mark'd
To bear the extremity of dire mishap !
Now, trust me, were it not against our laws.
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,
Wliich princes, would they, may not disannul.
My soul should sue as advocate for thee
But, though thou art adjudged to the death,
And passed sentence may not be recall'd.
But, to our honour's great disparagement.
Yet will I favour thee in what I can :
Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day
To seek thy help by beneficial help :
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus ;
Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum, *
And live ; if not, then thou art doom'd to die : —
Gaoler, take him to thy custody.
Gaol. I will, my lord.
jEge. Hopeless, and helpless, doth JEgeon wendS
But to procrastinate liis lifeless end. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. — A puhlick Place.
Enter Antipholus and Dromio of Syracuse, and «
Merchant.
Mer. Therefore, give out, you are of Epidamnum
Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate.
This very day, a Syracusan merchant
Is apprehended for arrival here ;
And, not being able to buy out his life,
According to the statute of the town,
Dies ere the weary sun set in the west.
There is your money tliat I had to keep.
Ant. S. Go bear it to the Centaur, where w« host.
And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee.
Within this hour it will be dinner-time :
Till that I'll view the manners of the town.
Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings.
And then return, and sleep within mine inn ;
For with long travel I am stiff and weary.
Get thee away.
Dro. S. Many a man would take you at your word.
And go indeed, having so good a mean.
[Edt Dro. S.
Ant. S. A trusty villain*, sir ; that very oft.
When I am dull with care and melancholy.
Lightens my humour with his merry jests.
What, will you walk with me about the town,
And then go to my inn, and dine with me?
Mer. I am invited, sir, to certain merchants.
Of whom I hope to make much benefit ;
I crave your pardon. Soon, at five o'clock,
Please you, I'll meet with you upon the mart.
And afterwards consort you till bed-time;
My present business calls me from you now.
Ant. S. ' Farewell till then : I will go lose myself,
And wander up and down, to view the city.
* Ga
3 Clear, completely.
» i e. Servant
U 3
294
COMEDY OF ERRORS.
Act 11.
Mer. Sir, I commend you to your own content.
[Exit Merchant.
Ant. S. He that commends me to mine own con-
tent,
Commends me to the thing I cannot get,
I to the world am like a drop of water.
That in the ocean seeks another drop ;
Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,
Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself:
So I, to find a mother, and a brother.
In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.
E7iter Dromio of Ephesus.
Here comes the almanack of my true date, —
What now ? How chance, thou art retum'd so soon ?
Dro. JE. Return'd so soon ! rather approach'd too
late:
The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit ;
The clock has strucken twelve upon the bell.
My mistress made it one upon my cheek :
She is so hot, because the meat is cold ;
The meat is cold, because you come not home ;
You come not home, because you have no stomach ;
You have no stomach, having broke your fast ;
But we, that know what 'tis to fast and pray.
Are penitent for your default to-day.
Ant. S. Stop in your wind, sir ; tell me this, I
pray ;
Where have you left the money that 1 gave you ?
Dro. E. O, — sixpence, that I had o' Wednesday
last,
To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper ; —
The saddler had it, sir, I kept it not.
Ant. S. I am not in a sportive humour now :
Tell me, and dally not, where is the money ?
We being strangers here, how dar'st thou trust
So great a charge from thine own custody?
Dro. E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner :
I from my mistress come to you in post ;
If I return, I shall be post indeed ;
For she will score your fault upon my pate.
Methinks, your maw, like mine, should be your
clock.
And strike you home without a messenger.
Ant. S. Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out
of season ;
Reserve them till a merrier hour than this :
Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee ?
Dro. E. To me, sir ? why you gave no gold to me.
Ant. S. Come on, sir knave, have done your fool-
ishness.
And tell me, how thou hast dispos'd thy charge.
Dro. E. My charge was but to fetch you from the
mart
Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner ;
My mistress, and her sister, stay for you.
Ant. S. Now, as I am a christian, answer me,
In what safe place you have bestow'd my money ;
Or I shall break that merry sconce ^ of yours.
That stands on tricks when I am undispos'd :
Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me ?
Dro. E. I have some marks of yours upon my pate,
Some of my mistress' marks upon my shoulders.
But not a thousand marks between you both. —
If I should pay your worship those again.
Perchance, you will not bear them patiently.
Ant. S. Thy mistress' marks ! what mistress, slave,
hast thou ?
Dro. E. Your worship's wife, my mistress at the
Phoenix :
She that doth fast, till you come home to dinner.
And prays, that you will hie you home to dinner.
Ant. S. What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my
face.
Being forbid ? There, take you that, sir knave.
Dro. E. What mean you, sir ? for heaven's sake,
hold your hands ;
Nay, an you will not, sir, I'll take my heels.
[Exit Dromio, E.
A)it. S. Upon my life, by some device or other,
The villain is o'er-raught 7 of all my money.
They say, this town is full of cozenage ;
As, nimble jugglers, that deceive the eye,
Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks.
And many such like liberties of sin ;
If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner.
I'll to the Centaur, to go seek this slave ;
1 greatly fear my money is not safe. [Exit*
ACT 11.
SCENE l. — Apuhlick Place.
Enter Adriana and Luciana.
Adr. Neither my husband, nor the slave return'd.
That in such haste I sent to seek his master !
Sure, Luciana, it is two o'clock.
Luc. Perhaps, some merchant hath invited him.
And from the mart he's somewhere gone to dinner.
Good sister, let us dine, and never fret :
A man is master of his liberty :
Time is their master ; and, when they see time.
They'll go, or come : if so, be patient, sister.
Adr. Why should their liberty than ours be more ?
Luc. Because their business still lies out o'door.
Adr. Look, when I serve him so, he takes it ill.
Luc. O, know, he is the bridle of your will.
Adr. There's none but asses will be bridled so.
Luc. Why headstrong liberty is lash'd with woe.
There's nothing situate under heaven's eye.
But hath his bound, in earth, in sea, in sky :
The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls.
Are their males' subject, and at their controls :
Men, more divine, the masters of all these.
Lords of the wide world, and wild wat'ry seas,
Indued with intellectual sense and souls.
Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls.
Are masters to their females, and their lords :
Then let your will attend on their accords.
Adr. This servitude makes you to keep unwed.
Luc. Not this, but troubles of the marriage bed.
Adr. But were you wedded, you would bear some
sway.
Luc. Ere I learn love, I'll practise to obey.
Adr. How if your husband start some other
where ?
Luc. Till he come home again, I would forbear.
Adr. Patience, unmov'd, no marvel though she
pause ;
They can be meek, that have no other cause.
6 Head. 7 Over-reached.
Scene I.
COMEDY OF ERRORS.
295
A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity,
We bid be quiet, when we hear it cry ;
But were we burden'd with like weight of pain,
As much, or more, we should ourselves complain :
So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee.
With urging helpless patience wouldst relieve me :
But if thou live to see like right bereft.
This fool-begg'd patience in tliee will be left.
Luc. Well, I will marry one day, but to try ; —
Here comes your man, now is your husband nigh.
Enter Dkomxo of Ephesus.
Adr. Say, is your tardy master now at hand ?
Dro. E. Nay, he is at two hands with me, and
that my two ears can witness.
Adr. Say, didst thou speak with him ? know'st
thou his mind ?
Dro. E. Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear :
Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it.
Luc. Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not feel
his meaning?
Dro. E. Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too
well feel his blows ; and withal so doubtfully, that
I could scarce understand them. 8
Adr. But say, I pr'ythee, is he coming home ?
It seems, he hath great care to please his wife.
Dro. E. Why, mistress, sure my master is stark
mad :
When I desir'd him to come home to dinner.
He ask'd me for a thousand marks in gold :
^Tis dinner-time, quoth I ; My gold, quoth he :
Your meat doth bum, quoth I ; Mt/ gold, quoth he :
WiU you conie home 9 quoth I ; My gold, quoth he :
Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, vUlain 9
The pig, quoth I, is burnd; My gold, quoth he :
My mistress, sir, quoth I ; Hang up thy mistress ;
I know not thy mistress j out on thy mistress!
Luc. Quoth who?
Dro. E. Quoth my master :
/ know, quoth he, no house, no wife, no mistress ; —
So that my errand, due unto my tongue,
I thank him, I bear home upon my shoulders ;
For, in conclusion, he did beat me there.
Adr. Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him
home.
Dro. E. Go back again, and be new beaten home?
For heaven's sake, send some other messenger.
Adr. Back, slave, or I will break thy pate across.
Dro. E. And he will bless that cross with other
beating :
Between you I shall have a holy head.
Adr. Hence, prating peasant ; fetch thy master
home.
Dro. E. Am I so round with you, as you with me.
That like a football you do spurn me thus ?
You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither :
If I last in this service, you must case me in leather.
lExU.
Luc. Fye, how impatience lowreth in your face.
Adr. His company must do his minions grace.
Whilst I at home starve for a merry look.
Hath homely age the alluring beauty took
From my poor cheek? then he hath wasted it:
Are my discourses dull ? barren my wit ?
If voluble and sharp discourse be marr'd,
Unkindness blunts it, more than marble hard.
Do their gay vestments his affections bait ?
That's not my fault, he's master of my state :
* i.e. Scarce stand under them.
What ruins are in me, that can be found
By him not ruin'd? then is he the ground
Of my defeatures 9 : My decayed fair '
A sunny look of his would soon repair ;
But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale,
And feeds from home ; poor I am but his stale. '^
Luc. Self-arming jealousy ! — fye, beat it hence.
Adr. Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dis-
pense,
I know his eye doth homage otherwhere ;
Or else, what lets 3 it but he would be here ?
Sister, you know, he promis'd me a chain ; —
Would that alone alone he would detain,
So he would keep fair quarter with his bed !
I see, the jewel, best enamelled.
Will lose his beauty ; and though gold 'bides still.
That others touch, yet often touching will
Wear gold : and so no man, that hath a name,
But falsehood and corruption doth it shame.
Since that my beauty cannot please his eye,
I'll weep what's left away, and weeping die.
Luc. How many fond fools serve mad jealousy !
lExcunt.
SCENE U. — Tliesame.
Enter Antipholus ©^Syracuse.
Ant. S. The gold, I gave to Dromio, is laid up
Safe at the Centaur ; and the heedful slave
Is wander'd forth, in caro to seek me out.
By computation, and mine host's report,
I could not speak with Dromio, since at first
I sent him from the mart : See, here he comes.
Enter Dromio of Syracuse.
How now, sir? is your merry humour alter'd ?
As you love strokes, so jest with me again.
You know no Centaur, you receiv'd no gold?
Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner?
My house was at the Plioenix ? Wast tliou mad.
That thus so madly thou didst answer me ?
Dro. S. What answer, sir ? when spake I such a
word ?
Ant. S. Even now, even here, not half an hour
since.
Dro. S. I did not see you since you sent me hence.
Home to the Centaur, with the gohl you gave me.
Ant. S. Villain, thou didst deny the gold's receipt;
And told'st me of a mistress, and a dinner;
For which, I hope, thou felt'st I was displeas'd.
Dro. S. 1 am glad to see you in this merry vein :
What means this jest? I pray you, master, tell me.
Ant. S. Yea, dost thou jeer, and flout me in the
teeth ?
Think'st thou, I jest? Hold, take thou that, and
that. [Beating him.
Dro. S Hold, sir, for heaven's sake : now your
jest is earnest :
Upon what bargain do you give it me?
Ant. S. Because that I familiarly sometimes
Do use you for my fool, and chat with you.
Your sauciness will jest upon my love,
And make a common of my serious hours.
When the sun shines, let foolish gnats make sport.
But creep m crannies, when he hides his beams.
If you will jest with me, know my aspect *,
And fashion your demeanour to my looks.
Or I will beat this method in your sconce.
• Alteration of featurw.
« SfalkinR-horsc.
* Study my countenance.
U 4
Fair, for fairnesa.
Hinder*.
296
COMEDY OF ERRORS.
Act II. Scene II.
Dro. S. Sconce, call you it ? ho you would leave
battering, I had rather have it a head : an you use
these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head,
and insconce ^ it too ; or else I shall seek my wit in
my shoulders. But, I pray, sir, why am I beaten ?
Ant. S. Dost thou not know ?
Dro. S. Nothing, sir ; but that I am beaten.
Ant. S. Shall I tell you why ?
Dro. S. Ay, sir, and wherefore ; for, they say,
every why hath a wherefore.
Ant. S. Why, first, —for flouting me ; and then,
wherefore, —
For urging it the second time to me.
Dro. S. Was there ever any man thus beaten out
of season ?
When, in the why, and the wherefore, is neither
rhyme nor reason ? —
Well, sir, I thank you.
Ant. S. Thank me, sir ? for what.
Dro. S. Marry, sir, for this something that you
gave me for nothing.
Aiit. S. I'll make you amends next, to give you
nothing for something. But say, sir, is it dinner-
time ?
Dro. S. No, sir ; I think, the meat wants that I
have.
Ant. S. In good time, sir, what's that ?
Dro. S. Basting.
Ant. S. Well, sir, then 'twill be dry.
Dro. S. If it be, sir, I pray you eat none of it.
Ant. S. Your reason ?
Dro. S. Lest it make you cholerick, and purchase
me another dry basting.
Ant. S. Well, sir, learn to jest in good time ;
There's a time for all things.
Dro. S. I durst have denied that, before you were
so cholerick.
Ant. S. By what rule, sir ?
Dro. S. Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain
bald pate of father Time himself.
Ant. S. Let's hear it.
Dro. S. There's no time for a man to recover his
hair, that grows bald by nature.
Ant. S. May he not do it by fine and recovery ?
Dro. S. Yes, to pay a fine for a peruke, and^
recover the lost hair of another man.
Ant. S. Why is time such a niggard of hair,
being, as it is, so plentiful ?
Di'o. S. Because it is a blessing that he bestows
on beasts : and what he hath scanted men in ha'r .
he hath given them in wit.
Ant. S. Why, but there's many a man hath more
hair than wit.
Dro. S. Not a man of those, but he hath the wit
to lose his hair.
Ant. S. Why, thou didst conclude hairy men
plain dealers without wit.
Dro. S. The plainer dealer, the sooner lost : Yet
he loseth it in a kind of jollity.
Ant. S. For what reason ?
Dro. S. For two ; and sound ones too.
Ant. S. Nay, not sound, I pray you.
Dro. S. Sure ones then.
Ant. S. Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing.
Dro. S. Certain ones then.
Ant. S. Name them.
Dro. S. The one, to save the money that he
spends in tiring ; the other, that at dinner they
should not drop in his porridge.
* A sconce was a fortification.
Ant. S. You would all this time have proved,
there is no time for all things.
Dro. S. Marry, and did, sir ; namely, no time to
recover hair lost by nature.
Ant. S. But your reason was not substantial,
why there is no time to recover.
Dro. S. Thus I mend it : Time himself is bald,
and therefore, to the world's end, will have bald
followers.
A7it. S. I knew it would be a bald conclusion :
But soft ! who wafts ^ us yonder ?
Enter Adriana and Luciana.
Adr. Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown :
Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects,
I am not Adriana, nor thy wife.
The time was once, when thou unurg'd wouldst vow
That never words were music to thine ear.
That never object pleasing in thine eye.
That never touch well- welcome to thy hand,
That never meat sweet-savour'd in thy taste.
Unless I spake, look'd, touch'd, or carv'd to thee.
How comes it now, my husband, oh, how comes it
That thou art then estranged from thyself ?
Thyself I call it, being strange to me.
That, undividable, incorporate.
Am better than thy dear self's better part.
Ah, do not tear away thyself from me ;
For know, my love, as easy mayst thou fall
A drop of water in the breaking gulph,
And take unmingled thence that drop again,
Without addition, or diminishing,
As take from me thyself, and not me too.
How dearly would it touch thee to the quick,
Shouldst thou but hear I were licentious ?
And that this body, consecrate to thee.
By ruflSan lust should be contaminate ?
Wouldst thou not spit at me, and spurn at me,
And hurl the name of husband in my face.
And tear the stain'd skin off my harlot brow.
And from my false hand cut the wedding ring,
And break it with a deep-divorcing vow ?
Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed ;
I live dis-stain'd, thou undishonoured.
Ant. S. Plead you to me, fair dame ? I know
you not :
In Ephesus I am but two hours old.
As strange unto your town, as to your talk ;
Who, every word by all my wit being scann'd.
Want wit in all one word to understand.
Luc. Fye, brother ! how the world is chang'd
with you :
When were you wont to use my sister thus ?
She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner
Ant. S. By Dromio ?
Dro. S. By me ?
Adr. By thee : and this thou didst return from
him, —
That he did buffet thee, and in his blows
Denied my house for his, me for his wife.
Ant. S. Did you converse, sir, with this gentle-
woman ?
What is the force and drift of your compact ?
Dro. S. 1, sir ? I never saw her till this time.
Ant. S. Villain, thou liest; for even her very
words
Didst thou deliver to me on the mart.
Dro. S. I never spake with her in all my life.
« Beckons.
Act III. Scene I.
COMEDY OF ERRORS.
297
j4nt. S. How can she thus then call us by our
names,
Unless it be by inspiration ?
Adr. How ill agrees it with your gravity,
To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave ?
Abetting Iiim to thwart me in my mood ?
Be it my wrong, you are from me exempt,
But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt.
Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine :
Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine ;
Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state.
Makes me with thy strength to communicate :
If aught possess thee from me, it is dross,
Usurping ivy, briar, or idle 7 moss ;
Who, all for want of pruning, with intrusion
Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion.
Jnt. S. To me she speaks ; she moves me for her
theme :
What, was I married to her in my dream ?
Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this ?
What error drives our eyes and ears amiss ?
Until I know this sure uncertainty,
I'll entertain the offer'd fallacy.
Luc. Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner.
JDro. S. O, for my beads ! I cross me for a sinner.
This is the fairy land ; — O, spite of spites ! —
We talk with goblins, owls, and elvish sprites ;
If we obey them not, this will ensue,
They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue.
Luc. Why prat'st tliou to thyself, and answer'st
not?
Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot !
Dro. S. I am transfonn'd, master, am not I ?
Ant. S. I think, thou art, in mind, and so am I.
Dro. S. Nay, master, both in mind, and in my
shape.
Ant. S. Thou hast thine own form.
Dro. S. No, I am an ape.
Luc. If thou art chang'd to aught, 'tis to an ass.
Dro, S. 'Tis true ; she rides me, and I long for
' Tis so, I am an ass ; else it could never be,
But I should know her as well as she knows me.
Adr. Come, come, no longer will I be a fool.
To put the finger in the eye and weep,
Whilst man, and master, laugh my woes to
scorn. —
Come sir, to dinner ; Dromio, keep the gate : —
Husband, I'll dine above with you to-day.
And shrive 9 you of a thousand idle pranks :
Sirrah, if any ask you for your master.
Say, he dines forth, and let no creature enter. —
Come, sister : — Dromio, play the porter well.
Ant. S. Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell ?
Sleeping or waking ? mad, or well-advis'd ?
Known unto these, and to myself disguis'd
I'll say as they say, and pers^ver so.
And in this mist at all adventures go.
Dro. S. Master, shall I be porter at the gate ?
Adr. Ay ; and let none enter, lest I break your
pate.
Luc. Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late.
[Exeunt,
ACT III.
SCENE I. — The same.
Enter Antipholus ©/"Ephesus, Dromio of Ephesus,
Angelo, atid Balthazar.
Ant. E. Good signior Angelo, you must excuse
us all ;
My wife is shrewish, when I keep not hours :
Say, that I linger'd with you at your shop, ,
To see the making of her carkanet 8,
And that to-morrow you will bring it home.
But here's a villain, that would face me down
He met me on the mart ; and that I beat him.
And cliarg'd him with a thousand marks in gold.
And that I did deny my wife and house : —
Tliou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this?
Dro- E. Say what you will, sir, but I know what
I know :
That you beat me at the mart, I have your hand to
show :
If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave
were ink.
Your own handwriting would tell you what I think.
Ant. E. I think, thou art an ass.
Dro. E. Marry, so it doth appear
By the wrongs I suffer, and the blows I bear.
I should kick, l)eing kick'd ; and, being at that
pass.
You would keep from my heels, and beware of an
7 Unfruitful, barren.
• A necklace strung with pcarU.
Ant. E. You are sad, signior Balthazar : 'Pray
heaven, our cheer
May answer my good will, and your good welcome
here.
Bal. I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your
welcome dear.
Ant. E. O, signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish,
A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty
dish.
Bal. Good meat, sir, is common ; that every churl
affords.
Ant. E. And welcome more common ; for that's
nothing but words.
Bal. Small cheer and great welcome, makes a
merry feast.
Ant. E. Ay, to a niggardly host, and more spar-
ing guest ;
But though my cates ' be mean, take them in good
part;
Better cheer may you have, but not with better
heart.
But, soft ; my door is lock'd : Go bid them let
us in.
Dro. E. Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian,
Jen' !
Dro. S. [iruhin.] Mome«, malt-horse, capon,
coxcomb, idiot, patch ! 3
Either get thee from the door, or sit down at the
hatch.
9 Hear your confession.
> Blockhead
> Dishes of meat.
» Fool
298
COMEDY OF ERRORS.
Act III.
Dro. E. What patch is made our porter ? My
master stays in the street.
Dro. S. Let him walk from whence he came, lest
he catch cold on's feet.
Ant. E. Who talks within there? ho, open the
door.
Dro. S. Right, sir, I'll tell you when, an you'll
tell me wherefore ?
Ant. E. Wherefore, for my dinner j I have not
din'd to-day.
Dro, S. Nor to-day here you must not ; come
again when you may.
Ant. E. What art thou, that keep'st me out from
the house I owe ? 4
Dro. S. The porter for this time, sir, and my
name is Dromio.
Dro. E. O villain, thou hast stolen both mine
office and my name ;
The one ne'er got me credit, the other mickle blame.
If thou hadst been Dromio to-day in my place,
Thou wouldst have chang'd thy face for a name, or
thy name for an ass.
Luce. [^lYAm.] What a coils is there? Dromio,
who are those at the gate ?
Dro. E. Let thy master in, Luce.
Luce. Faith, no ; he comes too late ;
And so tell your master.
Dro. E. O Lord, I must laugh : —
Have at you with a proverb. — Shall I set in my
staff?
Luce. Have at you with another : that's, — When?
can you tell ?
Dro. S. If thy name be call'd Luce, Luce, thou
hast answer'd him well.
Ant. E. Do you hear, you minion ? you'll let us
in, I hope ?
Luce. I thought to have ask'd you.
Dro. S. And you said, no.
Dro. E. So, come, help ; well struck ; there was
blow for blow.
Ant. E. Thou baggage, let me in.
Luce. Can you tell for whose sake ?
Dro. E. Master, knock the door hard.
Luce. Let him knock till it ake.
Ant. E. You'll cry for this, minion, if I beat the
door down.
Luce. What needs all that, and a pair of stocks
in the town ?
Adr. \_WUhin.'\ Who is that at the door, that
keeps all this noise?
Dro. S. By my troth, your town is troubled with
unruly boys.
Ant. E. Are you there, wife? you might have
come before.
Adr. Your wife, sir knave ! go, get you from the
door.
Dro. E. If you went in pain, master, this knave
would go sore.
Ang. Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome; we
would fain have either.
Bed. In debating which was best, we shall part 6
with neither.
Dro. E» They stand at the door, master ; bid
them welcome hither.
Ant. E. There is something in the wind that we
cannot get in.
Dro. E. You would say so, master, if your gar-
ments were thin.
* I own, am owner of.
« Take part.
» Bustle, tumult.
Your cake here is warm within ; you stand here in
the cold :
It would make a man mad as a buck, to be so bought
and sold.
Ant. E. Go, fetch me something, I'll break ope
the gate.
Dro. S. Break any breaking here, and I'll break
your knave's pate.
Dro. E. Here's too much, out upon thee ! I pray
thee, let me in.
Dro. S. Ay, when fowls have no feathers, and
fish have no fin.
Ant. E. Well, I'll break in ; Go, borrow me a crow.
Dro. E. A crow without a feather; master, mean
you so?
For a fish without a fin, there's a fowl without a
feather :
If a crow help us in, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow
together.
Ant. E. Go, get thee gone, fetch me au iron crow.
Bed. Have patience, sir ; O, let it not be so ;
Herein you war against your reputation.
And draw within the compass of suspect
The unviolated honour of your wife.
Once this, — Your long experience of her wisdom.
Her sober virtue, years, and modesty.
Plead on her part some cause to you unknown ;
And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse
Why at this time the doors are made? against you.
Be rul'd by me ; depart in patience.
And let us to the Tiger all to dinner :
And, about evening, come yourself alone,
To know the reason of this strange restraint.
If by strong hand you offer to break in.
Now in the stirring passage of the day,
A vulgar comment will be made on it ;
And that supposed by the common rout
Against your yet ungalled estimation.
That may with foul intrusion enter in.
And dwell upon your grave when you are dead :
For slander lives upon succession ;
For ever hous'd, where it once gets possession.
Ant. E. You have prevail'd; I will depart in quiet,
And, in despight of mirth, mean to be merry.
I know a wench of excellent discourse, —
Pretty and witty ; wild, and, yet too, gentle ; —
There will we dine : this woman that I mean.
My wife (but, I protest, without desert,)
Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal ;
To her will we to dinner. — Get you home,
And fetch the chain ; by this 8, I know, 'tis made :
Bring it, I pray you, to the Porcupine ;
For there's the house : that chain will I bestow
( Be it for nothing but to spite my wife,)
Upon mine hostess there : good sir, make haste :
Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me,
I'll knock elsewhere, to see if they'll disdain me.
Ang. I'll meet you at that place, some hour hencej
Ant. E. Do so ; This jest shall cost me some eX-
pence. [Exeur
SCENE II. — The same.
Enter Luciana, and Antipholus of Syracuse..
Luc. If you did wed my sister for her wealth.
Then, for her wealth's sake, use her with moi
kindness :
Or if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth ;
Muffle your false love with some show of blindness:
Made fast
By this time.
^
Scene II.
COMEDY OF ERRORS.
Let not my sister read it in your eye ;
Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator ;
Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty ;
Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger :
Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted ;
Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint ;
Be secret- false : What need she be acquainted?
What simple thief brags of his own attaint ?
'Tis double wrong, to truant with your bed,
And let her re^ it in thy looks at board :
Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed ;
111 deeds are doubled with an evil word.
Alas, poor women ! make us but believe,
Being compact of credit, that you love us ;
Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve ;
We in your motion turn, and you may move us,
Then, gentle brother, get you in again ;
Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife :
'Tis holy sport, to be a little vain 9,
When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife.
Ant. S. Sweet mistress, (what your name is else,
I know not,
Nor by what wonder you do hit on mine,)
Less, in your knowledge, and your grace, you show
not,
Than our earth's wonder; more than earth di-
vine.
Teach me, dear croature, how to think and speak ;
Lay open to my earthly gross conceit,
Smother'd in errors, feeble,- shallow, weak,
The folded meaning of your words' deceit.
Against my soul's pure truth why labour you,
To make it wander in an unknown field ?
Are you a goddess ? would you make me new ?
Transform me then, and to your power I'll yield.
But if that I am I, then well I know.
Your weeping sister is no wife of mine.
Nor to her bed no homage do I owe ;
Far more, far more, to you do I decline.
O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, ]
To drown me in thy sister's flood of tears j
Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote :
Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs.
Luc. What, are you mad, that you do reason so ?
Ant. S. Not mad, but mated ' ; how, I do not know.
Luc It is a fault that springeth from your eye.
Ant. S. For gazing on your beams, fair sun,
being by.
Luc. Gaze where you should, and that will clear
your sight.
Ant. S. As good to wink, sweet love, as look on
night.
Luc. Why call you me love ? call my sister so.
Ant. S. Thy sister's sister.
Luc. That's my sister.
Ant S. No;
It is thyself, mine own selfs better part ;
Mine eye's clear eye, my dear heart's dearer heart.
Luc. All this my sister is, or else should be.
Ant. S. Call thyself sister, sweet, for I aim thee :
Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life ;
Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife ;
Give me thy hand.
Luc. O, soft, sir, hold you still :
I'll fetch my sister, to get her goodwill. [Exit Luc.
s Vain, is light of tongue.
1 1, e. Confounded.
Enter, from the House of Antipholus of Ephesus,
Dromio of Syracuse.
Ant. S. Why, how now, Dromio? where run'st
thou so fast.
Dro. S. Do you know me, sir ? am I Dromio ?
am I your man? am I myself?
Ant. S. Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou
art thyself.
Zfro. S. I am an ass, I am a woman's man, and
besides myself.
Ant. S. What woman's man? and how besides
thyself?
Bro. S. Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to
a woman ; one that claims me, one that haunts me,
one that will have me.
Ant. S. What claim lays she to thee ?
Dro. S. Marry, sir, such claim as you would lay
to your horse.
Ant. S. Go, hie thee presently, post to tlie road ;
And if the wind blow any way from shore,
I will not harbour in this town to-night.
If any bark put forth, come to the mart.
Where I will walk, till thou return to me.
If every one know us, and we know none,
'Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack, and be gone.
Dro. S. As from a bear a man would run for
Hfe,
So fly I from her that would be my wife. [ErU.
Ant. S. There's none but witches do inhabit here;
And therefore 'tis high time that I were hence.
She, that doth call me husband, even my soul
Doth for a wife abhor : but her fair sister.
Possess' d with such a gentle sovereign grace.
Of such enchanting presence and discflursCj .
Hath almost made me traitor to myself:
But, lest myself be guilty to self-wrong,
I'll stop mine ears against the mermaid's song
Enter Angelo.
Ang. Master Antipholus.
Ant. S. Ay, that's my name.
Ang. I know it well, sir : Lo, here is the chain j
I thought to have ta'en you at the Porcupine :
The chain unfiuish'd made me stay thus long.
Ant. S. What is your will, that I shall do with
this?
Ang. What please yoiu^lf, sir ; I have made it
for you.
Ant. S. Made it for me, sir ! I bespoke it not.
Ang. Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you
have :
Go home with it, and please your wife withal ;
And soon at supper-time, I'll visit you.
And then receive my money for the chain.
Atit. S. I pray you, sir, receive the money now.
For fear you ne'er see chjun, nor money, more.
Ang. You are a merry man, sir ; fare you well.
[Exit.
Ant S. What I should think of this, I cannot
tell ;
But this I think, there's no man is so vain,
That would refuse so fair an offer'd chain.
I see, a man here needs not live by shifts.
When in the streets he meets such golden gifts.
I'll to the mart, and there for Dromio stay j
If any ship put out, then straight away. [Exit.
300
COMEDY OF ERRORS.
Act IV.
ACT IV.
SCENE I. — The same.
Enter a Merchant, Angelo, and an Officer.
Mer. You know, since pentecost the sum is due.
And since I have not much importuned you ;
Nor now I had not, but that I am bound
To Persia, and want gilders for my voyage :
Therefore make present satisfaction,
Or I'll attach you by this officer.
^ng. Even just the sum, that I do owe to you,
Is growing 2 to me by Antipholus :
And, in the instant that I met with you,
He had of me a chain ; at five o'clock,
I shall receive the money for the same :
Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house,
I will discharge my bond, and thank you too.
Etiter Antiphoi-us of Ephesus, and Dkomio of
Ephesus.
0^. That labour may you save ; see where he
comes.
^nt. E' While I go to the goldsmith's house, go
thou
And buy a rope's end ; that will I bestow
Among my wife and her confederates,
For locking me out of my doors by day. —
But soft, I see the goldsmith : — get thee gone ;
Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me.
Dro. E. I buy a thousand pound a year ! I buy
a rope ! \^Exit Dro. E.
Ant. E. A man is well holp up, that trusts to you :
I promised your presence, and the chain ;
But neither chain, nor goldsmith, came to me :
Belike, you thought our love would last too long.
If it were chain'd together ; and therefore came not.
Ang. Saving your merry humour, here's the note.
How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat ;
The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion.
Which doth amount to three odd ducats more
Than I stand debted to this gentleman ;
I pray you, see him presently discharg'd.
For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it.
Ant. E. I am not furnish'd vnth the present
money ;
Besides, I have some business in the town :
Good signior, take the stranger to my house,
And with you take the chain, and bid my wife
Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof ;
Perchance I will be there as soon as you.
Ang. Then you will bring the chain to her your-
self?
Ant. E. No ; bear it with you, lest I come not
time enough.
Ang. Well, sir, I will : Have you the chain about
you?
Ant. E. An if I have not, sir, I hope you have ;
Or else you may return without your money.
Ang. Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the
chain ;
Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman.
And I, to blame, have held him here too long.
Ant. E. Good lord, you use this dalliance, to ex-
cuse
Your breach of promise to the Porcupine :
2 Accruing.
I should have chid you for not bringing it.
But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl.
Mer. The hour steals on; I pray you, sir, despatch.
Ang. You hear, how he importunes me; the
chain —
Ant. E. Why give it to my wife, and fetch your
money.
Ang. Come, come, you know, I gave it you even
now ;
Either send the chain, or send me by some token.
Ant. E. Fye ! how you run this humour out of
breath :
Come, Where's the chain ? I pray you let me see it.
Mer. My business cannot brook this dalliance ;
Good sir, say, whe'r you'll answer me or no ;
If not, I '11 leave him to the officer.
Ant. E. I answer you ! What should I answer you?
Ang. The money that you owe me for the chain.
Ant. E. I owe you none, till I receive the chain.
Ang. You know, I gave it you half an hour since.
Ant. E. You gave me none ; you wrong mo
much to say so.
^ng. You wrong me more, sir, in denying it :
Consider, how it stands upon my credit.
Mer. Well, officer, arrest him at my suit.
0^. I do; and charge you in the duke's namev
to obey me.
Ang. This touches me in reputation : —
Either consent to pay this sum for me.
Or I attach you by this officer.
Ant. E. Consent to pay thee that I never had !
Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou dar'st.
Ang. Here is thy fee ; arrest him, officer ;
I would not spare my brother in this case.
If he should scorn me so apparently.
0^. I do arrest you, sir ; you hear the suit.
Ant. E. I do obey thee, till I give thee bail : —
But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear
As all the metal in your shop will answer.
Ang. Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus,
To your notorious shame, I doubt it not.
Enter Dromio of Syracuse.
Dro. S. Master, there is a bark of Epidamnum,
That stays but till her owner comes aboard.
And then, sir, bears away : our fraughtage 3, sir,
I have convey'd aboard ; and I have bought
The oil, the balsamum, and aqua-vitae.
The ship is in her trim ; the merry wind
Blows fair from land : they stay for nought at all,
But for their owner, master, and yourself.
Ant. E. How now ! a madman ! Why, thou
peevish ■* sheep.
What ship of Epidamnum stays for me ?
Dro. S. A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage.*]
Ant. E. Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for
rope;
And told thee to what purpose and what end.
Dro. S. You sent me, sir, for a rope's end as soon:
You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark.
Ant. E. I will debate this matter at more leisi
And teach your ears to listen with more heed.
To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight :
3 Freight, cargo.
Silly.
* Carriage,
Scene II.
COMEDY OF ERRORS.
301
Give her tliis key, and tell her, in the desk
That's cover'd o'er with Turkish tapestry,
There is a purse of ducats : let her send it ;
Tell her, I am arrested in the street,
And that shall bail me: hie thee, slave ; be gone.
On, oflScer, to prison till it come.
[Exeunt Merchant, Anoelo, Officer, and
Ant. E.
Dro. S. To Adriana ! that is where he din'd.
Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband :
Thither I must, although against my will.
For servants must their masters' minds fulfil. [Exit.
SCENE Ih — The same.
Enter Adriana and Luciana.
^dr. Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so ?
Mightst thou perceive austerely in his eye
That he did plead in earnest, yea or no ?
Look'd he or red, or pale ; or sad or merily ?
What observations mad'st thou in this case.
Of his heart's meteors tilting in his face?^
Ltic. First, he denied you had in him no right.
^dr. He meant, he did me none ; the more my
spite.
Luc. Then swore he, that he was a stranger here.
Adr. And true he swore, though yet forsworn he
were.
Luc. Then pleaded I for you.
Adr. And what said he ?
IjUC. That love I begg'd for you, he begg'd of me.
Adr. With what persuasion did he tempt thy love?
Luc. With words that in an honest suit might
move.
First he did praise my beauty ; then, my speech.
yfdr. Didst speak him fair ?
Luc. Have patience, I beseech.
jidr. I cannot, nor I will not, hold me still ;
My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will.
He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere 7,
111-fac'd, worse-bodied, shapeless every where :
Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind ;
Stigmatical in making 8, worse in mind.
Luc. Who would be jealous then of such a one ?
No evil lost is wail'd when it is gone.
Adr. Ah ! but I think him better than I say,
And yet would herein others' eyes were worse :
Far from her nest the lapwing cries away 9 ;
My heart prays for him, though my tongue do
curse.
Enter Dromio of Syracuse.
Dro. S. Here, go ; the desk, the purse ; sweet
now, make haste.
Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath ?
I>ro. S. By running fast
Adr. Where is thy master, Dromio ? is he well ?
Dro. S. No, he's in Tartar Umbo, worse than hell :
A devil in an everlasting garment ' hath him,
One, whose hard heart is button'd up with steel ;
A fiend, a fairy, pitiless and rough ;
A wolf, nay worse, a fellow all in buff;
A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that coun-
termands
The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands.
« An allusion to the rmlnesa of the northern light*, likened
to the appearance of armies. 7 Dry, withered.
" Marked by nature with defonnity.
' Who crieth most where her nest is not
' The officers in those days were clad in buff, which i» aito
a cant expression for a man's fkia
Adr. Why, man, what is the matter ?
Dro. S. I do not know the matter : he is 'rested
on the case.
Adr. What, is he arrested ? tell me, at whose suit.
Dro. S. I know not at whose suit he is arrested,
well ;
But he's in a suit of buff, which 'rested him, that
can I tell :
Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the money
in the desk ?
Adr. Go fetch it, sister. — This I wonder at,
[Exit Luciana.
That he, unknown to me, should be in debt :
Tell me, was he arrested on a band ? 2
Dro. S. Not on a band, but on a stronger thing ;
A chain, a chain ; do you not hear it ring ?
Adr. What, the chain ?
Dro. S. No, no, the bell; 'tis time that I were gone.
It was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes
one.
Adr. The hours come back ! that did I never hear.
Dro. S. O yes, if any hour meet a sergeant,
a'tums back for very fear.
Adr. As if time were in debt ! how fondly dost
thou reason ?
Dro. S. Time is a very bankrupt, and owes more
than he's worth to season.
Nay, he's a thief too : Have you not heard men say.
That time comes stealing on by night and day ?
If he be in debt, and theft, and a sergeant in the way.
Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day?
Enter Luciana.
Adr. Go, Dromio; there's the money, bear it
straight ;
And bring thy master home immediately. —
Come, sister : I am press'd down with conceit 3 ;
Conceit my comfort, and my injury. [Exeunt,
SCENE III. — The same.
Enter Antifholus of Syracuse.
Ant. S. There's not a man 1 meet, but doth salute
me
As if I were their well-acquainted friend ;
And every one doth call me by my name.
Some tender money to me, some invite me ;
Some other give me thanks for kindnesses ;
Some offer me commodities to buy :
Even now a tailor call'd me in his shop,
And show'd me silks that he had bought for me.
And, therewithal, took measure of my body.
Sure, these are but imaginary wiles.
And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here.
Enter Dromio of Syracuse.
Dro. S. Master, here's the gold you sent me for :
What, have you got the picture of old Adam new
apparel' d?
Ant. S. What gold is this ? what Adam dost thou
mean ?
Dro. S. He that came behind you, sir, like an
evil angel, and bid you forsake your liberty.
Ant. S. I understand thee not.
Dro. S. No ? why, 'tis a plain case : he that went
like a base-viol, in a case of leather ; the man, sir,
that, when gentlemen are tired, gives them a fob,
and 'rests them ; he, sir, that takes pity on decayed
* Le. Bond.
s Fanciful conception.
COMEDY OF ERRORS.
Act IV.
men, and gives them suits of durance ; he that sets
up his rest to do more exploits with his mace, than
a morris-pike.
Ant. S. What ! thou mean'st an oflScer ?
Dro. S. Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band ; he,
that brings any man to answer it, that breaks his
band : one that thinks a man always going to bed,
and says, God give you good rest I
Ant. S. Well, sir, tliere rest in your foolery. Is
there any ship puts forth to-night ? may we be gone ?
Dro. S. Why, sir, I brought you word an hour
since, that the bark Expedition put forth to-night,
and then were you hindered by the sergeant, to
tarry for the hoy, Delay : Here are the angels that
you sent for, to deliver you.
Ant. S. The fellow is distract, and so am I ;
And here we wander in illusions ;
Some blessed power deliver us from hence !
Enter a Courtezan.
Cour. Well met, well met, master Antipholus.
I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now ;
Is that the chain, you promis'd me to-day ?
Ant. S. I conjure thee to leave me, and be gone.
Cour. Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner.
Or, for my diamond, the chain you promis'd ;
And I'll be gone, sir, and not trouble you.
Dro. S. Some devils ask but the paring of one's nail,
A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin,
A nut, a cherry-stone : but she, more covetous,
Would have a chain.
Master, be wise ; and if you give it her.
The dgvil will shake her chain, and fright us with it.
Cour. I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain ;
I hope, you do not mean to cheat me so.
Ant. S. Avaunt, thou witch ! Come, Dromio, let
us go.
Dro. S. Fly pride, says the peacock : Mistress,
that you know.
[Exeunt Ant. S. and Dro. S.
Cour. Now, out of doubt, Antipholus is mad,
Else would he never so demean himself :
A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats.
And for the same he promis'd me a chain !
Both one, and other, he denies me now.
The reason that I gather he is mad,
(Besides this present instance of his rage,)
Is a mad tale, he told to-day at dinner.
Of his own doors being shut against his entrance.
Belike, his wife, acquainted with his fits,
On purpose shut the doors against his way.
My way is now, to hie home to his house,
And tell his wife, that, being lunatick.
He rush'd into my house, and took perforce
My ring away : This course I fittest choose ;
For forty ducats is too much to lose. [Exit.
SCENE lY. — The same.
Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, and an Officer.
Ant. E. Fear me not, man, I will not break away ;
I'll give thee, ere I leave thee, so much money
To warrant thee, as I am 'rested for.
My wife is in a wayward mood to-day :
And will not lightly trust the messenger.
That I should be attach'd in Ephesus :
I tell you, 'twill sound harshly in her ears. —
Enter Dromio of Ephesus, with a ropers end.
Here comes my man ; I think, he brings the money.
How now, sir ? have you that I sent you for ?
Dro. E. Here's that, I warrant you, will pay
them all. ^
Ant. E. But Where's the money ?
Dro. E. Why, sir, I gave the money for the rope.
Ant. E. Five hundred ducats, villain, for a rope ?
Dro. E. I'll serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate.
Ant. E. To what end did I bid thee hie thee home?
Dro. E. To a rope's end, sir ; and to that end
am I return'd.
Ant E. And to that end, sir, I will welcome you.
[Heating him.
Off. Good sir, be patient.
Dro. E. Nay, 'tis for me to be patient ; I am in
adversity.
Off. Good now, hold thy tongue.
Dro. E. Nay, rather persuade him to hold his
hands.
A7it. E, Thou senseless villain !
Dro. E. I would I were senseless, sir, that I
might not feel your blows.
Ant. E. Thou art sensible in nothing but blows,
and so is an ass.
Dro. E. I am an ass indeed ; you may prove it
by my long ears. I have serv'd him from the hour
of my nativity to this instant, and have nothing at
his hands for my service, but blows : when I am
cold, he heats me with beating : when I am warm,
he cools me with beating : I am waked with it
when I sleep ; raised with it, when I sit ; driven out
of doors with it, when I go from home ; welcomed
home with it, when I return : nay, I bear it on my
shoulders, as a beggar wont her brat ; and, I think,
when he hath lamed me, I shall beg with it from
door to door.
Enter Adriana, Luoiana, and the Courtezan,
tuith Pinch, and others.
Ant. E. Come, go along j my wife is coming
yonder.
Dro. E. Mistress, respice finem, respect your end ;
or rather the prophecy, like the parrot. Beware the
rope's end.
Ant. E. Wilt thou still talk ? [Beats him.
Cour. How say you now ? is not your husband
mad ?
Adr. His incivility confirms no less. —
Good doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer ;
Establish him in his true sense again,
And I will please you what you will demand.
Luc. Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks !
Cour. Mark, how he trembles in his ecstasy !
Pinch. Give me your hand, and let me feel your
pulse.
Ant. E. There is my hand and let it feel your ear.
Pinch. I charge thee, Satan, hous'd within this
man.
To yield possession to my holy prayers,
And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight ;
I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven.
Ant. E. Peace, doting wizard, peace ; I am not
mad.
Adr. O, that thou wert not, poor distressed soul !
Ant. E. You minion, you, are these your cus-
tomers ?
Did this companion with a saffron face
Revel and feast it at my house to-day.
Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut.
And I denied to enter in my house ?
* Correct them all.
Scene IV.
COMEDY OF ERRORS.
S03
Adr. O, husband, God doth know, you din'd at
home,
Where 'would you had remain'd until this time,
Free from these slanders, and this open shame !
Aid. E. I din'd at home ! Thou villain, what
say'st thou ?
Dro. E. Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at
home.
Ant. E. Were not my doors lock'd up, and I
shut out?
Dro. E. Perdy *, your doors were lock'd, and you
shut out.
Ant. E. And did not she herself revile me there?
Dro. E, Sans fable^, she herself revil'd you there.
Ant. E. Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt,
and scorn me ?
Dro. E. Certes 7, she did ; the kitchen-vestal
scorn'd you.
Ant. E. And did not I in rage depart from thence?
Dro. E. In verity you did j — my bones bear
witness,
That since have felt tlie vigour of his rage.
Adr. Is't good to soothe him in these contraries ?
Pinch. It is no shame ; the fellow finds his vein.
And, yielding to him, humours well his frenzy.
Ant. E. Thou hast suborn'd tlie goldsmith to
arrest me.
Ad-". Alas, I sent you money to redeem you.
By Dromio here, who came in haste for it
Dro. E. Money by me ? heart and good- will you
might.
But, surely, master, not a rag of money.
Ant. E. Went'st not thou to her for a purse of
ducats ?
Adr. He came to me, and I deliver'd it.
Luc. And I am witness with her, that she did.
Dro. E, Heaven and the rope-maker, bear me
witness,
Tliat I was sent for nothing but a rope !
Pinch. Mistress, both man and master is pos-
sess'd ;
I know it by their pale and deadly looks :
They must be bound, and laid in some dark room.
Ant. E. Say, wherefore didst thou lock me forth
to-day.
And why dost thou deny the bag of gold ?
Adr. I did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth.
Dro. E. And, gentle master, I receiv'd no gold ;
But I confess, sir, tliat we were lock'd out.
Adr. Dissembling villain, thou speak'st false in
both.
Aiit. E. Dissembling harlot thou art false in all ;
And art confederate with a wicked pack.
To make a loathsome abject scorn of me :
But with these nails I'll pluck out these false eyes,
Tliat would behold in me this shameful sport.
[Pinch and his Assistants bind Ant. E.
and Dro. E.
Adr. O, bind him, bind him, let him not come
near me.
Pijicli. More company ! — the fiend is strong
within him.
Luc. Ah me, poor man, how pale and wan he
looks !
Ant. E. What, will you murder me ? Thou gaoler,
thou,
* A corruption of the French oath— parrfiew.
« Without a fable. ? Certainly.
I am thy prisoner ; wilt thou suffer them
To make a rescue ?
Off". Masters, let him go ;
He IS my prisoner, and you shall not have him.
Pinch. Go, bind this man, for he is frantick too.
Adr. What wilt thou do, thou peevish 8 officer ?
Hast thou delight to see a wretched man
Do outrage and displeasure to himself ?
Off". He is my prisoner ; if I let him go.
The debt he owes, will be required of me.
Adr. I will discharge thee, ere I go from thee :
Bear me forthwith unto his creditor.
And knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it.
Good master doctor, see him safe convey 'd
Home to my house. — O most unhappy day !
Ant. E. O most unhappy strumpet !
Dro. E. Master, I am here entered in bond fof
you.
Ant. E. Out on thee, villain ! wherefore dost thou
mad me?
Dro. E. Will you be bound for nothing ? be mad,
Good master ; cry, the devil. —
Luc. God help, poor souls, how idly do they talk !
Adr. Go bear him hence. — Sister, go you witli
me. —
[Exeunt Pinch and Assistants, udth Ant. E.
and Dro. E.
Say now, whose suit is he arrested at ?
OJ'. One Angelo, a goldsmith j Do you know
him ?
Adr. I know the man : What is the sum he owes ?
0^. Two hundred ducats.
Adr. Say, how grows it due ?
0^. Due for a chain, your husband had of him.
Adr. He did bespeak a chain for mc, but had it
not.
Cour. When as your husband, all in rage, to-day
Came to my house, and took away my ring,
(The ring I saw upon his finger now,)
Straight after, did I meet him with a chain.
Adr. It may be so, but I did never see it : —
Come, gaoler, bring me where the goldsmith is,
I long to know the truth hereof at large.
E7iter Antipholus of Syracuse, unth his rapier draion,
and Dromio of Syracuse.
Luc. Heaven, for thy mercy ! they are loose again.
Adr. And come with naked swords ; let's call
more help.
To have them bound again.
Of. Away, they'll kill us.
[Exeunt Officer, Adr. and Luc.
Ant. S. I see, these witches are afraid of swords.
Dro. S. She, that would be your wife, now ran
from you.
Ant. S Come to tlie Centaur ; fetch our stuffs
from thence :
I long, that we were safe and sound aboard.
Dro. S. Faith, stay here tliis night, they will
surely do us no harm ; you saw, they speak us fair,
give us gold : methinks, they are such a gentle
nation, tliat but for the mountain of mad flesli tliat
claims marriage of me, I could find in my heart to
stay here still, and turn witch.
Ant. S. I will not stay to-night for all the town ;
Therefore away, to get our stuff aboard. [Exeunt,
« Foolith.
• Baggage
304
COMEDY OF ERRORS.
Act V.
ACT V.
SCENE I. — The same.
Enter Merchant and Anoelo.
Ayig. I am sorry, sir, that I have hinder'd you ;
But, I protest, he had the chain of me.
Though most dishonestly he doth deny it.
Mer. How is the man esteem'd here in the city ?
u^ng. Of very reverend reputation, sir,
Of credit infinite, highly belov'd,
Second to none that lives here in the city ;
His word might bear my wealth at any time.
Mer. Speak softly : yonder, as I think, he walks.
Enter Antipholus, and Dromio of Syracuse.
Ang. 'Tis so ; and that self chain about his neck,
Which he forswore, most monstrously, to have.
Good sir, draw near to me, I'll speak to him.
Signior Antipholus, I wonder much
That you would put me to this shame and trouble ;
And not without some scandal to yourself,
With circumstance, and oaths, so to deny
This chain, which now you wear so openly :
Besides the charge, the shame, imprisonment,
You have done wrong to this my honest friend ;
Who, but for staying on our controversy.
Had hoisted sail, and put to sea to-day :
This chain you had of me, can you deny it ?
Ant. S. I think, I had ; I never did deny it ?
Mer. Yes, that you did, sir ; and forswore it too.
Ant. S. Who heard me to deny it, or forswear it?
Mer. These ears of mine, thou knowest, did hear
thee:
Fye on thee, wretch ! 'tis pity, that thou liv'st
To walk where any honest men resort.
Ant. S. Thou art a villain, to impeach me thus :
I'll prove mine honour, and mine honesty
Against thee presently, if thou dar'st stand.
Mer. I dare, and do defy thee for a villain.
iThet/ draw.
Enter Adriaka, Luciana, Courtezan, and others.
Adr. Hold, hurt him not, for heaven's sake ; he
is mad ; —
Some get within him ', take his sword away :
Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house.
Dro. S. Run, master, run ; for heaven's sake,
take a house.
This is some priory ; — In, or we are spoil'd.
[Exeunt Ant. S. and Dro. S. to the Priory.
Enter the Abbess.
Abb. Be quiet, people; Wherefore throng you
hither ?
Adr. To fetch my poor distracted husband hence :
Let us come in, that we may bind him fast.
And bear him home for his recovery.
Ang. I knew, he was not in his perfect wits.
Mer. I am sorry now, that I did draw on him.
Abb. How long hath this possession held the man?
Adr. This week he hath been heavy, sour, sad.
And much, much different from the man he was ;
But, till this afternoon, his passion
Ne'er brake into extremity of rage.
Abb. Hath he not lost much wealth by wreck at sea?
1 i. e. Close, grapple with him.
Buried some dear friend ? Hath not else his eye
Stray'd his affection in unlawful love ?
A sin, prevailing much in youthful men.
Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing.
Which of these sorrows is he subject to ?
Adr. To none of these, except it be the last ;
Namely, some love, that drew him oft from home.
Abb. You should for that have reprehended him.
Adr. Why, so I did.
Abb. Ay, but not rough enough.
Adr. As roughly, as my modesty would let me.
Abb. Haply, in private.
Adr. And in assemblies too.
Abb. Ay, but not enough.
Adr. It was the copy * of our conference :
In bed, he slept not for my urging it ;
At board, he fed not for my urging it j
Alone, it was the subject of my theme ;
In company, I often glanced it ;
Still did I tell him it was vile and bad.
Abb. And thereof came it, that the man was mad :
The venom clamours of a jealous woman
Poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth.
It seems his sleeps were hinder'd by thy railing :
And thereof comes it that his head is light.
Thou say'st his meat was sauc'd with thy up-
braidings :
Unquiet meals make ill digestions.
Thereof the raging fire of fever bred ;
And what's a fever but a fit of madness?
Thou say'st his sports were hinder'd by thy brawls :
Sweet recreation barr'd, what doth ensue,
But moody and dull melancholy,
(Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair ;)
And, at her heels, a huge infectious troop
Of pale distemperatures, and foes to life ?
In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest
To be disturb'd, would mad or man, or beast ;
The consequence is then, thy jealous fits
Have scared thy husband from the use of wits.
Luc. She never reprehended him but mildly^
When he demean'd himself rough, rude, and
wildly, —
Why bear you these rebukes, and answer not ?
Adr. She did betray me to my own reproof. —
Good people, enter, and lay hold on him.
Abb. No, not a creature enters in my house.
Adr. Then, let your servants bring my husband
forth.
Abb. Neither ; he took this place for sanctuary,
And it shall privilege him from your hands.
Till I have brought him to his wits again.
Or lose my labour in essaying it.
Adr. I will attend my husband, be his nurse,
Diet his sickness, for it is my office.
And will have no attorney but myself;
And therefore let me have him home with me.
Abb. Be patient ; for I will not let him stir.
Till I have us'd the approved means I have,
With wholesome syrups, drugs, and holy prayers.
To make of him a formal man again ? :
It is a branch and parcel of mine oath,
A charitable duty of my order ;
Therefore depart, and leave him here with me.
2 The theme- 3 ,-. e. To bnng him back to his seneei
Scene I.
COMEDY OF ERRORS.
305
Adr. I will not hence, and leave my husband
here ;
And ill it doth beseem your holiness,
To separate the husband and the wife.
Abb. Be quiet, and depart, thou shalt not have
J»m [Exit Abbess.
Luc. Complain unto the duke of this indignity.
Adr. Come, go ; I will fall prostrate at his feet,
And never rise until my tears and prayers
Have won his grace to come in person hither.
And take perforce my husband from the abbess.
Mer. By this, I think, the dial points at five :
Anon, I am sure, the duke himself in person
Comes this way to the melancholy vale ;
The place of death and sorry -« execution.
Behind the ditches of the abbey here.
Ang. Upon what cause ?
Mer. To see a reverend Syracusan merchant.
Who put unluckily into tliis bay
Against the laws and statutes of this town,
Beheaded publickly for his offence.
Ang. See, where they come ; we will behold his
death.
Luc. Kneel to the duke, before he pass the abbey.
Enter Duke attended; Mgeov bare-headed; with
the Headsman and other Officers.
Duke. Yet once again proclaim it publickly,
If any friend will pay the sum for him,
He shall not die, so much we tender him.
Adr. Justice, most sacred duke, against the abbess !
Duke. She is a virtuous and a reverend lady ;
It cannot be, that she hath done thee wrong.
Adr. May it please your grace, Antipholus, my
husband, —
Whom I made lord of me and all I had.
At your important * letters, — this ill day
A most outrageous fit of madness took him ;
That desperately he hurried through the street
(With him his bondman, all as mad as he,}
Doing displeasure to the citizens
By rushing in their houses, bearing thence
Rings, jewels, any thing his rage did like.
Once did I get him bound, and sent him home,
Whilst to take order 6 for the wrongs I went.
That here and there his fury had committed.
Anon, I wot 7 not by what strong escape.
He broke from those that had the guard of him ;
And, with his mad attendant and himself.
Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords.
Met us again, and, madly bent on us,
Chas'd us away ; till raising of more aid,
We came again to bind them : then they fled
Into this abbey, whither we pursued them ;
And here the abbess shuts the gates on us.
And will not suffer us to fetch him out.
Nor send him forth, that we may bear him hence.
Therefore, most gracious duke, with thy command.
Let him be brought forth, and borne hence for help.
Duke. Long since, thy husband serv'd me in my
wars ;
And I to thee engag'd a prince's word.
When thou didst make him master of thy bed.
To do liim all the grace and good I could
Go some of you, knock at the abbey-gate,
And bid the lady abbess come to me ;
I will determine this before I stir.
Enter a Servant.
• 1. e. To take meuures.
^ Impottunate.
7 Know.
Serv. O mistress, mistress, shift and save yourself!
My master and his man are both broke loose.
Beaten the maids a-row 8, and bound the doctor.
Whose beard they have singed off with brands of fire;
And ever as it blazed, they tlirew on him
Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair :
My master preaches patience to him, while
His man with scissars nicks him like a fool :
And, sure, unless you send some present help,
Between them they will kill the conjurer.
Adr. Peace, fool, thy master and his man are here;
And that is false thou dost report to us.
Serv. Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true ;
I have not breath'd almost since I did see it.
He cries for you, and vows, if he can take you.
To scorch your face, and to disfigure you .
[Cry within.
Hark, hark, I hear him mistress ; fly, be gone.
Duke. Come, stand by me, fear nothing : G uard
with halberts.
Adr. Ah me, it is my husband ! Witness you.
That he is borne about invisible :
Even now we hous'd him in the abbey here ;
And now he's there, past thought of human reason.
Enter Antipholus and Dromio o/'Ephesus.
Ant. E. Justice, most gracious duke, oh, grant
me justice !
Even for the service that long since I did thee.
When I bestrid thee, in the wars, and took
Deep scars to save thy life ; even for the blood
That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice.
AEge. Unless the fear of death doth make me dote,
I see my son Antipholus, and Dromio.
Ant. E. Justice, sweet prince, against that woman
there.
She whom thou gav'st to me to be my wife ;
That hath abused and dishonour'd me,
Even in the strength and height of injury !
Beyond imagination is the wrong,
That she this day hath shameless thrown on me.
Duke. Discover how, and thou shalt find me just.
Ant. E. ITiis day, great duke, she shut the doors
upon me.
While she with harlots 9 feasted in my house.
Duke. A grievous fault: Say, woman, didsttliou so?
Adr. No, my good lord : — myself, he, and my
sister.
To-day did dine together : so befal my soul,
As this is false, he burdens me withal !
Luc Ne'er may I look on day, nor sleep on night.
But she tells to your highness simple truth !
Ang. O peijur'd woman ! They are both forsworn.
In this the madman justly chargeth them.
Ant. E. My liege, I am advised what I say ;
Neither disturb'd with the effect of wine.
Nor heady-rash, provok'd with raging ire,
Albeit, my wrongs might make one wiser mad.
This woman lock'd me out this day from dinner :
That goldsmith tliere, were he not pack'd with her.
Could witness it, for he was with me then ;
^Vho parted with me to go fetch a chain.
Promising to bring it to the Porcupine,
Where Balthazar and I did dine together.
Our dinner done, and he not coming thither,
» i.e. SucceMively, one after another.
9 Harlot was a term of reproach applied to cheaU among
men aa well as to wantons among women.
X
306
COMEDY OF ERRORS.
Act V.
I went to seek him : in the street I met him ;
And in his company, that gentleman ;
There did this perjur'd goldsmith swear me down,
That I this day of him receiv'd the chain,
Which, heaven knows, I saw not : for the which,
He did arrest me with an officer.
I did ohey ; and sent my peasant home
For ceitain ducats : he with none retum'd.
Then fairly I bespoke the officer,
To go in person with me to my house.
By the way we met
My wife, her sister, and a rabble more
Of vile confederates : along with them
They brought one Pinch ; a hungry, lean-ftic'd
villain,
A mere anatomy, a mountebank,
A thread-bare juggler, and a fortune-teller ;
A needy, hollow-ey'd, sharp-looking wretch,
A living dead man : thi^ pernicious slave.
Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer ;
And, gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse.
And with no face, as 'twere out-facing me.
Cries out, I was possess'd : then altogether
They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence ;
And in a dark and dankish vault at home
There left me and my man, both bound together ;
Till gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder,
I gain'd my freedom, and immediately
Ran hither to your grace ; whom I beseech.
To give me ample satisfaction
For these deep shames and great indignities.
-^ng. My lord, in truth, thus far I veitness with him ;
That he dined not at home, but was lock'd out.
Duke. But had he such a chain of thee, or no ?
Ang. He had, my lord : and when he ran in here.
These people saw the chain about his neck.
Mer. Besides, I will be sworn, these ears of mine
Heard you confess you had the chain of him.
After you first forswore it on the mart,
And, thereupon, I drew my sword on you ;
And then you fled into this abbey here.
From whence, I think, you are come by miracle.
Ant. E. I never came within these abbey walls.
Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me :
I never saw the chain, so help me heaven !
And this is false you burden me withal.
Duke. Why, what an intricate impeach is this !
I think, you all have drank of Circe's cup.
If here you hous'd him, here he would have been ;
If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly : —
You say he dined at home ; the goldsmith here
Denies that saying : — Sirrah, what say you ?
Dro. E. Sir, he ilined with her there, at the Por-
cupine.
Cour. He did ; and from my finger snatch'd that
ring.
Ant. E. *Tis true, my liege, this ring I had of her.
Duke. Saw'st thou him enter at the abbey here '
Cour. As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace.
Duke. Why, this is strange : — Go call the abbess
hither ;
I think you are all mated, or stark mad.
\_Ent an Attendant.
^ge. Most mighty duke, vouchsafe me speak a
word;
Haply I see a friend will save my life,
And pay the sum that may deliver me.
Duke. Speak freely, Syracusan, what thou wilt.
^ge. Is not your name, sir, called Antipholus ?
And is not that your bondman Dromio ?
Dro. E^ Within this hour I was his bondman, sir.
But he, I thank him, gnaw'd in two my cords ;
Now am I Dromio, and his man, unbound.
jEge. I am sure, you both of you remember me.
Dro. E. Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you ;
For lately we were bound, as you are now.
You are not Pinch's patient, are you, sir ?
jEge. Why look you strange on me ? you know
me well.
Ant. E. I never saw you in my life, till now.
^ge. Oh ! grief hath chang'd me since you saw
me last ;
And careful hours, with Time's deformed hand
Have written strange defeatures ' in my face :
But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice?
Ant. E. Neither.
jEge. Dromio, nor thou ?
Dro. E. No, trust me, sir, nor I.
ASge. I am sure thou dost.
Dro. E. Ay, sir ? but I am sure I do not ; and
whatsosver a man denies, you are now bound to
believe him.
Aige. Not know my voice ! O, time's extremity !
Hast thou so crack 'd and splitted my poor tongue,
In seven short years, that here my only son
Knows not my feeble key of untun'd cares ?
Though now this grained 2 face of mine be hid
In sap-consuming winter's drizzled snow,
And all the conduits of my blood froze up ;
Yet hath my night of life some memory.
My wasting lamp some fading glimmer left,
My dull deaf ears a little use to hear :
All these old witnesses (I cannot err,)
Tell me, thou art my son Antipholus.
Ant. E. I never saw my father in my life.
jEge. But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy.
Thou know'st we parted : but, perhaps, my son.
Thou sham'st to acknowledge me in misery.
Ant. E. The duke, and all that know me in the
city.
Can witness with me that it is not so ;
I ne'er saw Syracusa in my life.
Duke. I tell thee, Syracusan, twenty years
Have I been patron to Antipholus,
During which time he ne'er saw Syracusa :
I see, thy age and dangers make thee dote.
Enter the Abbess, with Antipholus Syracusan, and
Dromio Syracusan.
Abb. Most mighty duke, behold a man much
wrong'd. \^All gather to see him.
Adr. I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive
me.
Duke. One of these men is Genius to the other ;
And so of these : Which is the natural man.
And which the spirit ? Who deciphers them ?
Dro. S. I, sir, am Dromio ; command him away.
Dro. E. I, sir, am Dromio ; pray let me stay.
Ant. S. iEgeon, art thou not ? or else his ghost ?
Dro. S. O, my old master ! who hath bound him
here?
Abb. Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds
And gain a husband by his liberty : —
Speak, old ^geon, if thou be'st the man
That hadst a wife once called Emilia,
That bore thee at a burden two fair sons :
O, if thou be'st the same .^geon, speak.
And speak unto the same Emilia !
II
Alteration of featiirci.
Furrowed, lined
Scene I.
COMEDY OF ERRORS.
307
uEge. If I dream not, thou art vEmilia ;
If thou art she, tell me where is that son
That floated with thee on the fatal raft ?
Abb. By men of Epidamnum, he and I,
And the twin Dromio, all were taken up ;
But, by and by, rude fishermen of Corinth
By force took Dromio and my son from them,
And me tliey left with those of Epidamnum :
What then became of them I cannot tell ;
I, to this fortune that you see me in.
Duke. Why, here begins his morning story right '' ;
These two Antipholus's, tliese two so like.
And these two Dromios, one in semblance, —
Besides her urging of her wreck at sea, —
These are the parents to tliese children,
Which accidentally are met together.
Antipholus, thou cam'st from Corinth first.
Ant. S. No, sir, not I ; I came from Syracuse.
Duke. Stay, stand apart; I know not which is
which.
Ani. E. I came from Corinth, my most gracious
lord.
Dro. E. And I with him.
Ant. E. Brought to this town with that most
famous warrior
Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle.
Adr. Wliich of you two did dine with me to-day ?
Ant. S. I, gentle mistress,
Adr. And are not you my husband ?
Ant. E. No, I say nay to that.
Ant. S. And so do I, yet did she call me so ;
And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here.
Did call me brother : — What I told you tlien,
I hope, I shall have leisure to make good ;
If this be not a dream, I see, and hear.
Ang. That is the chain, sir, which you had of me.
Ant. S. I think it be, sir ; I deny it not.
Ant. E. And you, sir, for this chain, arrested me.
Ang. I think I did, sir ; I deny it not.
Adr. I sent you money, sir, to be your bail,
By Dromio ; but I think he brought it not.
Dro. E. No, none by me.
Ant. S. This purse of ducats I received from you,
And Dromio my man did bring them me :
I see, we still did meet each other's man.
And I was ta'en for him, and he for me.
And thereupon these Errors are arose.
Ant. E. These ducats pawn I for my father here.
3 The morning story is what ^eon tells the Duke in the
first scene of this play.
Duke. It shall not need, thy father hath his life.
Cour. Sir, I must have that diamond from you.
Ant. E. There, take it ; and much thanks for my
good cheer.
Abb. Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains
To go with us into the abbey here,
And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes : —
And all that are assembled in this place,
That by this sympathized one day's error
Have sufFer'd wrong, go, keep us company.
And we shall make full satisfaction. —
Twenty-five years have I but gone in travail
Of you, my sons ; nor, till this present hour.
My heavy burdens are delivered : — -
The duke, my husband, and my children both.
And you the calendars of their nativity,
Go to a gossip's feast, and go with me ;
After so long grief, such nativity.
Duke. With all my heart, I'll gossip at this feast.
[Exeunt Duke, Abbess, JEgeon, Courtezan,
Merchant, Angelo, and Attendants.
Dro. S. Master, shall I fetch your stuff' from
ship-board ?
Ant. E. Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou
embark'd ?
Dro. S. Your goods that lay at host, sir, in the
Centaur.
Ant. S. He speaks to me ; I am your master,
Dromio :
Come, go with us : we'll look to that anon :
Embrace thy brother there, rejoice with him.
[Exeunt Antipholus S. and E. Adr.
and Luc.
Dro. S. There is a fat friend at your master's
house.
That kitchen'd me for you to day at dinner ;
She now shall be my sister, not my wife.
Dro. E. Methinks you are my glass, and not my
brother :
I see by you, I am a sweet-faced youth.
Will you walk in to see their gossiping ?
Dro. S. Not I, sir ; you are my elder.
Dro. E. That's a question : how shall we try it ?
Dro. S. We will draw cuts for the senior : till
then, lead thou first.
Dro. E. Nay, then thus :
We came into the world, like brother and brother :
And now let's go hand in hand, not one before
another. [Exeunt.
X 2
^
-p
MACBETH.
\
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
Duncan, King o^ Scotland
Malcolm,
donalbain
Macbeth,
Banquo,
Macduff.
Lenox,
RossE,
Menteth,
Angus,
Cathness,
Fleance, Son to Banquo.
Si WARD, Earl of Northumberland^ General of the
English Forces.
SCENE, in the End of the Fourth Jet, lies in England ; through the Rest of the Play, in Scotland ;
and, chi^y, at Macbeth's Castle.
y his Sons.
V Generals of the Kings Army.
Nobleman of Scotland.
Young SiwARD, his Son.
Seyton, an OJ^er attending on Macbeth.
Son to Macduff.
An English Doctor. A Scotch Doctor.
A Soldier. A Porter, An old Man.
Ladt Macbeth.
Lady Macduff.
Gentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth.
Hecate, and three Witches.
Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murderers,
Attendants, and Messengers.
The Ghost of Banquo, and several other Apparitions,
BOCND ABODT THE CfinLDBON OO ;
IN THE POISON'd ENTRAILS IHKOW
MACBETH
ACT I.
SCENE I. — An open Place.
Thunder and lightning. Enter three Witches.
1 JFitch. When shall we three meet again
In thunder, lightning, or in rain ?
2 Witch. When the hurlyburly's ^ done,
When the battle's lost and won.
3 Witch. That will be ere set of sun.
1 Witch. Where the place ?
y Witch. Upon the heatli :
3 Witch. There to meet with Macbeth.
1 WUch. I come, Graymalkin !
All. Paddock calls : — Anon. —
Fair is foul, and foul is fair :
Hover through the fog and filthy air.
[Witches vanish.
SCENE II. — A Camp near Fores.
Alarum within. Enter King Duncan, Malcolm,
DoNALBAiN, Lenox, with Attendants, meeting
a bleeding Soldier.
Dun. What bloody man is that ? He can reoort,
As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt
The newest state.
Mnl. This is the sergeant,
' Tumult,
Who, like a good and hardy soldier, fought
'Gainst my captivity : — Hail, brave friend !
Say to the king the knowledge of the broil,
As thou didst leave it.
Sold. Doubtfully it stood ;
As two spent swimmers, that do cling together,
And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald
(Worthy to be a rebel -, for, to that,
The multiplying villanies of nature
Do swarm upon him,) from the western isles
Of Kernes and Gallowglasses was supplied -^ ;
And fortune on him smil'd, but all too weak :
For brave Macbeth, (well he deserves that name,)
Disdaining fortune, with his brandish 'd steel.
Which smok'd with bloody execution,
Like valour's minion,
Carv'd out his passage, till he fac'd the slave ;
And ne'er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him,
Till he unseam'd him from the nave to the chaps,
And fix'd his head upon our battlements.
Dun. O, valiant cousin ! worthy gentleman !
Sold. As whence the sun 'gins his reflexion.
Shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break ;
So from that spring, whence comfort seem'd to come,v
Discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark ;
No sooner justice had, with valour arm'd,
- i. e. Supplied with light and heavy armed troo[>s.
Act I. Scene III.
MACBETH.
309
Compell'd these skipping Kernes to trust their heels;
But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage,
With furbish'd arms, and new supplies of men,
Began a fresh assault.
Dun. Dismay'd not this
Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo?
Sold. Yes ;
As sparrows, eagles ; or the hare, the lion.
If I say sooth 3, I must report they were
As cannons overcharg'd witlj double cracks ;
So they
Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe :
Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds,
Or iTiemorize another Golgotha,
I cannot tell :
But I am faint, my gashes cry for help.
Dun. So well thy words become thee, as thy
wounds ;
They smack of honour both : — Go, get him sur-
geons. [Eat Soldier, attended.
Enter RossE.
Who comes here ?
Mai. The worthy thane of Rosse.
Len. What a haste looks through his eyes ! So
should he look,
That seems to speak things strange.
Rosse. God save the king !
Dun. Whence cam'st thou, worthy thane ?
Rosse. From Fife, great king.
Where tlje Norweyan banners flout the sky.
And fan our people cold.
Norway himself, with terrible numbers.
Assisted by that most disloyal traitor
The thane of Cawdor, 'gan a dismal conflict :
Till that Bcllona's bridegroom *, lapp'd in proof *,
Confronted him with self-comparisons,
Point against point rebellious, arm 'gainst arm,
Curbing his lavish spirit ; And, to conclude.
The victory fell on us j
Dun. Great happiness !
Rosse. That now
Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition ;
Nor would we deign him burial of his men,
Till he disbursed, at St Colmes' inch.
Ten thousand dollars to our general use.
Dun. No more that thane of Cawdor shall deceive
Our bosom interest : — Go, pronounce his death,
And with his former title greet Macbeth.
Rosse. I'll see it done.
Dun. What he hath .lost, noble Macbeth hath
won. \^Exeunt.
SCENE in.— A Heath.
Thunder. Enter the three Witches.
1 ffltch. Where hast thou been, sister ?
2 Witch. Killing swine.
3 Witch. Sister, where thou ?
1 Witch. A sailor's wife had chesnuts in her lap.
And mounch'd, and mounch'd, and mouncb'd : —
Give me, quoth I :
Aroint thee^, witch I the rump-fed ronyon' cries.
Her husband's to Aleppo gone, master o'the Tiger:
But in a sieve I'll thither sail,
And, like a rat without a tail,
I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do.
» Truth.
* Defended by annour of prooC
7 A (curvy woman fed on offkla.
Shaksnearc means Mars.
« Avaunt, begone.
2 Witch. I'll give thee a wind.
1 WUch. Thou art kind.
3 Witch. And I another.
1 Witch. I myself have all the other;
And the very ports they blow,
All the quarters that tliey know
I* the shipman's card. 8
I will drain him dry as hay :
Sleep shall, neither night nor day,
Hang upon liis pent-house lid ;
He shall live a man forbid f :
Weary seven nights, nine times nine.
Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine :
Though his bark cannot be lost,
Yet it shall be tempest-toss'd.
Look what I have.
2 Witch. Show me, show me.
1 Witch. Here I have a pilot's thumb,
Wreck'd, as homeward he did come.
[Drum vithitu
3 Witch. A drum, drum ;
Macbeth doth come.
AU. The weird sisters ', hand in hand.
Posters of the sea and land.
Thus do go about, about ;
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again, to make up nine :
Peace ! — the charm's wound up.
Enter Macbeth and Banquo.
Macb. So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
Ban. How far is't call'd to Fores — What are
these.
So wither'd, and so wild in their attire ;
That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth,
And yet are on't ? Live you ? or are you aught
That man may question ? You seem to understand
me.
By each at once her choppy finger laying
Upon her skinny lips : — You should be women,
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret
That you are so.
Macb. Speak, if you can ; — What are you ?
1 Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! hail to thee, thane
of Glamis !
2 Witch. All hail, Macbeth ! hail to thee, tliane
of Cawdor !
S WUch. All hail, Macbeth ! that shalt be king
hereafter.
Ban. Good sir, why do you start and seem to fear
Things that do sound so fair ? — I'the name of truth,
Are ye fantastical ', or that indeed
Which outwardly ye show ? My noble partner
You greet with present grace, and great prediction
Of noble having % and of royal hope,
That he seems rapt * withal ; to me you speak not :
If you can look into the seeds of time,
And say, which grain will grow, and which will not ;
Speak then to me, who neither beg nor fear,
Your favours, nor your hate.
1 WUch. Hail!
2 WUch. Hail!
3 fruch. Hail!
1 WUch. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.
2 WUch. Not so happy, yet much happier.
3 WUch. Thou shalt get kings, though then be
none :
So, all hail, Macbeth, and Banquo !
« ComiMUS. » Accurwd. > Prophetic lister*.
' Supematurml, spiritual » EUtatc. * Abstracted.
310
MACBETH.
Act I.
1 IVitch. Banquo, and Macbeth, all hail !
Macb. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more :
By Sinel's death, I know, I am thane of Glamis :
But how of Cawdor ? the thane of Cawdor lives,
A prosperous gentleman ; and, to be king,
Stands not within the prospect of belief,
No more than to be Cawdor. Say, from whence
You owe this strange intelligence ? or why
Upon this blasted heath you stop our way
With such prophetic greeting ? — Speak, I charge
you. [Witches vanish.
Ban. The earth hath bubbles, as the water has,
And these are of them: — Whither are they vanish'd?
Macb. Into the air; and what seem'd corporal
melted
As breath into the wind. — 'Would they had staid !
Bari. Were such things here, as we do speak
about ?
Or have we eaten of the insane root,
That takes the reason prisoner ?
Macb. Your children shall be kings.
Ban. You shall be king.
Macb. And thane of Cawdor too; went it not so ?
Ban. To the self-same tune and words. Who's
here ?
Enter Rosse and Angus.
Rosse. Tlie king hath happily receiv'd, Macbeth,
The news of thy success : and when he reads
Thy personal venture in the rebels' fight,
His wonders and his praises do contend,
Which should be thine, or his : Silenc'd with that.
In viewing o'er the rest o' the self-same day.
He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks,
Nothing afeard of what thyself didst make.
Strange images of death. As thick as tale 5,
Came post with post ; and every one did bear
Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence,
And pour'd them down before him.
Aug. We are sent>
To give thee, from our royal master, thanks ;
To herald thee into his sight, not pay thee.
Rosse. And, for an earnest of a greater honour,
He bade me, from him, call thee thane of Cawdor:
In which addition, hail, most worthy thane ?
For it is thine.
Ban. What, can the devil speak true ?
Macb. The thane of Cawdor lives : Why do you
dress me
In borrow'd robes?
A?ig. Who was the thane, lives yet ;
But under heavy judgment bears that life
Which he deserves to lose. Whether he was
Combin'd with Norway ; or did line the rebel
With hidden help and vantage ; or that with both
He labour'd in his country's wreck, I know not ;
But treasons capital, confess'd and prov'd,
Have overthrown him.
Macb. Glamis, and thane of Cawdor :
The greatest is behind. — Thanks for your pains. —
Do you not hope your children shall be kings.
When those that gave the thane of Cawdor to me,
Promis'd no less to them ?
Ban. That, trusted home.
Might yet enkindle you unto the crown.
Besides the thane of Cawdor. But 'tis strange :
And oftentimes to win us to our harm,
The instruments of darkness tell us truths ;
Win us with honegt trifles, to betray us
"^ As fast as they could be counted
In deepest consequence. —
Cousins, a word, I pray you.
Macb. Two truths are told,
As happy prologues to the swelling act
Of the imperial theme. — I thank you, gentlemen.—
This supernatural soliciting 6
Cannot be ill ; cannot be good : — If ill.
Why hath it given me earnest of success,
Commencing in a truth ? I am thane of Cawdor :
If good, why do I yield to that suggestion
Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair.
And make my seated heart knock at my ribs
Against the use of nature ? Present fears
Are less than horrible imaginings :
My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical,
Shakes so my single state of man, that function
Is smother'd in surmise : and nothing is,
But what is not.
Ban. Look, how our partner's rapt.
Macb. If chance will have me king, why, chance
may crown me,
Without my stir.
Ban. New honours come upon him
Like our strange garments, cleave 7 not to their mould.
But with the aid of use.
Macb. Come what come may ;
Time and the hour 8 runs through the roughest day.
Ban. Worthy Macbeth we stay upon your leisure.
Macb. Give me your favours : — my duU brain
was wrought
With things forgotten. Kind gentlemen, your pains
Are register'd where every day I turn
The leaf to read them. — Let us toward the king. —
Think upon what hath chanc'd : and, at more time^
The interim having weigh'd it, let us speak
Our free hearts each to other.
Ban. Very gladly.
Macb. Till then, enough. — Come, friends.
[JExeuni.
SCENE IV Fores. A Room in the Palace.
Flourish. Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain,
Lenox, and Attendants.
Dun. Is execution done on Cawdor ? Are not
Those in commission yet return'd ?
Mai. My liege.
They are not yet come back. But I have spoke
With one that saw him die : who did report,
That very frankly he confess'd his treasons ;
Implor'd your highness' pardon ; and set forth
A deep repentance : nothing in his life
Became him, like the leaving it ; he died
As one that had been studied in his death.
To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd ',
As 'twere a careless trifle.
DuTi. There's no art.
To find the mind's construction in the face :
He was a gentleman on whom I built
An absolute trust. — O worthiest cousin !
Enter Macbeth, Banquo, Rosse, and Angus. .
The sin of my ingratitude even now
Was heavy on me ; Thou art so far before.
That swiftest wing of recompense is slow
To overtake thee. 'Would thou hadst less deserv'd:
That the proportion both of thanks and payment
i
I
6 Incitement.
8 Time and opportunity.
' Owned, possessed.
7 t. e. Which cleare not
9 Pardon.
Scene V.
MACBETH.
311
Might have been mine ! only I have left to say,
More is thy due than more than all can pay.
Macb . The service and the loyalty I owe,
In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part
Is to receive our duties : and our duties
Are to your throne and state, children, and servants ;
Which do but what they should, by doing every thing
Safe toward your love and honour.
Dun, Welcome liither :
I have begun to plant thee, and will labour
To make thee full of growing. — Noble Banquo,
That hast no less deserv'd, nor must be known
No less to have done so, let me infold thee,
And hold thee to my heart.
Dan. There if I grow,
The harvest is your own.
Dun. My plenteous joys.
Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves
In drops of sorrow. — Sons, kinsmen, thanes,
And you whose places are the nearest, know.
We will establish our estate upon
Our eldest, Malcolm ; whom we name hereafter.
The prince of Cumberland : which honour must
Not, unaccompanied, invest him only.
But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine
On all deservers. — From hence to Inverness,
And bind us further to you.
Macb. The rest is labour, which is not us'd for you :
I'll be myself the harbinger, and make joyful
The hearing of my wife with your approach ;
So, humbly take my leave.
Dun. My worthy Cawdor !
Macb. The prince of Cumberland ! — That is a
step, [Aside.
On which I must fall down, or else o'er-leap.
For in my way it lies. Stars hide your fires !
Let not light see my black and deep desires :
I'he eye wink at the hand ! yet let that be.
Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see. [Exit.
Dun. True, worthy Banquo ; he is full so valiant ^ ;
And in his commendations I am fed ;
It is a banquet to me. Let us after him,
Whose care is gone before to bid us welcome :
It is a peerless kinsman. [Flourish. Exeunt.
SCENE V. — Inverness. A Room in Macbeth'5
Castle.
Enter Lady Macbeth, reading a letter.
Lady M. Tliey met me in the day of success ; and
I have learned by the perfectest repori, they have more
in them than mortal knowledge. When I burned in
dt'sire to question them further, they made themselves
— air, into which they vanished. Whiles I stood rapt
in tlie wonder of it, came missives^ from the king, who
all hailed me, Thane of Cawdor ; by which title,
bifore, these weird sisters saluted me, and referred me
to the coming on of lime, with, Hail, king that shalt
be ! This have I thought good to deliver thee, my
dearest partner of greatness ; that thou mightest not
lose the dues of rejoicing, by being ignorant of what
greatness is promised thee. Lay it to thy heart, and
fareufell.
Glamis thou art, and Cawdor ; and shalt be
What thou art promised: — Yet do I fear thy nature;
It is too full o' the milk of human kindness.
To catch the nearest way : Thou wouldst be great ;
Art not without ambition ; but without
> Full M valiant at described.
Mescengcrt.
The illness should attend it. Wliat thou wouldst
highly,
That wouldst thou holily ; wouldst not play false.
And yet wouldst wrongly win ; thou'dst have great
Glamis,
That which cries, Thus thou must do, if thou have it. ;
And that which rather thou dost fear to do.
Than wishest should be undone. Hie thee hither,
That I may pour my spirits in thine ear ;
And chastise with the valour of my tongue
All that impedes thee from the golden round *,
Which fate and metaphysical^ aid doth seem
To have thee crown'd withal. — What is your tidings ?
Enter an Attendant.
Attend. The king comes here to-night.
Lady M. ITiou'rt mad to say it:
f s not thy master with him ? who, wer't so.
Would have inform'd for preparation.
Attend. So please you, it is true ; our thane is
coming :
One of my fellows had the speed of him ;
Who, almost dead for breath, had scarcely more
Than would make up his message.
Lady M. Give him tending,
He brings great news. The raven himself is hoarse,
[Exit Attendant.
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements. Come, come, you spirits
That tend on mortal ^ thoughts, unsex me here ;
And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full
Of direst cruelty ! make thick my blood.
Stop up the access and passage to remorse 7 ;
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
The effect, and it ! Come to my woman's breasts.
And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers.
Wherever in your sightless substances
You wait on nature's mischief : Come, thick night.
And pall 8 thee in the dunnest smoke of hell !
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes ;
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark.
To cry. Hold, hold ! Great Glamis ! worthy
Cawdor !
Enter Macbeth.
Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter !
Thy letters have transported me beyond
This ignorant present, and I feel now
The future in the instant.
Macb. My dearest love,
Duncan comes here to-night.
Lady M. And when goes hence ?
Macb. To-morrow, — as he purposes.
Lndy M. O, never
Shall sun that morrow see !
Your face, my thane, is as a book, where men
May read strange matters : — To beguile tlic time.
Look like the time ; bear welcome in your eye.
Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent
flower,
But be the serpent under it. He that's coming
Must be provided for : and you sliall put
This night's great business into my despatch ;
Which shall to all our nights and days to come
Give solely sovereign sway and raasterdom.
Macb. We will speak further.
* Diadem.
8 Deadly, murderous.
8 Wra{> aa in a mantle
^ SupernaturaL
' Pity.
X 4
S12
Lady M.
To alter favours ever is to fear
Leave all the rest to me.
MACBETH.
Act I. Scene VII.
Only look up clear ;
^Exeunt.
SCENE VL— Before the Castle.
Hautboys. Servants of Macbeth attending.
Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Banquo,
Lenox, Macduff, Rosse, Augvs, and Attendants.
Dun. This castle hath a pleasant seat ; the air
Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself
Unto our gentle senses.
JSan. This guest of summer,
The temple-haunting martlet, does approve,
By his lov'd mansionry, that the heaven's breath,
Smells wooingly here : no jutty, frieze, buttress.
Nor coigne of vantage ', but this bird hath made
His pendent bed, and procreant cradle: Where they
Most breed and haunt, I have observ'd, the air
Is delicate.
Enter Lady Macbeth,
Dun. See, see ! our honour'd hostess !
The love that follovvfs us, sometime is our trouble,
Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach you,
How you shall bid God yields us for your pains,
And thank us for your trouble.
Ladt/ M. All our service
In every point twice done, and then done double.
Were poor and single business, to contend
Against those honours deep and broad, wherewith
Your majesty loads our house : For those of old,
And the late dignities heap'd up to them,
We rest your hermits.
Dun. Where's the thane of Cawdor ?
We cours'd him at the heels, and had a purpose
To be his purveyor : but he rides well ;
And his great love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him
To his home before us : Fair and noble hostess,
We are your guest to-night.
Lady M. Your servants ever
Have theirs, themselves, andwhat is theirs in compt3.
To make their audit at your highness' pleasure.
Still to return your own.
Dun. Give me your hand.
Conduct me to mine host ; we love him highly,
And shall continue our graces towards him.
By your leave, hostess. [Exeunt.
SCENE VII. — A Room in the Castle.
Hautboys and torches. Enter, and pass over the
stage, a Sewer \ and divers Servants with dishes
and service. Then enter Macbeth.
Macb. If it were done, when 'tis done, then
'twere well
It were done quickly : If the assassination
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch,
With his surcease, success ; that but this blow
Might be the be-all and the end-all here.
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, —
We'd jump the life to come. — But, in these cases,
We still nave judgment here ; that we but teach
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return
To plague the inventor : Tliis even-handed justice
Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice
To our own lips. He's here in double trust :
9 Look, countenance. ' Convenient corner.
2 Reward. 3 Subject to accompt
< An officer so called from his placing the dishes on the table.
First, as I am his kinsman and his subject,
Strong both against the deed ; then, as his host,
Who should against his murderer shut the door.
Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan
Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been
So clear ih his great office, that his virtues
Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against
The deep damnation of his taking off:
And pity, like a naked new-born babe.
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubin, hors'd
Upon tihe sightless couriers ^ of the air.
Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye,
That tears shall drown the wind. — I have no spur
To prick the sides of my intent, but only
Vaulting ambition, which o'er-leaps itself,
And falls on the other. — How now, what news?
Enter Lady Macbeth.
Lady JW. He has almost supp'd : Why have you
left the chamber ?
Macb. Hath he ask'd for me ?
Lady M. Know you not, he ha&?
Macb. We will proceed no further in this business:
He hath honour'd me of late ; and I have bought
Golden opinions from all sorts of people,
Which would be worn now in their newest gloss,
Not cast aside so soon.
Lady M. Was the hope drunk,
Wherein you dress'd yourself? hath it slept since?
And wakes it now, to look so green and pale
At what it did so freely ? From this time,
Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard
To be the same in thine own act and valour.
As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that
Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life.
And live a coward in thine own esteem ;
Letting / dare not wait upon / would.
Like the poor cat i' the adage?
Macb. Pr'ythee, peace :
I dare do all that may become a man
Who dares do more, is none.
Lady M. What beast was it then
That made you break this enterprise to me ?
When you durst do it, then you were a man ;
And, to be more than what you were, you would
Be so much more the man. Nor time, nor place,
Did then adhere ^, and yet you would make both :
They have made themselves, and that their fitness
now
Does unmake you. I have given suck,and know
How tender 'tis, to love the babe that milks me :
I would, while it was smiling in my face,
Have pluck'd my nipple from its boneless gums,
And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn, as you
Have done to this.
Macb. If we should fail,
Lady M. We fail !
But screw your courage to the sticking place,
And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep,
(Whereto the rather shall his day's hard journey
Soundly invite him,) his two chamberlains
Will I with wine and wassel? so convince 8,
That memory, the warder 9 of the brain.
Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason
A limbeck only : When in swinish sleep
Their drenched natures lie, as in a death,
What cannot you and I perform upon
^ Winds ; sightless is invisible.
6 In the same sense as cohere.
^ Overpower.
Intemi)erance.
Sentinel
Act II. Scene I.
MACBETH.
313
The unguarded Duncan ? what not put upon
His spongy officers ; who shall bear the guilt
Of our great quell ? '
Macb. Bring forth men-children only !
For thy undaunted mettle should compose
Nothing but males. "Will it not be received 2,
When we have mark'd witli blood those sleepy two
Of his own chamber, and us'd their very daggers,
That they have done't?
Lady M. Who dares receive it other.
As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar
Upon his death ?
Macb. I am settled, and bend up
Each corporal agent to this terrible feat.
Away, and mock the time with fairest show :
False face must hide what the false heart doth know.
[Exeunt.
ACT 11.
SCENE I. — Court within Macbeth's Castle.
Enter Banquo and Flkance, and a Servant xvith a
torch before ihem.
JBaiu How goes the night, boy ?
Fie. The moon is down ; I have not heard the
clock.
Ban. And she goes down at twelve.
Fie. I take't, 'tis later, sir.
Ban. Hold, take my sword : — There's hus-
bandry 3 in heaven.
Their candles are all out. — Take thee that too.
A heavy summons lies like lead upon me.
And yet I would not sleep : Merciful powers !
Restrain in me the cursed thoughts, that nature
Gives way to in repose ! — Give me my sword : —
Enter Macbeth, and a Servant with a torch.
Who's there ?
Macb. A friend.
Ban What, sir, not yet at rest? The king's a-bed :
He hath been in unusual pleasure, and
Sent forth great largess ■* to your offices^ :
This diamond he greets your wife withal,
By tlie name of most kind hostess ; and shut up ^
In measureless content.
Macb. Being unprepar'd.
Our will became the servant to defect ;
Which else should free have wrought.
Ban. All's well.
I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters :
To you they have show'd some truth.
Macb. I think not of them :
Yet when we can entreat an hour to serve,
Would spend it in some words upon that business.
If you would grant the time.
Ban. At your kind'st leisure.
Macb, If you shall cleave to my consent,— when
'tis,
It shall make honour for you.
Ban. So I lose none.
In seeking to augment it, but still keep
My bosom franchis'd, and allegiance clear,
I shall be counsell'd.
Macb. Good repose, tlie while.
Ban. Thanks, sir ; The like to you.
[Exit Banquo and Fleance.
Macb, Go, bid thy mistress, when my drink is
ready,
She strike upon the bell. Get thee to bed.
[Exit Seixmit.
' Murder.
* Bounty.
• Conclude.
' Supposed. 3 Thrift
^ The rooms appropriated to •ervantJ.
Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand ? Come, let me clutch
thee : — —
I have thee not, and yet I see thee stilL
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling, as to sight ? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind ; a false creation.
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ?
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I draw.
Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going ;
And such an instrument I was to use.
Mine eyes are made the fools o'the other senses,
Or else worth all the rest : I see thee still ;
And on thy blade, and dudgeon 7, gouts ^ of blood,
Which was not so before. — There's no such thing :
It is the bloody business, which informs
Thus to mine eyes. — Now o'er the one half world
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse.
The curtain'd sleep ; now witchcraft celebrates
Pale Hecate's offerings ; and wither'd murder,
Alarum'd by his sentinel, the wolf.
Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace.
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design
Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set
earth.
Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear
Thy very stones prate of my where-about.
And take the present horror from the time.
Which now suits with it. — Whiles I threat, he lives;
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives.
[A belt rings.
I go, and it is done ; the bell invites me.
Hear it not, Duncan ; for it is a knell
That summons thee to heaven, or to hell. [Exit,
SCENE 11. — The same.
Enter Lady Macbeth.
Lady M. That wliich hath made them drunk,
hath made me bold :
What hath quench'd tliem, hath given me fire : —
Hark ! — Peace !
It was the owl that shriek 'd, the fatal bellman,
Which gives the stem'st good night. He is about it :
The doors are open ; and the surfeited grooms
Do mock their charge with snores : I have drugg'd
their possets,
I'hat death and nature do contend about them,
Whether they live or die.
Macb. [ Within] Who's there ? — what, ho !
Lady M. Alack ! I am afraid they have awak'd,
And 'tis not done : — tlie attempt, and not the deed,
■ Haft, handle. » Drops,
314.
MACBETH.
Act II.
Hark ! — I laid their daggers
Confounds us :
ready,
He could not miss them. — Had he not resembled
My father as he slept, 1 had done't. — My husband?
Enter Macbeth.
Macb. I have done the deed : — Didst thou not
hear a noise ?
Ladi/ M. I heard the owl scream, and the crickets
cry.
Did not you speak ?
Macb. When?
Lady M. Now.
Macb. As I descended ?
Ladi/ M. Ay.
Macb. Hark! —
Who lies i'the second chamber ?
Lady M. Donalbain.
Macb. This is a sorry sight.
[Looking on his hands.
Lady M. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight.
Macb. There's one did laugh in his sleep, and
one cried, murder I
That they did wake each other ; I stood and heard
them :
But they did say their prayers, and addressed them
Again to sleep.
Lady M. There are two lodg'd together.
Macb. One cried, God bless us ! and, Amen, the
other ;
As they had seen me, with these hangman's hands
Listening their fear. I could not say amen.
When they did say, God bless us.
Lady M. Consider it not so deeply.
Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce,
amen?
I had most need of blessing, and amen
Stuck in my throat.
Lady M. These deeds must not be thought
After these ways ; so, it will make us mad.
Macb. Methought, I heard a voice cry, Sleej^ no
more !
Macbeth does murder sleep, the innocent sleep ;
Sleep, that knits up the ravelVd sleave 9 of care,
The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,
Chief nourisher in life's feast ; —
Lady M. What do you mean ?
Macb. Still it cried. Sleep no more! to all the house :
Glamis hath murder'd sleep ; and therefore Cawdor
Shall sleep no more, Macbeth shall sleep no more !
Lady M. Who was it that thus cried ? Why,
worthy thane,
You do unbend your noble strength, to think
So brainsickly of things : — Go, get some water,
And wash this filthy witness from your hand. —
Why did you bring these daggers from the place ?
They must lie there ; Go, carry them ; and smear
The sleepy groom with blood.
Macb. I'll go no more :
I am afraid to think what I have done ;
Look on't again, I dare not.
Lady M. Infirm of purpose !
Give me the daggers : The sleeping and the dead
Are but as pictures : 'tis the eye of childhood.
That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed,
I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal.
For it must seem their guilt.
\_Exit. Knocking within.
» Sleave is unwrought silk
Macb. Whence is that knocking?
How is't with me, when every noise appals me ?
What hands are here? Ha! they pluck out mine
eyes !
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from .my hand? No; this my hand will rather
The multitudinous seas incarnardine, '
Making the green — one red.
Re-enter Lady Macbeth.
Lady M. My hands are of your colour ; but I -
shame
To wear a heart so white. [Knocking''] I hear a
knocking
At the south entry : — retire we to our chamber :
A little water clears us of this deed :
How easy is it then ? Your constancy
Hath left you unattended. ■ — [Knocking.'] Hark !
more knocking :
Get on your night-gown, lest occasion call us.
And show us to be watchers : — Be not lost
So poorly in your thoughts.
ifacb. To know my deed, — 'twere best not know
myself. [Knocking.
Wake Duncan with thy knocking ! I would thou
couldst ! [Exeimt.
SCENE IIL — The same.
Enter a Porter. [Knocking ivithin.
Porter. Here's a knocking, indeed ! [Knocking.]
Knock, knock, knock: Who's there? Come in time.
[KnocJcing.] Knock, knock: Who's there? [Knock-
ing.] Knock, knock: Never at quiet! What are
you ? [Knocking.] Anon, anon ; I pray you re-
member the porter. [Opens the gate.
Enter Macduff and Lenox.
Macd. Was it so late, friend, ere you went to bed
That you do lie so late ?
Port. Faith, sir, we were carousing till the se-
cond cock.
Macd. Is thy master stirring ? —
Our knocking has awak'd him ; here he come^.
Enter Macbeth.
Len. Good-morrow, noble sir !
Macb. Good morrow, both !
Macd. Is the king stirring, worthy thane ?
Macb. Not yet.
Macd. He did command me to call timely on hira j
I have almost slipp'd the hour.
Macb. I'll bring you to him.
Macd. I know this is a joyful trouble to you ;
But yet 'tis one.
Macb. The labour we delight in physics '2 pain.
This is the door.
Macd. I'll make so bold to call,
For 'tis my limited service. 3 [Exit Macduff.
Len. Goes the king
From hence to-day ?
Macb. He does : — he did appoint it so.
Len. The night has been unruly : Where we
lay,
Our chimnies were blown down ; and, as they say,
Lamentings heard i'the air; strange screams of
death ;
1 To incarnardine is to stain of a flesh colour.
2 I. e. Affords a cordial to it. 3 Appointed service.
Scene III.
MACBETH.
And prophesying, with accents terrible,
Of dire combustion, and confus'd events.
New hatch'd to the woeful time. The obscure bird
Clamour'd the livelong night : some say, the earth
Was feverous, and did shake.
-¥°^*- ^^ 'Twas a rough night.
. Len. My young remembrance cannot parallel
A fellow to it.
Re-enter Macduff.
, Macd. O horror! horror! horror! Tongue, nor
heart.
Cannot conceive nor name thee !
Macb. Len, What's the matter ?
Macd. Confusion now hath made his masterpiece '
Most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope
The Lord's anointed temple, and stole thence
The life o' the building.
^^b. What is't you say ? the life ?
Lett. Mean you his majesty ?
Macd. Approach the chamber, and destroy your
sight ^
With a new Gorgon : — Do not bid me speak ;
See, and then speak yourselves. — Awake ! awake !
[Exeunt Macbeth and Lenox.
Ring the alarum-bell : — Murder, and treason !
Banquo, and Donalbain ! Malcolm ! awake !
Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit,
And look on death itself! Up, up, and see
The great doom's image ! Malcolm ! Banquo '
As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprights,
To countenance this horror. ^jjeU rings.
Enter Lady Macbeth.
Lady M. What's the business,
1 liat such a hideous trumpet calls to parley
The sleepers of tlie house ? speak, speak,
.n/^'"''^*. O, gentle lady,
lis not for you to hear what I can speak :
The repetition, in a woman's ear.
Would murder as it fell O Banquo! Banquo!
Enter Banquo.
Our royal master's murder'd !
Ladt/ M. Woe, alas !
What, in our house ?
Ran. Too cruel, any where.
Dear Duff, I pr'ythee contradict thyself,
And say, it is not so.
315
Re-enter Macbeth and Lenox.
Macb. Had I but died an hour before this chance,
I had liv'd a blessed time ; for, from tliis instant,
I here's nothing serious in mortality :
All is but toys : renown, and grace is dead :
The wine of life is drawn, and the meer lees
Is left this vault to brag of.
Enter Malcolm and Donalbain.
Don. What is amiss ?
il/ac6. You are, and do not know it :
Ihe spring, the head, the fountain of your blood
Is stopp'd ; the very source of it is stopp'd.
Macd. Your royal father's murder'd.
^'^', ^ ,. O! by whom?
i^en. Ihose of his chamber, as it seem'd, had
done't :
Their hands and faces were all badg'd with blood,
bo were their daggers, which, unwip'd, we found
Ui)on their pillows :
T^ey star'd, and were distracted; no man's life
Was to be trusted with them.
Macb. O, yet I do repent me of my fury.
That I did kill them. ^ ^'
^"cd. Wherefore did you so ?
Macb. Who can be wise, amaz'd, temperate and
furious.
Loyal and neutral, in a moment ? No man ;
The expedition of my violent love
Out-ran the pauser reason. — Here lay Duncan,
His silver skin lac'd with his golden blood ;
And his gash'd stabs look'd like a breach in nature,
^or rum's wasteful entrance : there, the murderers,
bteep'd in the colours of their trade, their daggers
Unmanneriy breech'd with gore* : Who could re-
frain.
That had a heart to love, and in that heart
Courage to make liis love known ?
{'""^y M. Help me hence, ho !
Macd. Look to the lady.
Mai. Why do we hold our tongues,
lliat most may claim this argument for ours ?
Don. What should be spoken here.
Where our fate, hid within an augre-hole.
May rush and seize us? Let's away; our tears
Are not yet brew'd.
rr,^"}' N^or our strong sorrow on
liie foot of motion.
^<^n. Look to the lady :
. , , [Lady Macbeth is carried otu.
And when we have our naked frailties hid.
That suffer in exposure, let us meet.
And question this most bloody piece of work.
To know it further. Fears and scruples shake us ;
In the great hand of God I stand ; and, thence.
Against the undivulg'd pretence I fight
Of treasonous malice.
Macb, And so do I.
^^- , . So all.
Macb. Let's briefly put on manly readiness.
And meet i' the hall together.
^^' Well contented.
[Exeunt all but Mal. and Don.
Mai. What will you do ? Let's not consort with '
them :
To show an unfelt sorrow, is an office k
Which the false man does easy : I'll to England. I
Don. To Ireland, I ; our separated fortune
Shall keep us both the safer : where we are.
There's daggers in men's smiles : the near in blood.
The nearer bloody.
Mat. This murderous shaft that's shot.
Hath not yet lighted ; and our safest way
Is, to avoid the aim. Therefore, to horse ;
And let us not be dainty of leave taking.
But shift away : there's warrant in that thefl.
Which steals itself, when there's no mercy left
[Ereunt.
SCENE IV. — iruhoui the Castle.
Enter Rosse and an Old Man.
Old M. Threescore and ten I can rememl>er well :
Within the volume of which time, I have seen
Hours dreadful, and things strange ; but this sore
night
Hath trifled former knowings.
^o«e. Ah, good father.
Thou secst the heavens, as troubled with man's act,
* CoTered with blood to their hUts.
316
MACBETH.
Act III.
Threaten his bloody stage : by the clock, 'tis day,
And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp :
Is it night's predominance, or the day's shame,
That darkness does the face of earth intomb.
When living light should kiss it ?
Old M. 'Tis unnatural,
Even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last
A falcon, towrering in her pride of place,
Was by a mousing owl havvk'd at, and kill'd.
Rosse. And Duncan's horses, (a thing most
strange and certain,)
Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race,
Turn'd wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out.
Contending 'gainst obedience, as they would make
War with mankind.
Old M. 'Tis said, they eat each other.
Rosse. They did so ; to the amazement of mine
eyes.
That look'd upon't. Here comes the good Mac-
duff:
Enter Macduff.
How goes the world, sir, now ?
Macd. Why, see you not ?
Rosse. Is't known who did this more than bloody
deed?
Macd. Those that Macbeth hath slain.
Rosse. Alas, the day :
What good could they pretend ?*
Macd. They were suborn'd :
Malcolm, and Donalbain, the king's two sons,
Are stol'n away and fled ; which puts upon them
Suspicion of the deed.
Rosse. 'Gainst nature still ;
Thriftless ambition, that wilt raven up
Thine own life's means ! — Then 'tis most like.
The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth.
Macd. He is already nam'd ; and gone to Scone,
To be invested.
Rosse. Where is Duncan's body ?
Macd. Carried to Colmes-kill ;
The sacred storehouse of his predecessors,
And guardian of their bones.
Rosse. Will you to Scone ?
Macd. No, cousin, I'll to Fife.
Rosse. Well, I will thither.
Macd. Well, may you see things well done
there ; — adieu ! — —
Lest our old robes sit easier than our new !
Rosse. Father, farewell.
Old M. God's benison go with you : and with
those
That would make good of bad, and friends of foes !
[ExeurU*
ACT III,
SCENE I. — Fores. A Room in the Palace.
Enter Banquo.
Ran. Thou hast it now. King, Cawdor, Glamis,
all.
As the weird women promis'd ; and, I fear.
Thou play'dst most foully for't : yet it was said.
It should not stand in thy posterity ;
But that myself should be the root, and father
Of many kings. If there come truth from them,
(As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine,)
Why, by the verities on thee made good,
May they not be my oracles as well.
And set me up in hope? But, hush j no more.
Senet sounded. Enter Macbeth, as King; Lady
Macbeth, as Queen; Lenox, Rosse, Lords,
Ladies, and Attendants.
Macb. Here's our chief guest.
Ladi/ M. If he had been forgotten.
It had been as a gap in our great feast,
And all things unbecoming.
Macb. To-night we hold a solemn supper, sir.
And I'll request your presence.
Ban. Let your highness
Command upon me ; to the which, my duties
Are with a most indissoluble tie
For ever knit.
Macb. Ride you this afternoon ?
Ban. Ay, my good lord.
Macb. We should have else desir'd your good
advice
(Which still hath been both grave and prosperous,)
In this day's council j but we'll take to-morrow.
Is't far you ride ?
Ban. As far, my lord, as will fill up the time
'Tvvixt this and supper : go not my horse the better,
I must become a borrower of the night,
For. a dark hour or twain.
Macb. Fail not our feast.
Ban. My lord, I will not.
Macb. We hear, our bloody cousins are bestow'd
In England, and in Ireland j not confessing
Their cruel parricide, filling their hearers
With strange invention : But of that to-morrow ;
When,^ therewithal, we shall have cause of state.
Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse : Adieu,
Till you return at night. Goes Fleance with you ?
Ban. Ay, my good lord: our time does call upon us.
Macb. I wish your horses swift and sure of foot ;
And so I do commend you to their backs.
Farewell. \_Exit Banquo.
Let every man be master of his time
Till seven at night ; to make society
The sweeter welcome, we will keep ourself
TiU supper-time alone : while then, God be with you.
{^Exeunt Lady Macbeth, Lords, Ladies, ^c.
Sirrah, a word : Attend those men our pleasure ?
jltten. They are, my lord, without the palace gate.
Macb. Bring them before us. — {Exit Atten.]
To be thus, is nothing ;
But to be safely thus : — Our fears in Banquo
Stick deep ; and in his royalty ^ of nature
Reigns that, which would be fear'd: 'Tis much he
dares ;
And, to that dauntless temper of his mind,
He hath a wasdom that doth guide his valour
To act in safety. There is none, but he
Whose being I do fear : and, under him,
My genius is rebuk'd ; as, it is said,
Mark Antony's was by Caesar. He chid the sisters,
When first they put the name of King upon me,
(
■> Intend to themselves.
6 Nobleness.
Scene I.
MACBETH.
317
And bade tliem speak to him ; tlien, prophet-like,
They hail'd him father to a line of kings :
Upon my head they plac'd a fruitless crown,
And put a barren sceptre in my gripe,
Thence to be wrench'd with an unlineal hand.
No son of mine succeeding. If it be so.
For Banquo's issue have I fil'd 7 my mind ;
For them the gracious Duncan have I murder'd ;
Put rancours in the vessel of my peace
Only for them ; and mine eternal jewel
Given to the common enemy of man.
To make them kings, the seed of Banquo kings !
Ratiier than so, come, fate, into the list.
And champion me to the utterance ! ^ — Who's
there ? —
Re-enter Attendant, with Two Murderers.
Now to the door, and stay there till we call.
[Exit Attendant.
Was it not yesterday we spoke together ?
1 Mur. It was, so please your highness.
Macb. Well then, now
Have you consider'd of my speeches? Know,
That it was he, in the times past, which held you
So under fortune ; which, you thought, had been
Our innocent self: this I made good to you
In our last conference; pass'd in probation^ with you,
How you were borne in hand ; how cross'd ; the
instruments ;
Who wrought with them ; and all things else, that
might,
To half a soul, and a notion craz'd.
Say, Thus did Banquo.
1 Mur. You made it known to us.
Macb. I did so ; and went further, which is now
Our point of second meeting. Do you find
Your patience so predominant in your nature.
That you can let this go? Are you so gospell'd,
To pray for that good man, and for his issue,
Whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave.
And beggar'd yours for ever?
1 Mur. We are men, my liege.
Macb. Ay, m the catalogue ye go for men ;
As hounds, and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs,
Shoughs ', water-rugs, and demi- wolves, are cle^jed*
All by the name of dogs : the valued file
Distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle.
The house-keeper, the hunter, every one
According to the gift which bounteous nature
Hath in him clos'd ; whereby he does receive
Particular addition ', from the bill
That writes them all alike : And so of men.
Now, if you have a station in the file,
And not in the worst rank of manhood, say it ;
And I will put that business in your bosoms,
Whose execution takes your enemy off;
Grapples you to the heart and love of us,
Who wear our health but sickly in his life,
Which in his death were perfect.
2 Mur. 1 am one, my liege,
Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world
Have so incens'd that I am reckless ^ what
I do, to spite the world.
1 Mur. And I another.
So weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune,
Tliat I would set my life on any chance.
To mend it, or be rid on't.
' For defiled. " ChallenRC me to extremUics,
» Proved. » Wolf-dogt. ' Called.
» Title, description * Carelcifc
Macb. Both of you
Know, Banquo was your enemy.
2 Mur. True, my lord,
Macb. So is he mine : and in such bloody distance,
That every minute of his being thrusts
Against my near'st of life : And though I could
With bare-fac'd power sweep him from my sight,
And bid my will avouch it ; yet I must not.
For 5 certain friends that are both his and mine,
Whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall
Whom I myself struck down : and thence it is,
That I to your assistance do make love ;
Masking the business from the common eye.
For sundry weighty reasons.
2 Mur. We shall, my lord.
Perform what you command us.
1 Mvr. Though our lives
Macb. Your spirits shine through you. Within
this hour, at most,
I will advise you where to plant yourselves.
Acquaint you with the perfect spy o'the time,
The moment on't ; for't must be done to-night.
And something from the palace ; always thought.
That I require a clearness ; And with hun,
(To leave no rubs, nor botches, in the work,)
Fleance his Son, that keeps him company,
Whose absence is no less material to me
Than is his father's, must embrace the fate
Of tliat dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart ;
I'll come to you anon.
2 Mur. We are resolv'd, my lord.
Macb. I'll call upon you straight ; abide within.
It is concluded : Banquo, thy soul's flight,
If it find heaven, must find it out to-night. [Exeuiit.
SCENE II. —Another Room.
Enter Lady Macbeth, and a Servant.
Lady M. Is Banquo gone from court ?
Serv. Ay, madam, but returns again to-night.
Lady M. Say to the king, I would attend his
leisure
For a few words.
Serv. Madam, I will. [Exit.
Lady M. Nought's had, all's spent,
Where our desire is got without content :
'Tis safer to be that which we destroy.
Than, by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy.
Enter Macbkth.
How now, my lord ? why do you keep alone,
Of sorriest ^ fancies your companions making ?
Using those thoughts, which should indeed have died
With them they think on ? Things without remedy.
Should be without regard : what's done, is done.
Macb. We have scotch'd the snake, not kill'd it ;
She'll close, and be herself ; whilst our poor malice
Remains in danger of her former tooth.
But let
The frame of things disjoint, both the worlds suffer,
Ere we will eat our m«al in fear, and sleep
In the affliction of these terrible dreams,
That shake us nightly : Better be with the dead.
Whom we, to gfun our place, have sent to peace.
Than on the torture of the mind to lie
In restless ecstasy. ^ Duncan is in his grave ;
After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well ;
Treason has done his worst : nor steel, nor poison,
^ Because of. * Most melancholy.
Agony.
318
MACBETH.
Act in.
Malice domestick, foreign levy, nothing,
Can touch him further !
Lady M. Come on ;
Gentle my lord, sleek o'er your rugged looks ;
Be bright and jovial 'mong your guests to-night.
Macb. So shall I, love ; and so, I pray, be you :
Let your remembrance apply to Banquo ;
Present him eminence 8, both with eye and tongue :
Unsafe the while, that we
Must lave our honours in these flattering streams ;
And make our faces vizards to our hearts^
Disguising what they are.
Lady M. You must leave this.
Macb. O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife !
Thou know'st, that Banquo, and his Fleance, lives.
Lady M. But in them nature's copy's not eterne. 9
Macb. There's comfort yet ; they are assailable ;
Then be thou jocund : Ere the bat hath flown
His cloister'd flight; ere, to black Hecate's summons,
The shard-borne beetle ', with his drowsy hums.
Hath rung night's yawning peal, there shall be done
A deed of dreadful note.
Lady M. What's to be done ?
Macb. Beinnocentof the knowledge, dearestchuck.
Till thou applaud the deed. Come, seeling 2 night,
Skarf up the tender eye of pitiful day ;
And, with thy bloody and invisible hand,
Cancel, and tear to pieces, that great bond
Which keeps me pale ! — Light thickens; and the crow
Makes wing to the rooky wood :
Good things of day begin to droop and drowse ;
Whiles night's black agents to their prey do rouse.
Tliou marvell'st at my words ; but hold thee still ;
Things, bad begun, make strong themselves by ill :
So, pr'ythee, go with me. \_Exeunt.
SCENE III A Park or Lawn, with a Gate
leading to the Palace.
Enter Three Murderers.
1 Mur. But who did bid thee join with us?
3 Mur. Macbeth.
2 Mur. He needs not our mistrust : since he de-
livers
Our offices, and what we have to do,
To the direction just.
1 Mur. Then stand with us.
The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day :
Now spurs the lated traveller apace.
To gain the timely inn ; and near approaches
The subject of our watch.
3 Mur. Hark ! I hear horses.
Ban. \^Within.'\ Give us a light there, ho !
2 Mur. Then it is he ; the rest
That are within the note of expectation,
Already are i'the court.
1 Mur. His horses go about.
3 Mur. Almost a mile : but he does usually.
So all men do, from hence to the palace gate
Make it their walk.
Enter Banquo and Fleance, a Servant with a torch
preceding them.
2 Mur. A light ! a light !
3 Mur. 'Tis he.
1 Mur. Stand to't.
" Do him the highest honours.
8 i. e. The copy, the lease, by which they hold their lives,
is not eternal.
1 The beetle borne in the air by its shards or scaly wings.
* Blinding.
Ban. It will be rain to-night.
1 Mur, Let iv come down.
[^Assaults Banquo.
Ban. O, treachery ! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly;
Thou mayst revenge. O slave !
[Dies. Fleance and Servant escape.
3 Mur. Who did strike out the light ?
1 Mur. Was't not the way ?
3 Mur. There's but one down ; the son has fled.
2 Mur. We have lost best half of our affair.
1 Mur. Well, let's away, and say how much is
done. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — A Room of State in the Palace.
A Banquet prepared. Enter Macbeth, Lady Mac-
beth, RossE, Lenox, Lords, and Attendants.
Macb. You know your own degrees, sit down :
at first
And last, the hearty welcome.
Lords. Thanks to your majesty.
Macb. Ourself will mingle with society.
And play the humble host.
Our hostess keeps her state 3 ; but, in best time,
We will require her welcome.
Lady M. Pronounce it for me, sir, to all our
friends ;
For my heart speaks, they are welcome.
Enter First Murderer, to the door.
Macb. See, they encounter thee with their
hearts' thanks :
Both sides are even : Here I'll sit i'the midst :
Be large in mirth ; anon, we'll drink a measure
The table round. — There's blood upon thy face.
Mur. 'Tis Banquo's then.
Macb. 'Tis better thee without, than he within.
Is he despatch'd ?
Mur. My lord, his throat is cut ; that I did for him.
Macb. Thou art the best o'the cut-throats : Yet
he's good,
That did the like for Fleance : if thou didst it,
Thou art the nonpareil.
Mur. Most royal sir,
Fleance is 'scap'd.
Macb. Then comes my fit again : I had else been
perfect ;
Whole as the marble, founded as the rock ;
As broad, and general, as the casing air :
But now, I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd, bound in
To saucy doubts and fears. But Banquo's safe ?
Mur. Ay, my good lord, safe in a ditch he bides.
With twenty trenched gashes on his head ;
The least a death to nature.
Macb. Thanks for that :
There the grown serpent lies ; the worm, that's fled.
Hath nature that in time will venom breed,
No teeth for the present. — Get thee gone ; to-
morrow
We'll hear ourselves again. [Exit Murderer.
Lady M. My royal lord.
You do not give the cheer : the feast is sold,
Tliat is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a making,
'Tis given with welcome : To feed, were best at
home ;
From thence the sauce to meat is ceremony ;
Meeting were bare without it.
Macb. Sweet remembrancer ! —
Now good digestion wait on appetite.
And health on both !
I
3 Her chair of state.
mi
Scene IV.
MACBETH.
319
Len. May it please your highness sit?
[T}ie Ghost of Banquo risesy and sits in
Macbeth's place.
Macb. Here had we now our country's honour
roof 'd,
Were the grac'd person of our Banquo present ;
Who may I rather challenge for unkindncss,
Than pity for mischance !
Rosse. His absence, sir,
Lays blame upon his promise. Please it your high-
ness
To grace us with your royal company ?
Macb. The table's full.
Len. Here's a place reserv'd, sir.
Macb. Where?
Len. Here my lord. What is't that
moves your highness ?
Macb. Which of you have done this ?
Lords. What, my good lord ?
Macb. Thou canst not say, I did it : never shake
Thy gory locks at me.
Rosse. Gentlemen, rise ; his highness is not well.
Lady M. Sit, worthy friends: — my lord is often
thus,
And hath been from his youth : 'pray you, keep seat ;
The fit is momentary ; upon a thought
He will again be well : If much you note him.
You shall offend him, and extend his passion ;
Feed, and regard him not. — Are you a man ?
Macb. Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that
Which might appal the devil.
Lady M. O proper stuff!
This is the very painting of your fear :
This is the air- drawn dagger, which, you said.
Led you to Duncan. O, these flaws *, and starts,
(Impostors to true fear,) would well become
A woman's story, at a winter's fire,
Authoriz'd by her grandam. Shame itself!
Why do you make such faces ? When all's done.
You look but on a stool.
Macb. Pr'ythce, see there ! behold ! look ! lo !
how say you ?
Why, what care I ? If thou canst nod, speak too
If charnel-houses, and our graves, must send
Those that we bury, back, our monuments
Shall be the maws of kites. [Ghost disappears.
Lady M. What ! quite unmann'd in folly ?
Macb. If I stand here, I saw him.
Lady M. Fye, for shame !
Macb. Blood hath been shed ere now, i'the olden
time.
Ere human statute purg'd the gentle weal ;
Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd
Too terrible for the ear : the times have been,
Thati when the brains were out, the man would die,
And there an end : but now, they rise again.
With twenty mortal murders on their crowns.
And pusli us from our stools : This is more strange
ITian such a murder is.
Lady M. My worthy lord,
Your noble friends do lack you.
Macb. I do forget : —
Do not muse ^ at me, my most worthy friends ;
I have a strange infirmity, which is nothing
To those tliat know me. Come, love and health
to all ;
Tlun I'll sit down : Give me some wine, fill
full :
I drink to the general joy of the whole table,
* Sudden Rujts. * Wonder.
Ghost rises.
And to our dear friend Banquo, whom we miss :
Would he were here ! to all, and him, we thirst.
And all to all. 6
Lords. Our duties, and the pledge.
Macb. A vaunt ! and quit my sight ! Let the earth
hide thee !
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold ;
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes
Which thou dost glare with !
Lady M. Think of this, good peers,
But as a thing of custom : 'tis no other ;
Only it spoils the pleasure of the time.
Macb. What man dare, I dare :
Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear,
The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger.
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves
Shall never tremble : Or, be alive again.
And dare me to the desert with thy sword ;
If trembling I inhibit 7 thee, protest me
The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow !
[GAorf disappears.
Unreal mockery, hence ! — Why so ; — being gone,
I am a man again. — Pray you, sit still.
Lady M. You have displac'd the mirth, broke the
good meeting,
With most admired disorder.
Macb. Can such things be,
And overcome 8 us like a summer's cloud.
Without our special wonder ? You make me strange
Even to the disposition that I owe 9,
When now I think you can behold such sights,
And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks.
When mine are blanch'd with fear.
Rosse. What sights, my lord ?
Lady M. I pray you, speak not ; he grows worse
and worse :
Question enrages him : at once, good night : —
Stand not upon the order of your going.
But go at once.
Len. Good night, and better health
Attend his majesty !
Lady M. A kind good night to all !
[Exeunt Lords and Attendants.
Macb. It will have blood ; they say, blood will
have blood :
Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak;
Augurs, and understood relations, have
By magot-pies ', and choughs, and rooks, brought
forth
The secret'st man of blood. — What is the night ?
Lady M. Almost at odds with morning, which
is which.
Macb. How say'st thou, that Macduff denies his
person.
At our great bidding ?
Lady M. Did you send to him, sir ?
Macb. I hear it by the way ; but I will send :
There's not a one of them, but in his house
I keep a servant fee'd. I will to-morrow,
( Betimes I will,) unto the weird sisters :
More shall they speak ; for now I am bent to know,
By the worst means, the worst : for mine own good.
All causes shall give way ; I am in blood
Slept in so far, tliat, should I wade no more,
Retuniing were as tedious as go o'er ;
Strange things I have in head, that will to hand ;
Wliich must be acted, ere they may be scann'd.*
« I. e All good withes to all ? Forbid. 8 pass over.
> PoifeM ■ Magpies. * Exunined nicely.
320
MACBETH.
Act IV.
Lady M. You lack the season of all natures, sleep.
Maci/. Come, we'll to sleep : My strange and
self-abuse
Is the initiate fear, that wants hard use : —
We are yet but young in deed. [Exeunt.
SCENE V. — The Heath.
Thunder. Enter Hecate, meeting the Three
Witches.
1 Witch. Why, how now, Hecate ? you look an-
gerly.
Hec. Have I not reason, beldams, as you are.
Saucy, and overbold? How did you dare
I'o trade and traffick with Macbeth,
In riddles and affairs of death ;
And I, the mistress of your charms,
The close contriver of all harms,
Was never call'd to bear my part.
Or show the glory of our art ?
And, which is worse, all you have done
Hath been but for a wayward son.
Spiteful, and wrathful j who, as others do.
Loves for his own ends, not for you.
But make amends now : Get you gone,
And at the pit of Acheron,
Meet me i'the morning ; thither he
Will come to know his destiny.
Your vessels, and your spells, provide,
Your charms, and every thing beside :
I am for the air : this night I'll spend
Unto a dismal-fatal end.
Great business must be wrought ere noon ;
Upon the corner of the moon
There hangs a vaporous drop profound 3 ;
I'll catch it ere it come to ground :
And that distill'd by magick slights.
Shall raise such artificial sprights,
As by the strength of their illusion.
Shall draw him on to his confusion :
He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear
His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace, and fear :
And you all know, security
Is mortal's chiefest enemy.
Song. [Within.'} Come away, come away, <^c.
Hark, I am call'd : my little spirit see.
Sits in a foggy cloud, and stays for me. [Exit.
1 Witch. Come, let's make haste ; she'll soon be
back again. [Exeunt.
SCENE VI. — Fores. A Room in the Palace.
Enter Lenox and another Lord.
Len. My former speeches have but
thoughts,
hit
your
Which can interpret further : only, I say.
Things have been strangely borne : The gracious
Duncan
Was pitied of Macbeth : — marry, he was dead : —
And the right-valiant Banquo walk'd too late ;
Whom, you may say, if it please you, Fleance kill'd,
For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late.
Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous
It was for Malcolm, and for Donalbain, ;
To kill their gracious father ? damned fact ! '
How it did grieve Macbeth ! did he not straight.
In pious rage, the two delinquents tear.
That were the slaves of drink, and thralls of sleep ?
Was not that nobly done ? Ay, and wisely too ;
For 'twould have anger'd any heart alive.
To hear the men deny it. So that, I say,
He has borne all things well : and I do think,
That, had he Duncan's sons under his key,
(As, an't please heaven, he shall not,) theyshould find
What 'twere to kill a father ; so should Fleance.
But, peace ! — for from broad words, and 'cause he
fail'd
His presence at the tyrant's feast, I hear,
Macduff lives in disgrace : Sir, can you tell
Where he bestows himself?
Lord. The son of Duncan,
From whom this tyrant holds the due of birth.
Lives in the English court ; and is receiv'd
Of the most pious Edward with such grace.
That the malevolence of fortune nothing
Takes from his high respect : Thither Macduff
Is gone to pray the holy king, on his aid
To wake Northumberland, and warlike Siward :
That, by the help of these, (with Him above
To ratify the work,) we may again
Give to our tables meat, sleep to our nights ;
Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives ;
Do faithful homage, and receive free honours %
All which we pine for now : And this report
Hath so exasperate the king, that he
Prepares for some attempt of war
Len. Sent he to Macduff?
Lord. He did : and with an absolute. Sir, not I,
The cloudy messenger turns me his back.
And hums ; as who should say. You II rue the time
That clogs me with this answer.
Len. And that well might
Advise him to a caution, to hold what distance
His wisdom can provide. Some holy angel
Fly to the court of England, and unfold
His message ere he come : Tliat a swift blessing
May soon return to this our suffering country
Under a hand accurs'd !
Lord. My prayers with him !
[Exeunt.
ACT IV.
SCENE L
A dark Cave. In the middle, a
Cauldron boiling.
Thunder. Enter the Three Witches.
1 Witch. Thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd.
2 WUch. Thrice ; and once the hedge-pig whin'd.
3 Witch. Harper cries : — 'Tis time, 'tis time.
3 i. e. A drop that has deep or hidden qualities.
1 Witch. Round about the cauldron go;
In the poison'd entrails throw.
Toad, that under coldest stone.
Days and nights hast thirty-one
Swelter'd venom sleeping got.
Boil thou first i'the charmed pot !
All. Double, double toil and trouble j
Fire, burn ; and, cauldron, bubble.
< Honours freely bestowed.
Scene I.
MACBETH.
321
2 WUch. Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake :
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,
For a chann of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
All. Double, double toil and trouble ;
Fire, burn ; and, cauldron, bubble.
3 Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf ;
Witches' mummy ; maw, and gulf*.
Of the ravin'd ^ salt-sea shark ;
Root of hemlock, digg'd i'the dark ;
Liver of blaspheming Jew ;
Gall of goat, and slips of yew,
Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse ;
Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips ;
Finger of birth-strangled babe,
Ditch-deliver'd by a drab,
INIake the gruel thick and slab :
Add thereto a tiger's chaudron.
For the ingredients of our cauldron.
All. Double, double toil and trouble ;
Fire, bum ; and, cauldron, bubble.
2 JVitch. Cool it with a baboon's blood,
Then tlie charm is firm and good.
Enter Hecate.
Hec. O, well done ! I commend your pains j
And every one shall share i'the gains.
And now about the cauldron sing.
Like elves and fairies in a ring,
Enchanting all that you put in.
SONG.
Slack spirits and white,
Blue spirits and grey ;
Mingle, mingle, mingle.
You that mingle may.
2 Witch. By the pricking of my thumbs.
Something wicked this way comes :
Open locks, whoever knocks.
Enter Macbeth.
Macb. How now, you secret, black, and mid-
night hags ?
What is't you do ?
All. A deed without a name.
Macb. I conjure you, by that which you profess,
(Howe'er you come to know it,) answer me :
Though you untie the winds, and let them fight
Against the churches ; though the yesty waves
Confound and swallow navigation up ;
Though bladed com be lodg'd 7, and trees blown
down;
Though castles topple 8 on their warders' heads ;
Though palaces, and pyramids, do slope
Their heads to their foundations ; though the treasure
Of nature's germins 9 tumble all together.
Even till destruction sicken, answer me
To what I ask you.
1 WUch. Speak.
2 WUch. Demand.
3 Witch. We'll answer.
1 WUch. Say, if thou'dst rather hear it from our
mouths,
Or from our masters' ?
* The throat * Ravenou*.
^ Laid flat by wind or rain. * Tumble.
B Seeda whicn have begun to sprout.
Macb. Call them, let me see them.
1 WUch. Pour in sow's blood, tliat hath eaten
Her nine farrow ; grease, that's sweaten
From tlie murderer's gibbet, throw
Into the flame.
All. Come, high or low
Thyself, and oflSce, deftly * show.
Thunder. An Apparition of an armed Head rises.
Macb, Tell me, thou unknown power,
1 WUch. He knows thy thought ;
Hear his speech, but say thou nought.*
App. Macbeth ! Macbeth ! Macbeth ! beware
Macduff;
Beware the thane of Fife. — Dismiss me : — Enough.
[Descends.
Macb. Whate'er thou art, for thy good -caution
tlianks ;
Thou hast harp'd* my fear aright : — But one word
more. —
1 WUch. He will not be commanded : Here's
another,
More potent than the first.
Thunder. An Apparition of a bloody Child rises.
App. Macbeth ! Macbeth ! Macbeth ! —
Macb. Had I three ears, I'd hear thee.
App. Be bloody, bold.
And resolute : laugh to scorn the power of man.
For none of woman born shall harm Macbeth.
[Descends.
Macb. Then live, Macduff: What need I fear of
thee?
But yet I'll make assurance double sure,
And take a bond of fate : thou shalt not live ;
That I may tell pale-hearted fear, it lies,
And sleep in spite of thunder. — What is this,
Thunder. An Apparition of a Child crowned, with
a tree in his hand, rises.
That rises like the issue of a king ;
And wears upon his baby brow the round
And top of sovereignty ?
All. Listen, but speak not.
Ajyp. Be lion-mettled, proud ; and take no care
Who chafes, who frets, or where conspirers are :
Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be, until
Great Bimam wood to high Dunsinane hill
Shall come against him. [Descends.
Macb. That will never be :
Who can impress the forest ; bid the tree
Unfix his earth-bound root? sweet bodements! good !
Rebellious head, rise never, till the wood
Of Birnam rise, and our high-plac'd Macbeth
Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath
To time, and mortal custom. — Yet my heart
Throbs to know one thing : Tell me, (if your art
Can tell so much,) shall Banquo's issue ever
Reign in tliis kingdom ?
All. Seek to know no more.
Macb. I will be satisfied : deny me this.
And an eternal curse fall on you ! Let me know : —
Why sinks that cauldron ? and what noise is this ?
[Hautboys.
1 WUch. Show ! 2 WUch. Show ! 3 WUch. Show !
Alt. Show his eyes, and grieve his heart j
Come like shadows, so depart.
» Adroitly
s Touched on a paation as a harper touches a string
Y
S22
MACBETH.
Act IV.
Eight hngs appear, and pass over the Stage in
order ; the last wUh a glass in his hand ; Banquo
following.
Macb. Thou art too like the spirit of Banquo;
down !
Thy crown does sear mine eye-balls : — And thy
hair,
Thou other gold-bound brow, is like the first : —
A third is like the former : — Filthy hags !
Wliy do you show me this ? — A fourth ? — Start,
eyes !
What ! will the line stretch out to the crack of doom ?
Another yet? — A seventh ? — I'll see no more : —
And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass.
Which shows me many more ; and some I see,
That two-fold balls and treble scepters carry :
Horrible sight ! — Ay, now, I see, 'tis true ;
For the blood-bolter'd 3 Banquo smiles upon me,
And points at them for his. — What, is this so ?
1 Witch. Ay, sir, all this is so : — But why
Stands Macbeth thus amazedly ? —
Come, sisters, cheer we up his sprights,
And show the best of our delights ;
I'll charm the air to give a sound.
While you perform your antique round :
That this great king may kindly say,
Our duties did his welcome pay.
[Musick. The Witches dance, and vanish.
Macb. Where are they? gone? — Let this per-
nicious hour
Stand aye accursed in the calendar ! —
Come in, without there !
Uyiter Lenox.
Len. What's your grace's will ?
Macb. Saw you the weird sisters ?
Len. No, my lord.
Macb. Came they not by you ?
Len. No, indeed, my lord.
Macb. Infected be the air whereon they ride ;
And damn'd, all those that trust them ! — I did hear
The galloping of horse : Who was't came by ?
Len. 'Tis two or three, my lord, that bring you
word,
Macduff is fled to England.
Macb. Fled to England?
Len. Ay, my good lord.
Macb. Time, thou anticipat'sf* my dread exploits:
The flighty purpose never is o'ertook.
Unless the deed go with it : From this moment.
The very firstlings of my heart shall be
The firstlings of my hand. And even now
To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and
done :
The castle of Macduff I will surprise ;
Seize upon Fife ; give to the edge o'the sword
His wife, his babes, and all unfortunate souls
That trace his line. No boasting like a fool ;
This deed I'll do, before this purpose cool:
But no more sights ! — Where are these gentlemen?
Come, bring me where they are. {^Exeunt.
S CENE II. — Fife. A Room in Macduff's Castle.
Enter Lady Macduff, her Son, and Rosse.
L. Macd. What had he done, to make him fly the
land ?
Rosse. You must have patience, madam.
3 Besmeared with blood.
* Preventest, by taking away the opportunity.
L. Macd. He had none :
His flight was madness : When our actions do not.
Our fears do make us traitors.
Rosse. You know not.
Whether it was his wisdom or his fear.
L. Macd. Wisdom ! to leave his wife, to leave his
babes.
His mansion, and his titles, in a place
From whence himself does fly ? He loves us not ;
He wants the natural touch : for the poor wren.
The most diminutive of birds, will fight.
Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.
All is the fear, and nothing is the love ;
As little is the wisdom, where the flight
So runs against all reason.
Rosse. My dearest coz,
I pray you, school yourself: But, for your husban
He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knows
The fits o'the season. I dare not speak much further
But cruel are the times, when we are traitors.
And do not know ourselves ; when we hold rumour
From what we fear, yet know not what we fear ;
But float upon a wild and violent sea.
Each way, and move. — I take my leave of you :
Shall not be long but I'll be here again :
Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward
To what they were before. — My pretty cousin,
Blessing upon you !
L. Macd. Father'd he is, and yet he's fatherless.
Rosse. I am so much a fool, should I stay longer,
It would be my disgrace, and your discomfort :
I take my leave at once. [Exit Rosse.
L. Macd. Sirrah, your father's dead ;
And what will you do now ? How will you live ?
Son. As birds do, mother.
L. Macd. What, with worms and flies ?
Son. With what I get, I mean ; and so do they.
L. Macd. Poor bird ! thou'dst never fear the net,
nor lime.
The pit-fall, nor the gin.
Son. Why should I, mother? Poor birds they are
not set for.
My father is not dead, for all your saying.
L. Macd, Yes, he is dead ; how wilt thou do for
a father ?
Son. Nay, how will you do for a husband ?
i. Macd. Why, I can buy me twenty at any
market.
Son. Then you'll buy 'em to sell again.
L. Macd. Thou speak'st with all thy wit ; and
yet i'faith.
With wit enough for thee.
Son. Was my father a traitor, mother ?
L. Macd. Ay, that he was.
Son. What is a traitor ?
L. Macd. Why, one that swears and lies,
Son. And be all traitors, that do so ?
L. Macd. Every one that does so, is a traitor, and
must be hanged.
Son. And must they all be hanged, that swear
and lie ?
L. Macd. Every one.
Son. Who must hang them ?
L. Macd. Why, the honest men.
Son. Then the liars and swearers are fools : for
there are liars and swearers enough to beat the
honest men, and hang up them.
L. Macd. Now, God help thee, poor monkey I
But how wilt thou do for a father ?
Son. If he were dead, you'd weep for him : if you
r
II
A
Scene III.
MACBETH.
323
would not, it were a good sign that I should quickly
have a new father.
L. Macd. Poor prattler ! how thou talk'st.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Bless you, fair dame ! I am not to you known,
Though in your state of honour I am perfect. *
I doubt, some danger does approach you nearly :
If you will take a homely man's advice,
Be not found here ; hence, with your little ones.
To fright you thus, methinks, I am too savage j
To do worse to you, were fell cruelty,
Which is too nigh your person. Heaven preserve
you !
I dare abide no longer. [Exit Messenger.
L. Macd. Whither should I fly ?
I have done no harm. But I remember now
I am in this earthly world ; where, to do harm.
Is often laudable : to do good, sometime,
Accounted dangerous folly : Why, then, alas !
Do I put up that womanly defence.
To say, I have done no harm ! — What are these
faces ?
Enter Murderers.
Mur. Where is your husband?
L. Macd. I hope, in no place so unsanctified,
Where such as thou mayst find liim.
Mur. He's a traitor.
Son, Thou ly'st, thou shag-ear'd villain.
Mur. What, you egg ? [Stabbing him.
Young fry of treachery ?
Son. He has killed me, mother ;
Run away, I pray you. [Dies.
[Exit Lady Macduff, crying Murder,
and pursued by the Murderers.
SCENE III. — England. A Room in the King'*
Palace.
Enter Malcolm and Macduff.
Mai. Let us seek out some desolate shade, and
tliere
Weep our sad bosoms empty.
Macd. Let us rather
Hold fast the mortal sword ; and, like good men,
Bestride our downfall'n birthdom: Each new morn.
New widows howl ; new orphans cry ; new sorrows
Strike heaven on tlie face, that it resounds
As if it felt with Scotland, and yell'd out
Like syllable of dolour.
Mai. What I believe, I'll wail ;
What know, believe ; and, what I can redress.
As I shall find the time to friend <5, I will.
What you have spoke, it may be so, perchance.
This tyrant, whose sole name blisters our tongues,
Was once thought honest : you have lov'd him well ;
He hath not touch'd you yet. I am young ; but
something
You may deserve of him through me ; and wisdom
To offer up a weak, poor, innocent Iamb,
To appease an angry god.
Macd. I am not treacherous.
Mai. But Macbeth is.
A good and virtuous nature may recoil,
In an imperial charge.? But crave your pardon ;
That which you are, my thoughts cannot transpose:
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell :
* 1 am perfectly acquainted with your rank.
« Befriend.
^,». e. A good mind may recede flrom goodneu in the exc-
•uuoo of a royal commission.
Though all things foul would bear the brows of grace,
Yet grace must still look so.
Macd. I have lost my hopes.
Mai. Perchance, even there, where I did find
my doubts.
Why in that rawness left you wife, and child,
(Those precious motives, those strong notes of love,)
Without leave-taking ? — I pray you.
Let not my jealousies be your dishonours,
But mine own safeties : — You may be rightlyjust,
Whatever I shall tliink.
Macd. Bleed, bleed, poor country !
Great tyranny, lay thou thy basis sure.
For goodness dares not check thee ! wear thou thy
wrongs.
Thy title is affeer'd ! 8 — Fare thee well, lord :
I would not be the villain that thou think'st
For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp,
And the rich East to boot.
Mai. Be not offended :
I speak not as in an absolute fear of you.
I think our country sinks beneath the yoke ;
It weeps, it bleeds ; and each new day a gash
Is added to her wounds : I think, withal.
There would be hands uplifted in my right ;
And here from gracious England, have I offer
Of goodly thousands : But, for all this,
When I shall tread upon the tyrant's head.
Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country
Shall have more vices than it had before ;
More suffer, and more sundry ways than ever,
By him that shall succeed.
Macd. What should he be ?
Mai. It is myself I mean : in whom I know
All the particulars of vice so grafted,
That, when they shall be open'd, black Macbeth
Will seem as piu-e as snow ; and the poor state
Esteem him as a lamb, being compar'd
With my confineless harms. — I grant him bloody,
Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful,
Sudden 9, malicious, smacking of every sin
That has a name : But tliere's no bottom, none.
In my voluptuousness j and my desire
All continent impediments would o'er-bear.
That did oppose my will : Better Macbeth
Than such a one to reign.
Macd. Boundless intemperance
In nature is a tyranny ; it hath been
The untimely emptying of the happy throne.
And fall of many kings. But fear not yet
To take upon you what is yours : you may
Convey your pleasures in a spacious plenty.
And yet seem cold, the time you may so hood- wink.
Mai. With tliis, there grows,
In my most ill-compos'd affection, such
A stanchless avarice, that, were I king,
I should cut off the nobles for their lands ;
Desire his jewels, and this other's house :
And my more-having would be as a sauce
To make me hunger more ; that I should forge
Quarrels unjust against the good, and loyal,
Destroying them for wealth.
Macd. This avarice
Grows vrith pernicious root ; and it hath been
The sword of our slain kings : Yet do not fear ;
Scotland hath foysons ' to fill up your will,
Of your mere own : All these are portable 3,
With other graces weigh'd.
" Legally settled by those who had the final adjudication.
9 Passionate. * Plenty. > ^^y t)c endured.
Y 2
321
MACBETH.
Act IV. Scene IIJ.
Mai. But I have none : Tlio king-becoming
graces,
As justice, verity, temperance, stableness,
Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness,
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude,
I have no relish of them ; but abound
In the division of each several crime.
Acting it many veays. Nay, had I power, I should
Uproar the universal peace, confound
All unity on earth.
Macd. O Scotland ! Scotland !
Mai. If such a one be fit to govern, speak :
I am as I have spoken.
Macd. Fit to govern !
No, not to live. — O nation miserable,
With an untitled tyrant bloody-scepter' d.
When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again !
Since that the truest issue of thy throne
By his own interdiction stands accurs'd,
And does blaspheme his breed ? — Thy royal father
Was a most sainted king ; the queen, that bore thee,
Oftner upon her knees than on her feet,
Died every day she liv'd. Fare thee well !
These evils, thou repeat'st upon thyself,
Have banish'd me from Scotland, — O, my breast,
Thy hope ends here !
Mai. Macduff, this noble passion.
Child of integrity, hath from my soul
Wip'd the black scruples, reconcil'd my thoughts
To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth
By many of these trains hath sought to win me
Into his power ; and modest wisdom plucks me
From over-credulous haste 3 : But God above
Deal between thee and me ! for even now
I put myself to thy direction, and
Unspeak mine own detraction : here abjure
The taints and blames I laid upon myself.
For strangers to my nature. I am yet
Unknown to woman ; never was forsworn ;
Scarcely have coveted what was mine own ;
At no time broke my faith ; would not betray
The devil to his fellow ; and delight
No less in truth than life : my first false speaking
Was this upon myself: What I am truly.
Is thine, and my poor country's, to command :
Whither, indeed, before thy here-approach,
Old Siward, with ten thousand warlike men.
All ready at a point, was setting forth :
Now we'll together ; and the chance of goodness.
Be like our warranted quarrel ! Why are you silent ?
Macd. Such welcomeandunwelcomethingsatonce,
'Tis hard to reconcile.
Enter a Doctor.
Mai. Well ; more anon. — Comes the king forth,
I pray you ?
Doct. Ay, sir : there are a crew of wretched souls
That stay his cure : their malady convinces *
The great assay of art ; but, at his touch.
Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand.
They presently amend.
Mai. I thank you, doctor,
[Exit Doctor.
Macd. What's the disease he means ?
Mai. 'Tis call'd the evil :
A most miraculous work in this good king ;
Which often, since my here-remain in England,
I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven.
' Over-hasty credulity.
* Overpowers, subdues.
Himself best knows; but strangely visited people,
All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye.
The mere despair of surgery, he cures ;
Hanging a golden stamp ^ about their necks,
Put on with holy prayer : and 'tis spoken.
To the succeeding royalty he leaves
The healing benediction. With this strange virtue.
He hath a heavenly gift of prophecy ;
And sundry blessings hang about liis throne.
That speak him full of grace.
Enter Rosse.
Macd. See, who comes here
Mai. My countryman ; but yet I know him not.!
Macd. My ever-gentle cousin, welcome hither.
Mai. I know him now : Good God, betimes remove
The means that make us strangers !
Rosse. Sir, Amen.
Macd. Stands Scotland where it did?
Rosse. Alas, poor country ;
Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot
Be call'd our mother, but our grave : where nothing,
But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile ;
Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rent the air.
Are made, not mark'd; where violent sorrow seems
A modern ecstasy 6 ; the dead man's knell
Is there scarce ask'd, for who ; and good men's lives
Expire before the flowers in their caps,
Dying, or ere they sicken.
Macd. O, relation.
Too nice, and yet too true !
Mai. What is the newest grief?
Rosse. That of an hour's age doth hiss the speaker ;
Each minute teems a new one.
Macd. How does my wife ?
Rosse. Why, well.
Macd. And all my children ?
Rosse. Well too.
Macd. The tyrant has not batter'd at their peace ?
Rosse. No ; they were well at peace, when I did
leave them.
Macd. Be not a niggard of your speech ; How
goes it ?
Rosse. When I came hither to transport the tidings.
Which 1 have heavily borne, there ran a rumour
Of many worthy fellows that were out :
Which was to my belief witness'd the rather.
For that I saw the tyrant's power a-foot :
Now is the time of help ; your eye in Scotland
Would create soldiers, make our women fight.
To doff 7 their dire distresses.
Mai. Be it their comfort,
We are coming thither : gracious England hath
Lent us good Siward, and ten thousand men ;
An older, and a better soldier none
That Christendom gives out.
Rosse. Would I could answei
This comfort with the like ! But I have words
That would be howl'd out in the desert air.
Where hearing should not latch ^ them.
Macd. What concern they
The general cause ? or is it a fee-grief 9,
Due to some single breast ?
Rosse. No mind that's honest.
But in it shares some woe ; though the main part
Pertains to you alone.
Macd. If it be mine.
Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it.
^ The coin called an angel. ^ Common distress of mind.
7 Put ofE " Catch. 9 A grief that has a single owner.
I
Act V. Scene I.
MACBETH.
325
Rosse. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever,
Which shall possess them with tlie heaviest sound.
That ever yet they heard.
Macd. Humph ! I guess at it.
Rosse. Your castle is surpris'd; your wife and babes.
Savagely slaughter'd ! to relate the manner,
Were, on the quarry ' of these murder'd deer.
To add the death of you.
Mai. Merciful heaven ! —
What, man ! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows ;
Give sorrow words : the grief that does not speak.
Whisper's the o'er-fraught heart, and bids it break.
Macd. My children too ?
Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all
That could be found.
Macd. And I must be from thence !
My wife kill'd too ?
Rosse. I have said.
AIol. Be comforted :
Let's make us med'cines of our great revenge.
To cure this deadly grief.
Macd. He has no children. — All my pretty ones ?
Did you say, all ? — O, hell-kite ! — All ?
What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam,
At one fell swoop ?
Mai. Dispute it like a man.
Macd. I shall do so ;
But I must also feel it as a man :
I cannot but remember such things were.
That were most precious tome. — Did heaven look on.
And would not take their part? Sinful MacduflT,
They were all struck for thee ! naught that I am,
Not for their own demerits, but for mine,
Fell slaughter on their souls : Heaven rest them now !
Mai. Be this the whetstone of your sword : let grief
Convert to anger ; blunt not the heart, enrage it.
Macd. O, I could play tlie woman with mine eyes.
And braggart with my tongue ! But, gentle
heaven.
Cut short all intermission ; front to front.
Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself;
Within my sword's length set him j if he 'scape,
Heaven forgive him too !
Afal. This tune goes manly.
Come, go we to the king ; our power is ready ;
Our lack is nothing but our leave : Macbeth
Is ripe for shaking, and the powers above
Put on their instruments. Receive what cheer you
may;
The night is long that never finds the day. [Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I. — Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle.
Enter a Doctor of Physick, and a waiting Gentle-
woman.
Doct. I have two nights watched with you, but
can perceive no truth in your report. When was it
she last walked ?
Gent. Since his majesty went into the field, I have
seen her rise from her bed, throw her night-gown
upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold
it, write upon it, read it, afterwards seal it, and again
return to bed : yet all this while in a most fast sleep.
Doct. A great perturbation in nature ! to receive
at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of
watching. — In this slumbry agitation, besides her
walking, and other actual performances, what, at
any time, have you heard her say ?
Gent. That, sir, which I will not report after her.
Doct. You may, to me ; and 'tis most meet you
should.
Gent. Neither to you, nor any one; having no
witness to confirm my speech.
Enter Lady Macbeth, with a Taper.
Lo you, here she comes ! This is her very guise :
and, upon my life, fast asleep. Observe her ; stand
close.
Doct. How came she by that light ?
Gent. Why, it stood by her: she has light by
her continually ; 'tis her command.
Doct. You see, her eyes are open.
Gent. Ay, but their sense is shut.
Doct. What is it she does now ? Look, how she
rubs her hands.
Gent. It is an accustomed action with her, to
seem thus washing her hands ; I have known her
continue in tliis a quarter of an hour.
' The game after it is killed.
Lady M. Yet here's a spot.
Doct. Hark, she speaks : I will set down what
comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the
more strongly.
Lady M. Out, damned spot ! out, I say ! — One ;
Two ; Why, then 'tis time to do't : Hell is
murky ! 2 — Fye, my lord, fye ! a soldier, and afear'd?
What need we fear who knows it, when none can
call our power to account? — Yet who would have
thought the old man to have had so much blood in
him ?
Doct. Do you mark that ?
Lady M. The thane of Fife had a wife ; Where
is she now ? What, will these hands ne'er be
clean ? — No more o'that, my lord, no more o'that :
you mar all with this starting.
Doct. Go to, go to ; you have known what you
should not.
Gent. She has spoke what she should not, I am
sure of that : Heaven knows what she has known.
Lady M. Here's the smell of the blood still : all
the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten tliis little
hand. Oh ! oh ! oh !
Doct. What a sigh is there ! The heart is sorely
charged.
Gent. I would not have such a heart in my bosom,
for the dignity of the whole body.
Doct. Well, well, well, —
Getit. 'Pray God, it be, sir.
Doct. This disease is beyond rny practice : Yet I
have known tliose which have walked in tlieir sleep,
who have died holily in tlieir beds.
Lady M. Wash your hands, put on your night-
gown ; look not so pale : I tell you yet again, Ban-
quo's buried ; he cannot come out of his grave.
Doct. Even so?
Lady M. To bed, to bed ; there's knocking at
« Dark.
Y S
326
MACBETH.
Act V.
the gate. Come, come, come, come, give me your
hand : What's done, cannot be undone : To bed, to
bed, to bed. [ExU Lady Macbeth.
Doct. Will she go now to bed ?
Gent. Directly.
Doct. Foul whisperings are abroad; Unnatural
deeds
Do breed unnatural troubles : Infected minds
To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets.
More needs she the divine, than the physician. —
God, God, forgive us all ! Look after her ;
Remove from her the means of all annoyance,
And still keep eyes upon her : — So, good night :
My mind she has mated 3, and amaz'd my sight :
I think, but dare not speak.
Gent. Good night, good doctor.
[Exeunt.
SCENE 11. — The country near Dunsinane.
Enter, with Drum and Colours, Menteth, Cathness,
Angus, Lenox, and Soldiers.
Ment. The English power is near, led on by Mal-
colm,
His uncle Siward, and the good Macduff.
Revenges burn in them : for their dear causes
Would, to the bleeding, and the grim alarm,
Excite the mortified man. ^
Ang. Near Birnam wood
Shall we well meet them ; that way are they coming.
Cath. Who knows if Donalbain be with his brother ?
Len. For certain, sir, he is not : I have a file
Of all the gentry ; there is Siward's son.
And many unrough ^ youths, that even now
Protest their first of manhood.
Ment. What does the tyrant ?
Cath. Great Dunsindne, he strongly fortifies :
Some say, he's mad ; others, that lesser hate him,
Do call it valiant fury : but, for certain.
He cannot buckle his distemper'd cause
Within the belt of rule.
Ang. Now does he feel
His secret murders sticking on his hands ;
Now minutely revolts upbraid his faith-breach j
Those he commands, move only in command.
Nothing in love : now does he feel his title
Hang loose about him, like a giant's robe
Upon a dwarfish thief.
Ment. Who then shall blame
His pester'd senses to recoil and start.
When all that is within him does condemn
Itself, for being there ?
Cath. Well, march we on,
To give obedience where 'tis truly ow'd :
Meet we the medecin ^ of the sickly weal ;
And with him pour we, in our country's purge,
Each drop of us.
Len. Or so much as it needs,
To dew the sovereign flower, and drown the weeds.
Make we our march towards Birnam.
[Exeunt, marching.
SCENE III. — Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle.
Enter Macbeth, Doctor, and Attendants.
Macb. Bring me no more reports; let them fly all ;
Till Birnam wood remove to Dunsinane,
I cannot taint with fear. What's the boy Malcolm !
Was he not born of woman ? The spirits that know
All mortal consequents, pronounc'd me thus :
Fear not, Macbeth ; no man, that's bom of woman.
Shall e'er have power on thee. Then fly, false
thanes.
And mingle with the English epicures :
The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear.
Shall never sagg 7 with doubt, nor shake with fear.
Enter a Servant.
The devil damn thee black, thou cream-fac'd loon ! •
Where gott'st thou that goose look ?
Serv. There is ten thousand
Macb. Geese, villain?
Serv. Soldiers, sir.
Macb. Go prick thy face, and over-red thy fear.
Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch ? 9
Death of thy soul ! those linen cheeks of thine
Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face ?
Serv. The English force, so please you.
Macb. Take thy face hence Seyton ! — I am
sick at heart.
When I behold — Seyton, I say ! — This push
Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now.
I have liv'd long enough : my May of life
Is fall'n into the sear', the yellow leaf:
And that which should accompany old age,
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,
I must not look to have ; but, in their stead.
Curses not loud, but deep, mouth-honour, breath.
Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not.
Seyton !
Enter Seyton.
Sey. What is your gracious pleasure ?
Macb. What news more ?
Sey. All is confirm'd, my lord, which was re-
ported.
Macb. I'll fight, till from my bones my flesh be
hack'd.
Give ms my armour.
Sey. 'Tis not needed yet.
Macb. I'll put it on.
Send out more horses, skirr ^ the country round ;
Hang those that talk of fear. — Give me mine ar-
mour. —
How does your patient, doctor ?
Doct. Not so sick, my lord.
As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,
That keep her from her rest.
Macb. Cure her of that :
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd ;
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ;
Raze out the written troubles of the brain ;
And with some sweet oblivious antidote.
Cleanse the stuff 'd bosom of that perilous stuff,
Which weighs upon the heart ?
Doct. Therein the patient]
Must minister to himself.
Macb. Throw physick to the dogs, I'll none of
it. —
Come, put mine armour on ; give me my staff : —
Seyton, sendout. — Doctor, the thanes fly from me :— i
Come, sir, despatch : — If thou couldst, doctor, cast]
The water of my land, find her disease.
And purge it to a sound and pristine health,
I would applaud thee to the very echo.
That should applaud again. — PuU't off, I say. —
What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug.
Would scour these English hence ! — Hearest thou
of them ?
Confounded.
Unbearded.
"» A religious ; an ascetic,
p The physician
7 Sink.
9 An appellatiou of contempt
8 Base fellow.
Dry. 2 Scour.
J
Scene IV.
MACBETH.
S27
I
Dcct. Ay, tny good lord ; your royal preparation
Makes us hear sometliing.
Macb. Bring it after me..
I will not be afraid of death and bane,
Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane. [Exit.
Doct. Were I from Dunsindne away and clear,
Pi-ofit again should hardly dra^* me here. \^ExU.
SCENE IV. — Country near Dunsinane. A Wood
in view.
Entert with Drum and Colours, Malcolm, old
SiwARD and his Son, Macduff, Menteth,
Cathness, Angus, Lenox, Rosse, and Soldiers,
marching.
Mai. Cousins, I hope, the days are near at hand
That chambers will be safe.
Ment. We doubt it nothing.
Siw. What wood is this before us ?
Ment. The wood of Birnam.
Mai. Let every soldier hew him down a bough.
And bear't before him ; thereby shall we shadow
The numbers of our host, and make discovery
Err in report of us.
Sold. It shall be done.
Siw. We learn no other, but the confident tyrant
Keeps still in DunsinAne, and will endure
Our setting down before't.
Mai. 'Tis his main hope :
For where there is advantage to be given,
Both more and less 3 have given him the revolt j
And none serve with him but constrained things,
Whose hearts are absent too.
Macd. Let our just censures
Attend the true event, and put we on
Industrious soldiership.
Siw. The time approaches,
That will with due decision make us know
What we shall say we have, and what we owe.
Thoughts speculative their unsure hopes relate ;
But certain issue strokes must arbitrate :
Towards which, advance the war.
[Exeunt, marching.
SCENE V. — Dunsinane. JFithin the Castle.
Enter, with Drums and Colours, Macbeth, Seyton,
and Soldiers.
Macb. Hang out our banners on the outward
walls ;
The cry is still, They come : Our castle's strength
Will laugh a siege to scorn : here let them lie,
Till famine, and the ague, eat them up :
Were they not forc'd with those that should be ours,
We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,
And beat them backward home. What is that noise?
[A cry within of women.
Sey. It is the cry of women, my good lord.
Macb. I have almost forgot the taste of fears :
The time has been, my senses would have cool'd
To hear a night-shriek ; and my fell * of hair
Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir
As hfe were in't : I have supp'd full with horrors ;
Direness, familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts,
Cannot once start me. — Wherefore was that cry ?
Sey. The queen, my lord, is dead.
Macb. She should have died hereafter ;
There would have been a time for such a word. —
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time ;
' I. f. Greater and leu. ♦Skin. <
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle
Life's but a walking shadow : a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more : it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Enter a Messenger.
Thou com'st to use thy tongue ; thy story quickly.
Mess. Gracious my lord,
I shall report that which I say I saw,
But know not how to do it.
Macb. Well, say, sir.
Mess. As I did stand my watch upon the hill,
I look'd toward Birnam, and anon, methought.
The wood began to move.
Macb. Liar, and slave !
[Striking him.
Mess. Let me endure your wrath, if 't be not so :
Within this three mile may you see it coming ;
I say, a moving grove.
Macb. If thou speak 'st false.
Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive.
Till famine cling * thee : if thy speech be sooth,
I care not if thou dost for me as much. —
I pull in resolution ; and begin
To doubt the equivocation of the fiend.
That lies like truth : Eear not, till Birnam wood
Do come to Dunsinane i — and now a wood
Comes toward Dunsinane. — Arm, arm, and out —
If this which he avouches, does appear.
There is nor flying hence, nor tarrying here.
I 'gin to be a-weary of the sun,
And wish the estate of the world were now undone. —
Ring the alarum bell : — Blow, wind ! come, wrack !
At least we'll die with harness on our back.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI. — A Plain before the Castle.
Enter, with Drums and Colours, Malcolm, old
SiwARD, Macduff, ^c. and their Army, with
Boughs.
Mai. Now near enough ; your leavy screens throw
down,
And show like those you are : — You, worthy uncle.
Shall, with my cousin, your right-noble son.
Lead our first battle ; worthy MacduJBf, and we,
Shall take upon us what else remains to do,
According to our order.
Siw. Fare you well. —
Do we but find the tyrant's power to-night.
Let us be beaten, if we cannot fight.
Macd. Make all our trumpets speak ; give them
all breath,
Those clamorous harbingers of blood and death.
[Exeunt. Alarums continued.
SCENE VIL — Another Part of the Plain.
Enter Macbeth.
Macb. They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly,
But, bear-like, I must fight the course. — What's he.
That was not bom of woman ? Such a one
Am I to fear, or none.
Enter young Siward.
Yo. Siw. What is thy name ?
Macb. Thou'lt be afraid to hear it.
Yo. Siw. No ; though thou call'st thyself a hotter
name
Than any is in hell.
» ShrivtL
Y 4
328
MACBETH.
Act V.
Mach. My name's Macbeth.
Yo. Siw. The devil himself could not pronounce
a title
More hateful to mine ear.
Macb. No, nor more fearful.
Yo. Siw. Thou liest, abhorred tyrant ; with my
sword
I'll prove the lie thou speak'st,
\_They jight, and young Siward is slain.
Macb, Thou wast born of woman, —
But swords I smile at, weapons laugh to scorn.
Brandish 'd by man that's of a woman born, [Exit.
Alarums. Enter Macduff.
Macd. That way the noise is : — Tyrant, show
thy face :
If thou be'st slain, and with no stroke of mine.
My wife and children's ghosts will haunt me still.
I cannot strike at wretched kernes 6, whose arms
Are hir'd to bear their staves ; either thou, Macbeth,
Or else my sword, with an unbatter'd edge,
I sheathe again undeeded. There thou shouldst be ;
By this great clatter, one of greatest note
Seems bruited 7 : Let me find him, fortune !
And more I beg not. \_Exit. Alarum.
Enter Malcolm and old Siward.
Siw. This way, my lord ; — the castle's gently
render'd :
The tyrant's people on both sides do fight ;
The noble thanes do bravely in the war ;
The day almost itself professes youre,
And little is to do.
Mai. We have met with foes
That strike beside us.
Siw. Enter, sir, the castle.
{Exeunt. Alarum,
Re-enter Macbeth.
Macb. Why should I play the Roman fool, and die
On mine own sword ? whiles I see lives, the gashes
Do better upon them.
Re-enter Macduff.
Macd. Turn, hell-hound, turn.
Macb. Of all men else I have avoided thee : "'
But get thee back, my soul is too much charg'd'
With blood of thine already.
Macd. I have no words.
My voice is in my sword ; thou bloodier villain
Than terms can give thee out ! [They Jight.
Macb. Thou losest labour :
As easy mayst thou the intrenchant air »
With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed :
Let fall thy blade on vulnerable crests ;
I bear a charmed life, which must not yield
To one of woman born.
Macd. Despair thy charm ;
And let the angel, whom thou still hast serv'd.
Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb
Untimely ripp'd.
Macb. Accursed be that tongue that tells me so,
For it hath cow'd my better part of man !
And be these juggling fiends no more believ'd,
That palter 9 with us in a double sense ;
That keep the word of promise to our ear,
And break it to our hope I'll not fight with thee.
Macd. Then yield thee, coward,
And live to be the show and gaze o'the time.
We'll have thee, as our rarer monsters are,
^ Foot-soldiers. 7 Reported with clamour.
« The air which cannot be cut. 9 Shuffle.
Painted upon a pole ; and underwrit.
Here may you see the tyrant,
Macb. I'll not yield,
To kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet,
And to be baited with the rabble's curse.
Though Birnam wood be come to Dunsindne,
And thou oppos'd, being of no woman born.
Yet I will try the last : Before my body
I throw my warlike shield : lay on, Macduff;
And damn'd be him that first cries. Hold, enough.
[ Exeunt Jlghting,
Retreat. Flourish. Re-enter with Drum and Co
lours, Malcolm, old Siward, Rosse, Lexoi
Angus, Cathness, Menteth, and Soldiers.
Mai. I would, the friends we miss were safe
riv'd.
Siw. Some must go off: and yet, by these I
So great a day -as this is cheaply bought.
Mai. Macduff is missing, and your noble son.
Rosse. Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier's debt :j
He only liv'd but till he was a man ;
The which no sooner had his prowess confirm'd
In the unshrinking station where he fought.
But like a man he died.
Siw. Then he is dead ?
Rosse. Ay, and brought off the field : your cause]
of sorrow
Must not be measur'd by his worth, for then
It hath no end.
Siw. Had he his hurts before ?
Rosse. Ay, on the front.
Siw. Why then, God's soldier be he I^
Had I as many sons as I have hairs,
I would not wish them to a fairer death :
And so his knell is knoU'd.
Mai. He's worth more sorrow,
And that I'll spend for him.
Siiv. He's worth no more ;
They say he parted well, and paid his score :
So God be with him. — Here comes newer comfort.
Re-enter Macduff, with Macbeth's Head on a Pole, ■.
Macd. Hail, king ! for so thou art : Behold^j
where stands
The usurper's cursed head : the time is free :
I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl,
That speak my salutation in their minds ;
Whose voices I desire aloud with mine, —
Hail, king of Scotland !
All. King of Scotland, hail ! [Flourish. \
Mai. We shall not spend a large expense of time,]
Before we reckon with your several loves.
And make us even with you. My thanes and kins«]
men.
Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland
In such an honour nam'd. What's more to do.
Which would be planted newly with the time, —
As calling home our exil'd friends abroad.
That fled the snares of watchful tyranny ;
Producing forth the cruel ministers
Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen ;
Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands
Took off her life : — This, and what needful else
That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace,
We will perform in measure, time, and place ^
So thanks to all at once, and to each one,
Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone.
[Flourish. Exeunt,
KING JOHN.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
Kino Johk.
Prince Henry, his Son; afterwards IT. Henry Til.
Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, Son of Geffrey, late
Dtike of Bretagne, the elder Brother of King John.
William Mareshall, Earl of Pembroke.
Geffrey Fitz- Peter, Earl of Essex, Chief Jtis-
tidary of England.
William Longsword, Earl of Salisbury.
Robert Bigot, Earl of Norfolk.
Hubert de Burgh, Chamberlain to the King.
Robert Faulconbridge, Son of Sir Robert Faul-
conbridge.
Philip Faulconbridge, his Half-Brother, Bastard
Son to King Richard the First.
James Gurney, Servant to Lady Faulconbridge.
Peter of Pomfret, a Prophet.
Philip, King of France.
Lewis, the Dauphiru
Archduke of Austria.
Cardinal Pandolph, the Papers Legate.
Melun, a French Lord.
Chatillon, Ambassador from France to King John.
Elinor, the Widow of King Henry II. and Mother
of King John.
Constance, Mother to Arthur.
Blanch, Daughter to Alphonso, King (f CasXWe, and
Niece to King John.
Lady Faulconbridge, Mother to the Bastardy and
Robert Faulconbridge.
Lords, Ladies, Citizens of Angiers, Sheriff^, Heralds,
Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants,
SCENE, — sometimes in England, and sometimes in France.
O, SAVE UK, UOBEKT, 8AVB U£!
KING J 0 H xN
ACT I.
SCENE I. — Northampton. A Room of State in
tfie Palace.
Enter King John, Queen Elinor, Pembroke,
Essex, Salisbury, and others, with Chatillon.
A'. John. Now, say, Chatillon, what would
France with us?
Chat. Thus, after greeting, speaks the king of j
France,
In my behaviour ', to the majesty,
The borrow'd majesty of England here.
Elu A strange beginning ; — borrow'd majesty !
IT. John. Silence, good mother; hear the em-
bassy.
Chat. Philip of France, in right and true behalf
Of thy deceased brother Geffrey's son,
Arthur Plantagcnet, lays most lawful claim
To this fair island, and the territories ;
To Ireland, Poictiers, Anjou, Touraine, Maine :
Desiring thee to lay aside the sword.
Which sways usurpingly these several titles ;
And put the same into young Arthur's hand.
Thy nephew, and right royal sovereign.
A'. John. What follows, if we disallow of this ?
1 In the m.inncr I now do.
ChfU. The proud control of fierce and blomly
war.
To enforce these rights so forcibly withheld.
A'. John. Here have we war for war, and blood
for blood,
Controlment for controlment : so answer France.
Chat. Then take my king's defiance from my
mouth,
Tlie furthest limit of my embassy.
A". John. Bear mine to him, and so depart in
peace :
Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France ;
For ere thou canst report I will be there.
The thunder of my cannon shall be heard :
So, hence ! Be thou the trumpet of our wrath.
And sullen presage of your own decay. —
An honourable conduct let him have : —
Pembroke, look to't : Farewell, Chatillon.
[Exeunt Chatilix)N and Pembroke.
Eli. What now, my son ? have I not ever said,
How that ambitious Constance would not cease.
Till she had kindled France, and all the world.
Upon the right and party of her son ?
'ITiis might have been prevented, and made whole.
With very easy arguments of love ;
330
KING JOHN.
Act I. Scene I.
WWch now the manage '2 of two kingdoms must
With fearful bloody issue arbitrate.
K. John. Our strong possession, and our right,
for us.
Elu Your strong possession, much more than
your right ;
Or else it must go wrong with you, and me :
So much my conscience whispers in your ear ;
Which none but heaven, and you, and I, shall hear.
Enter the Sheriff" of Northamptonshire, who whispers
Essex.
Essex. My liege, here is the strangest controversy.
Come from the country to be judg'd by you,
That e'er I heard : Shall I produce the men ?
K. John. Let them approach, — \^Exit Sheriff.
Our abbies, and our priories, shall pay
Re enter Sheriff, with Robert Faulconbridge, and
Philip, his bastard Brother.
This expedition's charge. — What men are you ?
Bast. Your faithful subject I, a gentleman,
Born in Northamptonshire ; and eldest son,
As I suppose, to Robert Faulconbridge ;
A soldier, by the honour-giving hand
Of Cceur-de-lion knighted in the field.
K. John. What art thou ?.
Rob. The son and heir to that same Faulcon-
bridge.
K. John. Is that the elder, and art thou the heir?
You came not of one mother then, it seems.
Bast. Most certain of one mother, mighty king,
That is well known ; and, as I think, one father :
But, for the certain knowledge of that truth,
I put you o'er to heaven, and to my mother ;
Of that I doubt, as all men's children may.
Eli. Out on thee, rude man ! thou dost shame
thy mother.
And wound her honour with this diffidence.
Bast. I, madam ? no, I have no reason for it ;
That is my brother's plea, and none of mine ;
The which if he can prove, 'a pops me out
At least from fair five hundred pound a year :
Heaven guard my mother's honour, and my land !
K. John. A good blunt fellow : — Why, being
younger born.
Doth he lay claim to thine inheritance ?
Bast. I know not why, except to get the land.
But once he slander'd me with bastardy :
But whe'r I be as true-begot, or no.
That still I lay upon my mother's head ;
But, that I am as well begot, my liege.
Compare our faces, and be judge yourself.
If old sir Robert did beget us both.
And were our father, and this son like him ; —
0 old sir Robert, father, on my knee,
1 give heaven thanks, I was not like to thee.
K. John. Why, what a madcap hath heaven lent
us here !
Eli. He hath a tricks of Coeur-de-lion's face,
The accent of his tongue afFecteth him :
Do you not read some tokens of my son
In the large composition of this man ?
K. John. Mine eye hath well examined his parts.
And finds them perfect Richard. Sirrah, speak,
What doth move you to claim your brother's land ?
Bast. Because he hath a half-face, like my father :
With that half-face would he have all my land :
A half-faced groat five hundred pound a year !
2 Conduct, administration.
3 Trace, outline.
Rob. My gracious liege, when that my father
liv'd,
Your brother did employ my father much ;
And once despatch'd him in an embassy
To Germany, there, with the emperor.
To treat of high affairs touching that time :
The advantage of his absence took the king,
And in the mean time sojourn d at my father's ;
Where how he did prevail, I shame to speak ;
But truth is truth ; large lengths of seas and shonet-
Between my father and my mother lay,
(As I have heard my father speak himself,
When this same lusty gentleman was got.
Upon his death-bed he by will bequeath'd
His lands to me ; and took it, on his death,
That this my mother's son, was none of his ;
And, if he were, he came into the world
Full fourteen weeks before the course of time.
Then, good my liege, let me have what is mine,
My father's land, as was my father's will.
K. John. Sirrah, your brother is legitimate ;
Your father's wife did after wedlock bear him :
And, if she did play false, the fault was hers ;
Which fault lies on the hazards of all husbands
That marry wives. Tell me, how if my brother
Had of your father claim'd this son for his ?
In sooth, good friend, your father might have kept
him ;
In sooth, he might : then, if he were my brother's,
My brother might not claim him ; nor your father,
Being none of his, refuse him : This concludes, —
Your father's heir must have your father's land.
Rob. Shall then my father's will be of no force.
To dispossess that child which is not his ?
Bast. Of no more force to dispossess me, sir.
Than was his will to get me, as I think.
Eli. Whether hadst thou rather, — be a Faulcon-
bridge,
And like thy brother, to enjoy thy land ;
Or the reputed son of Coeur-de-lion,
Lord of thy presence, and no land beside ?
Bast. Madam, an if my brother had my shape,
And I had his, sir Robert his, like him :
And if my legs were two such riding-rods,
My arms such eel-skins stuff 'd ; my face so thin,
That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose.
Lest men should say. Look, where three-farthings
goes!
And, to his shape, were heir to all this land,
'Would I might never stir from off this place,
I'd give it every foot to have this face ;
I would not be sir Nob in any case.
Eli. I like thee well ; Wilt thou forsake thy fori
tune.
Bequeath thy land to him, and follow me ?
I am a soldier, and now bound to France.
Bast. Brother, take you my land, I'll take
chance :
Your face hath got five hundred pounds a year ;
Yet sell your face for five pence, and, 'tis dear. —
Madam, I'll follow you unto the death.
Eli. Nay, I would have you go before me thither.
Bast. Our country manners give our betters way.
K. John. What is thy name ?
Bast. Philip, my liege ; so is my name begun
Philip, good old sir Robert's wife's eldest son.
K. Jolin. From henceforth bear his name whose
form thou bear'st :
Kneel thou down Philip, but arise more great :
Arise sir Richard, and Plantagenet.
I
I
Act II. Scene I.
KING JOHN.
331
Bast. Brother, by my mother's side, give me your
hand;
My father gave me honour, yours gave land. —
ElU The very spirit of Plantagenet ! —
I am thy grandame, Richard j call me so.
Bast. Madam, by chance, but not by truth : What
though ?
jr. John. Go, Faulconbridge ; now hast thou thy
desire,
A landless knight makes thee a landed 'squire. —
Come, madam, and come, Richard ; we must speed
For France, for France ; for it is more than need.
Bast. Brother, adieu ; good fortune come to
thee !
For thou wast got i'the way of honesty.
[Exeunt all but the Bastard.
A foot of honour better than I was ;
But many a foot of land the worse.
Well, now can I make any Joan a lady :
Good den S sir Richard, — God-or-mercy, fellow ; —
And if his name be George, I'll call him Peter :
For new-made honour doth forget men's names ;
*Tis too respective, and too sociable,
For your conversion. Now your traveller, —
He and his tooth-pick at my worship's mess ;
And when my knightly stomach is suffic'd.
Why then I suck my teeth and catechise
My picked man of countries ^ : _My dear sir,
(Thus, leaning on mine elbow, I begin,)
I shall beseech you — That is question now ;
And then comes answer like an ABC-book : —
0 sir, says answer, at your best command ;
At your employinerU ; at your sei-vice, sir :
JVo, sir, says question, I, sweet sir, at yours :
And so, ere answer knows what question would,
(Saving in dialogue of compliment ;
And talking of the Alps, and Apennines,
The Pyrenean, and the river Po,)
It draws toward supper in conclusion so.
But this is worshipful society,
And fits the mounting spirit, like myself:
And not alone in habit and device.
Exterior form, outward accoutrement ;
But from the inward motion to deliver
Sweet, sweet, sweet poison for the age's tooth :
Which, though I will not practise to deceive.
Yet, to avoid deceit, I mean to learn ;
For it shall strew the footsteps of my rising. —
But who comes in such haste, in riding robes ?
What woman-post is this ? hath she no husband.
That will take pains to blow a horn before her ?
Enter Lady Faulconbridge and James Gurnex.
0 me ! it is my mother : — How now, good lady ?
What brings you here to court so hastily ?
Lady F. Where is that slave, thy brother ? where
is he?
That holds in chase mine honour up and down ?
Bast. My brother Robert? old sir Robert's son?
Colbrand the giant, that same mighty man ?
Is it sir Robert's son, that you seek so ?
Lady F. Sir Robert's son ! Ay, thou imreverend
boy.
Sir Robert's son : Why scom'st thou at sir Robert?
He is sir Robert's son ; and so art thou.
Bast. James Gumey, wilt thou give us leave
a while ?
Gur. Good leave, good Philip.
Bast. Philip ? — sparrow ! — James,
There's toys « abroad ; anon I'll tell thee more.
[ExU GUKNET.
Madam, I was not old sir Robert's son.
Lady F. Hast thou conspired with thy brother too.
That for thine own gainshouldst defend mine honour?
What means this scorn, thou most untoward knave ?
Bast. Knight, knight, good mother, — Basilisco-
like7:
What ! I am dubb'd ; I h'ave it on my shoulder.
But, mother, I am not sir Robert's son ;
1 have disclaim'd sir Robert, and my land ;
Legitimation, name, and ^1 is gone :
Then, good my mother, let me know my father ;
Some proper man, I hope ; Who was \t, mother ?
Lady F. Hast thou denied thyself a Faulcon-
bridge ?
Bast. As faithfully as I deny the devil.
Lady F. King Richard Coeur-de-lion was thy
father ;
By long and vehement suit I was seduc'd
To make room for him in my husband's bed : ■
Heaven lay not my transgression to my charge !
Thou art the issue of my great offence.
Which was so strongly urg'd, past my defence.
Bast» Madam, I would not wish a better father.
Some sins do bear their privilege on earth.
And so doth yours ; yoiu" fault was not your folly :
Needs must you lay your heart at his dispose, —
Subjected tribute to commanding love, —
Against whose fury and unmatched force
The awless lion could not wage the fight.
Nor keep his princely heart from Richard's hand.
{Exeunt.
ACT 11.
SCENE I. — France. Bef<»re the WaUs o/" Angicrs.
Enter, on one side, the Archduke of Austria, and
Forces; on the other, Philip, £ing of France,
and Forces: Lewis, Constance, Arthur, and
Attendants.
Lew. Before Angierswell met, brave Austria. —
Arthur, that great fore-runner of thy blood,
Richard, tliat robb'd the lion of his heart,
And fought the holy wars in Palestine,
By this brave duke came early to his grave ;
Good evening.
» My tniveUed fop.
And, for amends to his posterity.
At our importance 8, hither is he come.
To spread his colours, boy, in thy behalf;
And to rebuke the usurpation
Of thy unnatural uncle, English John :
Embrace him, love him, give him welcome hither.
Arth. Heaven vdll forgive you Coeur-de-lion's
death.
The rather, that you give his offspring life.
Shadowing their right under your wings of war :
8 Idle report*.
7 A character In an old drama called
• Importunity,
SoUman and Peruda,
332
KING JOHN.
Act II.
I give you welcome with a powerless hand,
But with a heart full of unstained love :
Welcome before the gates of Angiers, duke.
Lew. A noble boy! Who would not do thee right?
Aust. Upon thy cheek lay I this zealous kiss,
As seal to this indenture of my love ;
That to my home I will no more return,
Till Anglers, and the right thou hast in France,
Together with that pale, that white-fac'd shore,
Whose foot spurns back the ocean's roaring tides,
And coops from other lands her islanders.
Even till that England, hedg'd in with the main.
The water-walled bulwark, still secure
And confident from foreign purposes,
Even till that utmost corner of the west
Salute thee for her king : till then, fair boy.
Will I not think of home, but follow arms.
Const. O, take his mother's thanks, a widow's thanks,
Till your strong hand shall help to give him strength,
To make a more requital to your love.
Aust. The peace of heaven is theirs, that lift
their swords
In such a just and charitable war.
K. Phi. Well then, to work ; our cannon shall
be bent
Against the brows of this resisting town.
Call for our chiefest men of discipline,
To cull the plots of best advantages • : —
We'll lay before this town our royal bones,
Wade to the market-place in Frenchmen's blood.
But we will make it subject to this boy.
Const. Stay for an answer to your embassy.
Lest imadvis'd you stain your swords with blood :
My lord Chatillon may from England bring
That right in peace, which here we urge in war ;
And then we shall repent each drop of blood,
That hot rash haste so indirectly shed.
Enter Chatillon.
K. Phi A wonder, lady ! — lo, upon thy wish.
Our messenger Chatillon is arriv'd. —
What England says, say briefly, gentle lord,
We coldly pause for thee ; Chatillon, speak.
Chat. Then turn your forces from this paltry siege,
And stir them up against a mightier task.
England, impatient of your just demands,
Hath put himself in arms ; the adverse winds.
Whose leisure I have staid, have given him time
To land his legions all as soon as I :
His marches are expedient ^ to this town,
His forces strong, his soldiers confident.
With him along is come the mother-queen.
An At6 3, stirring him to blood and strife ;
With her her niece, the lady Blanch of Spain ;
With them a bastard of the king deceas'd :
And all the unsettled humours of the land, —
Rash, inconsiderate, fiery voluntaries.
With ladies' faces, and fierce dragons' spleens, .—
Have sold their fortunes at their native homes.
Bearing their birthrights proudly on their backs.
To make a hazard of new fortunes here.
In brief, a braver choice of dauntless spirits.
Than now the English bottoms have waft o'er
Did never float upon the swelling tide.
To do offence and scath 4 in Christendom.
The interruption of their churlish drums
{Drums heat.
1 Best stations to over-awe the town.
2 Immediate, expeditious. 3 xhe Goddess of Revenge.
* Mischief.
Cuts off more circumstance : they are at hand.
To parley, or to fight ; therefore, prepare.
K. Phi. How much unlook'd for is this expedition!
Aust. By how much unexpected, by so much
We must awake endeavour for defence ;
For courage mounted with occasion :
Let them be welcome then, we are prepar'd.
Enter King John, Elinor, Blanch, the Bastard,
Pembroke, and Forces.
K. John. Peace be to France ; if France in peace
permit
Our just and lineal entrance to our own !
If not ; bleed France, and peace ascend to heaven.
Whiles we, God's wrathful agent, do correct
Their proud contempt that beat his peace to heaven.
K. Phi. Peace be to England : if that war return
From France to England, there to live in peace !
England we love : and, for that England's sake.
With burden of our armour here we sweat :
This toil of ours should be a work of thine ;
But thou from loving England art so far.
That thou hast under-wrought his lawful king,
Cut off the sequence of posterity.
Outfaced infant state, and done a rape
Upon the maiden virtue of the crown.
Look here upon thy brother Geffrey's face ; —
These eyes, these brows, were moulded out of his :
This little abstract doth contain that large.
Which died in Geffrey ; and the hand of time
Shall draw this briefs into as huge a volume.
That Geffrey was thy elder brother bom.
And this his son ; England was Geffrey's right.
And this is Geffrey's : In the name of God,
How comes it then, that thou art call'd a king.
When living blood doth in these temples beat.
Which owe ^ the crown that thou o'ermasterest ?
K. John. From whom hast thou this great com-
mission, France,
To draw my answer from thy articles ?
K. Phi. From that supernal judge, that stirs
good thoughts
In any breast of strong authority.
To look into the blots and stains of right.
That judge hath made me guardian to this boy :
Under whose warrant, I impeach thy wrong ;
And, by whose help, I mean to chastise it.
K. John. Alack, thou dost usurp authority.
K. Phi. Excuse ; it is to beat usurping down.
Eli. Who is it, thou dost call usurper, France ?
Const. Let me make answer ; — thy usurping son.
Eli. Out, insolent ! thy bastard shall be king ;
That thou mayst be a queen, and check the world !
Const. My bed was ever to thy son as true.
As thine was to thy husband : and this boy
Liker in feature to his father Geffrey,
Than thou and John in manners ; and, I think.
His father never was so true begot ;
It cannot be, an if thou wert his mother.
Eli. There's a good mother, boy, that blots thy j
father.
Const. There's a good grandam, boy, that would ^
blot thee.
Aust. Peace !
Bast. Hear the crier.
Aust. What the devil art thou fl
Bast. One that will play the devil, sir, with you,]
An 'a may catch your hide and you alone.
You are the hare of whom the proverb goes,
* A short-writing. 6 Own.
Scene I.
KING JOHN.
333
Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard ;
I'll smoke your skin-coat, an I catch you right :
Sirrah, look to't ; i'faith, I will, i'faith.
Blanch. O, well did he become that lion's robe,
That did disrobe the lion of that robe !
Bast. It lies as sightly on the back of him,
As great Alcides' shoes upon an ass : —
But, ass, I'll take tliat burden froju your back ;
Or lay on that, shall make your shoulders crack.
Aust. What cracker is this same, that deafs our ears
With this abundance of superfluous breath ?
K. Phi. Lewis, determine what we shall do
straight.
Lew. Women and fools, break ofif your confer-
ence. —
King John, this is the very sum of all, —
England, and Ireland, Anjou, Touraine, Maine,
In right of Arthur do I claim of thee :
Wilt thou resign them, and lay down thy arms ?
K. John. My life as soon : — I do defy thee
France.
Arthur of Bretagne, yield thee to my hand ;
And, out of my dear love, I'll give thee more
Than e'er the coward hand of France can win :
Submit thee, boy.
Eh. Come to thy gran dam, child.
Const. Do, child, go to it' grandam, child ;
Give grandam kingdom, and it' grandam will
Give it a plum, a cherry, and a fig :
There's a good grandam.
Arth. Good my mother, peace !
I would, that I were low laid in my grave ;
I am not worth this coil ' that's made for me.
Eli. His mother shames him so, poor boy, he
weeps.
Const. Now shame upon you, whe'r she does, or no !
His grandam 's wrongs, and not his mother's shames.
Draw those heaven-moving pearls from his poor eyes,
Which heaven shall take in nature of a fee ;
Ay, with these crystal beads heaven shall be brib'd
To do him justice, and revenge on you.
Eli. Thou monstrous slanderer of heaven and
earth !
Const. Thou monstrous injurer of heaven and
earth !
Call not me slanderer ; thou, and thine, usurp
The dominations, royalties, and rights,
Of this oppressed boy : This is thy eldest son's son,
Infortunate in nothing but in thee ;
Thy sins are visited in this poor child.
Eli. Thou unadvised scold, I can produce
A will that bars the title of thy son.
Const. Ay, who doubts that ? a will ! a wicked will ;
A woman's will ; a canker'd grandam's will !
K. Phi. Peace, lady; pause, or be more temperate :
It ill beseems this presence, to cry aim«
To these ill-timed repetitions. —
Some trumpet summon hither to the walls
These men of Anglers ; let us hear them speak.
Whose title they admit, Arthur's or John's.
Trumpets sound. Enter Citizens upon the Walls.
1 Cit. Who is it that hath warn'd us to the walls ?
K. Phi. 'Tis France, for England.
K. John. England, for itself:
You men of Angiers, and my loving subjects, —
JC. Phi. You loving men of Angiers, Arthur's
subjects.
Our trumpet call'd you to this gentle parle. 9
' Bustle. • To encourage. » Conference.
JT. John. For our advantage ; — Therefore hear
us first.
These flags of France, that are advanced here
Before the eye and prospect of your town,
Have hither march'd to your endamagement :
The cannons have their bowels full of wrath ;
And ready mounted are they to spit forth
Their iron indignation 'gainst your walls :
All preparation for a bloody siege.
And merciless proceeding by these French,
Confront your city's eyes, your winking gates ;
And, but for our approach, those sleeping stones,
That as a waist do girdle you about,
By the compulsion of their ordnance
By this time from their fixed beds of lime
Had been dishabited, and vnde havock made
For bloody power to rush upon your peace.
But, on the sight of us, your lawful king, —
Who painfully with much expedient march.
Have brought a countercheck before your gates,
To save unscratch'd your city's threaten'd cheeks, —
Behold, the French, amaz'd, vouchsafe a parle :
And now, instead of bullets wrapp'd in fire.
To make a shaking fever in your walls,
They shoot but calm words, folded up in smoke.
To make a faithless error in your ears :
Which trust accordingly, kind citizens.
And let us in, your king ; whose labour'd spirits,
Forwearied ' in this action of swift speed,
Crave harbourage within your city walls.
JC. Phi. When I have said, make answer to us
both.
Lo, in this right hand, whose protection
Is most divinely vow'd upon the right
Of him it holds, stands young Plantagenet ;
Son to the elder brother of this man,
And king o'er him, and all that he enjoys :
For this down-trodden equity, we tread
It warlike march these greens before your town ;
Being no further enemy to you,
Tlian the constraint of hospitable zeal,
In the relief of this oppressed child.
Religiously provokes. Be pleased then
To pay that duty, which you truly owe.
To him that owes « it ; namely, this young prince :
And then our arms, like to a muzzled bear.
Save in aspect, have all offence seal'd up ;
Our cannons' malice vainly shall be spent
Against the invulnerable clouds of heaven ;
And, with a blessed and unvex'd retire.
With unhack'd swords, and helmets all unbruis'd.
We will bear home that lusty blood again.
Which here we came to spout against your town.
And leave your children, wives, and you in peace.
But if you fondly pass our proffer'd offer,
'Tis not the roundure 3 of your old-fac'd walls
Can hide you from our messengers of war :
Though all these English, and their discipline,
Were harbour'd iji their rude circumference.
Then, tell us, shall your city call us lord.
In that behalf which we have challeng'd it?
Or shall we give the signal to our rage,
And stalk in blood to our possession ?
1 Cit. In brief, we are tlie king of England's
subjects ;
For him, and in his right, we hold this town.
JC. John. Acknowledge then the king, and let
' Worn out
3 Owns.
» Circle.
834.
KING JOHN.
Act II.
1 Cit. That can we not: but he that proves the king,
To him will we prove loyal ; till that time,
Have we ramm'd up our gates against the world.
JT. John. Doth not the crown of England prove
the king ?
And, if not that, I bring you witnesses.
Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed, —
Bast. Bastards, and else.
JT. John. To verify our title with their lives.
JT. Phi. As many, and as well-bom bloods as
those,
JBast. Some bastards too.
jr. Phi. Stand in his face to contradict his claim.
1 Cit. Till you compound whose right is worthiest,
We, for the worthiest, hold the right from both.
JT. Joh7i. Then God forgive the sin of all those
souls,
That to their everlasting residence,
Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet,
In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king !
JT. Phi. Amen ! Amen ! — Mount, chevaliers, to
arms !
Bast. St. George, — that swing'd the dragon,
and e'er since.
Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door,
Teach us some fence ! — Sirrah, were I at home.
At your den, sirrah, [To Austria.] with your lioness,
I'd set an ox-head to your lion's liide.
And make a monster of you.
Aust. Peace ; no more.
Bast. O, tremble ; for you hear the lion roar.
jr. John. Up higher to the plain j where we'll set
forth.
In best appointment, all our regimetits.
Bast. Speed then, to take advantage of the field.
IT. Phi. It shall be so ; — [To Lewis.] and at the
other hill
Command the rest to stand. — God, and our right !
[Exeunt.
SCENE II. — The same.
Alarums and Excursions ; then a Retreat. Enter a
French Herald, with Trumpets, to the Gates.
F.Her. You men of Angiers, open wide your gates.
And let young Arthur, duke of Bretagne, in ;
Who, by the hand of France, this day hath made
Much work for tears in many an English mother,
Whose sons lie scatter'd on the bleeding ground :
Many a widow's husband grovelling lies,
Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth ;
And victory, with little loss, doth play
Upon the dancing banners of the French ;
Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd.
To enter conquerors, and to proclaim
Arthur of Bretagne, England's king, and yours.
Enter an English Herald, with Trumpets.
E. Her. Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your
bells.
King John, your king and England's, doth approach.
Commander of this hot malicious day !
Their armours, that march'd hence so silver-bright,
Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood ;
There stuck no plume in any English crest.
That is removed by a staff of France ;
Our colours do return in those same hands
That did display them when we first march'd forth ;
And, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, come
Our lusty English, all with purpled hands.
Died in the dying slaughter of their foes :
Open your gates, and give the victors way.
CU. Heralds, from off our towers we might behold,
From first to last, the onset and retire
Of both your armies j whose equality
By our best eyes cannot be censured * :
Blood hath bought blood, and blows have answer'd
blows ;
Strength match'd with strength, and power con-
fronted power :
Both are alike ; and both alike we like.
One must prove greatest : while they weigh so even.
We hold our town for neither ; yet for both.
Enter, at one side. King John, uith his Power;
Elinor, Blanch, and the Bastard ; at the other,
King Philip, Lewis, Austria, and Forces.
K. John. France, hast thou yet more blood to cast
away?
Say, shall the current of our right run on ?
Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment,
Shall leave his native channel, and o'erswell
With course disturb'd even thy confining shores,
Unless thou let his silver water keep
A peaceful progress to the ocean.
K. Phi. England, thou hast not sav'd one drop of
blood,
In this hot trial, more than we of France ;
Rather, lost more : And by this hand I swear.
That sways the earth this climate overlooks, —
Before we will lay down our just-borne arms.
We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we bear,
Or add a royal number to the dead ;
Gracing the scroll, that tells of this war's loss,
With slaughter coupled to the name of kings.
Bast. Ha, majesty ! how high thy glory towers.
When the rich blood of kings is set on fire !
O, now doth death line his dead chaps with steel ;
The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs ;
And now he feasts, mouthing the flesh of men.
In undetermin'd differences of kings. —
Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus ?
Cry, havock, kings ! back to the stained field.
You equal potents *, fiery kindled spirits !
Then let confusion of one part confirm
The other's peace ; till then, blows, blood, and death !
K. John. Whose party do the townsmen yet admit?
K. Phi. Speak, citizens, for England ; who's your
king ?
1 Cit. The king of England, when we know the king.
K. Phi. Know him in us, that here hold up his
right.
K. John. In us that are our own great deputy.
And bear possession of our person here ;
Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you.
1 Cit. A greater power than we, denies all this ;
And, till it be undoubted, we do lock
Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates :
King'd of our fears ; until our fears resolv'd,
Be by some certain king purg'd and depos'd.
Bast. By heaven these scroyles 6 of Angiers flout
you, kings ;
And stand securely on their battlements.
As in a theatre, whence they gape and point
At your industrious scenes and acts of death.
Your royal presences be rul'd by me ;
Do like the mutines 7 of Jerusalem ;
Be friends a while, and both conjointly bend
Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town :
By east and west let France and England mount
4 Judged, determined.
6 Scabby fellows.
5 Potentates.
1 Mutineers.
Scene II.
KING JOHN.
335
Tlieir battering cannon, charged to the mouths ;
Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down
The flinty ribs of this contemptuous city :
I'd play incessantly upon these jades,
Even till unfenced desolation
Leave them as naked as the vulgar air.
That done, dissever your united strengths.
And part your mingled colours once again ;
Turn face to face, and bloody point to point :
Then, in a moment, fortune shall cull forth
Out of one side her happy minion ;
To whom in favour she shall give the day,
And kiss him with a glorious victory.
How like you this wild counsel, mighty states ?
Smacks it not something of the policy ?
K.John. Now, by the sky that hangs above our heads,
I like it well ; — France, shall we knit our powers,
And lay this Angiers even with the ground ;
Then, after, fight who shall be king of it ?
Bast. An if thou hast the mettle of a king, —
Being wrong'd, as we are, by this peevish town, —
Turn thou the mouth of thy artillery.
As we will ours, against these saucy walls :
And when that we have dash'd them to the ground,
Why, then defy each other ; and pell-mell,
ISIake work upon ourselves, for heaven, or hell.
K. Phi. Let it be so : — Say, where will you assault?
K. John. We from the west will send destruction
Into this city's bosom.
Aust. I from the north.
K. Phi. Our thunder from the south.
Shall rain their drift of bullets on this town.
Bast. O prudent discipline ! From north to south ;
Austria and France shoot in each other's mouth :
\^Aside.
I'll stir them to it : — Come, away, away !
1 Cit. Hear us, great kings : vouchsafe a while to
stay.
And I shall show you peace, and fair-faced league;
Win you this city without stroke, or wound j
Rescue those breathing lives to die in beds,
ITiat here come sacrifices for the field :
Pers^ver not, but hear me, mighty kings.
K. John. Speak on, with favour ; we are bent to hear.
1 Cit. That daughter there of Spain, the lady Blanch,
Is near to England : Look upon the years
Of Lewis the Dauphin, and that lovely maid :
If youthful love should go in quest of beauty.
Where should he find it fairer than in Blanch?
If zealous 8 love should go in search of virtue,
Wliere should he find it purer than in Blanch ?
If love ambitious sought a match of birth,
Whose veins bound richer blood than lady Blanch ?
Such as she is, in beauty, virtue, birth.
Is the young Dauphin every way complete :
If not complete, O say, he is not she ;
And she again wants nothing, to name want.
If want it be not, that she is not he :
He is the half part of a blessed man.
Left to be finished by such as she;
And she a fair divided excellence.
Whose fulness of perfection lies in him.
O, two such silver currents, when they join,
Do glorify the banks that bound them in :
And two such shores to two such streams made one,
Two such controlling bounds, shall you be, kings,
To these two princes, if you marry them.
This union shall do more than battery can,
To our fast-closed gates ; for, at this match,
8 Plouc
With swifter spleen 9 than powder can enforce,
The mouth of passage shall we fling wide ope.
And give you entrance ; but without this match.
The sea enraged is not half so deaf.
Lions more confident, mountains and rocks
More free from motion ; no, not death himself
In mortal fury half so peremptory.
As we to keep this city.
Bast. Here's a stay.
That shakes the rotten carcase of old Death
Out of his rags ! Here's a large mouth, indeed.
That spits forth death, and mountains, rocks, and seas;
And talks familiarly of roaring lions.
He speaks plain cannon, fire, and smoke, and bounce;
He gives the bastinado with his tongue ;
Gur ears are cudgel'd ; not a word of his,
But buffets better than a fist of France :
Why ! I was never so bethump'd with words,
Since I first call'd my brother's father, dad.
Eli. Son, list to this conjunction, make this match ;
Give with our niece a dowry large enough :
For by this knot thou shalt so surely tie
Thy now unsur'd assurance to the crown.
That yon green boy shall have no sun to ripe
The bloom that promiseth a mighty fruit.
I see a yielding in the looks of France ;
Mark, how they whisper : urge them, while their souls
Are capable of this ambition :
Lest zeal, now melted by the windy breath
Of soft petitions, pity and remorse,
Cool and congeal again to what it was.
1 Cit. Why answer not the double majesties
This friendly treaty of our threaten 'd town?
K. Phi. Speak England first, that hath been for-
ward first
To speak unto this city : What say you ?
IT. John. If that the Dauphin there, thy princely son.
Can in this book of beauty read, I love,
Her dowry shall weigh equal with a queen :
For Anjou, and fair Touraine, Maine, Poictiers,
And all that we upon this side the sea
(Except this city now by us besieg'd)
Find liable to our crown and dignity.
Shall gild her bridal bed ; and make her rich
In titles, honours, and promotions^
As she in beauty, education, blood.
Holds hand with any princess of the world.
JT. Phi. What say'st thou, boy ? look in tlie lady's
face.
Le^v. I do, my lord, and in her eye I find
A wonder, or a wonderous miracle,
The shadow of myself form'd in her eye ;
Which, being but the shadow of your son.
Becomes a sun, and makes your son a shadow :
I do protest, I never lov'd myself.
Till now infixed I beheld myself.
Drawn in the flattering table of her eye.
[JVhisj)ers with Blanch.
Bast. Drawn in the flattering table of her eye ! —
Hang'd in the frowning wrinkleof her brow ! —
And quartcr'd in her heart ! — he doth espy
Himself love's traitor : Tliis is pity now.
That hang'd, and dra wn,and quarter'd,there should be.
In such a love, so vile a lout as he.
Blanch. My uncle's will, in this respect is mine :
If he see aught in you, that makes him like,
Tliat any tiling he sees, which moves his liking,
I can with ease translate it to my will ;
Or, if you will, (to speak more properly,)
•Speed.
S36
KING JOHN.
Act IIL
I will enforce it easily to my love.
Further I will not flatter you, my lord,
That all I see in you is worthy love,
Than this — that nothing do I see in you,
(Though churlish thoughts themselves should be
your judge,)
That I can find should merit any hate.
K. John. What say these young ones ? What say
you, my niece?
Blanch. That she is bound in honour still to do
What you in wisdom shall vouchsafe to say.
K. John. Speak then, prince Dauphin ; can you
love this lady ?
Lew. Nay, ask me if I can refrain from love ;
For I do love her most unfeignedly.
K. John. Then I do give Volquessen, Touraine,
Maine,
Poictiers, and Anjou, these five provinces,
With her to thee ; and this addition more,
Full thirty thousand marks of English coin. —
Pliilip of France, if thou be pleas'd withal.
Command thy son and daughter to join hands.
K. Phi. It likes us well ; — Young princes, close
your hands.
Aust. And your lips too ; for, I am well assur'd,
That I did so, when I was first assur'd. '
JT. Phi. Now, citizens of Anglers, ope your gates,
Let in that amity which you have made ;
For at Saint Mary's chapel, presently,
The rites of marriage shall be solemniz'd. —
Is not the lady Constance in this troop? —
I know, she is not ; for this match, made up,
Her presence would have interrupted much : —
Where is she and her son ? tell me, who knows.
Lew. She is sad and passionate 2 at your highness'
tent.
K. Phi. And, by my faith, this league, that we
have made.
Will give her sadness very little cure. —
Brother of England, how may we content
This widow lady ? In her right we came :
Which we. Heaven knows, have turn'd another way,
To our own vantage.
K. John. We will heal up all ;
For we'll create young Arthur duke of Bretagne,
And earl of Richmond ; and this rich fair town
We make him lord of. — Call the lady Constance ;
Some speedy messenger bid her repair
To our solemnity : — I trust we shall.
If not fill up the measure of her will.
Yet in some measure satisfy her so.
That we shall stop her exclamation.
Go we, as well as haste will suffer us.
To this unlook'd for unprepared pomp.
[Exeunt all but the Bastard. — The Citizens
retire from the walls.
Bast. Mad world ! mad kings ! mad composition !
John, to stop Arthur's title in the whole.
Hath willingly departed with a part :
And France, (whose armour conscience buckled on;
Whom zeal and charity brought to the field.
As God's own soldier,) rounded 4 in the ear
With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil ;
That broker, that still breaks the pate of faith ;
That daily break-vow ; he that wins of all.
Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids;—
Commodity, the bias of the world ;
The world, who of itself is peised ^ well.
Made to run even, upon even ground ;
Till this advantage, this vile drawing bias.
This sway of motion, this commodity.
Makes it take head from all indilFerency,
From all direction, purpose, course, intent :
And this same bias, this commodity,
Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France,
Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aid,
From a resolv'd and honourable war,
To a most base and vile-concluded peace. —
And why rail I on this commodity ?
But for because he hath not woo'd me yet :
Not that I have the power to clutch 6 my hand,
When his fair angels 7 would salute my palm :
But for my hand, as unattempted yet,
Like a poor beggar, raileth on the rich.
Well, whiles I am a beggar, I will rail.
And say, — there is no sin, but to be rich ;
And being rich, my virtue then shall be.
To say, — there is no vice but beggary :
Since kings break faith upon commodity.
Gain, be my lord ! for I will worship thee ! \_Exit.
ACT IIL
SCENE I. — The French King's Tent.
Enter Constance, Arthur, and Salisbury.
Const. Gone to be married ! gone to swear a peace !
False blood to false blood join'd ! Gone to be friends !
Shall Lewis have Blanch ? and Blanch those pro-
vinces ?
It is not so ; thou hast mis-spoke, misheard ;
Be well advis'd, tell o'er thy tale again :
It cannot be ; thou dost but say, 'tis so :
I trust, I may not trust thee ; for thy word
Is but the vain breath of a common man :
Believe me, I do not believe thee, man ;
I have a king's oath to the contrary.
Thou shalt be punish'd for thus frighting me,
For I am sick, and capable 3 of fears ;
Oppress'd with wrongs, and therefore full of fears ;
' Affianced.
2 Mournful
' Susceptible.
A widow, husbandless, subject to fears ;
A woman, naturally born to fears ;
And though thou now confess, thou didst but jest
With my vex'd spirits, I cannot take a truce,
But they will quake and tremble all this day.
What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head ?
Why dost thou look so sadly on my son ?
What means that hand upon that breast of thine ?
Why holds thine eye that lamentable rheum,
Like a proud river peering 8 o'er his bounds ?
Be these sad signs confirmers of thy words ?
Then speak again ; not all thy former tale,
But this one word ; whether thy tale be true.
Sal. As true, as, I believe, you think them false
That give you cause to prove my saying true.
Const. O, if thou teach me to believe this sorrow.
* Conspired.
7 Coin.
5 Poised, balanced. ^ Clasp.
8 Appearing.
Scene I.
KING JOHN.
337
Teach thou this sorrow how to make me die ;
And let belief and life encounter so,
As doth the fury of two desperate men,
Which, m the very meeting, fall, and die. —
Lewis marry Blanch ! 0,boy, then where art thou ?
France friend with England! what becomes of me? —
Fellow, be gone ; I cannot brook thy sight ;
This news hath made thee a most ugly man.
<Sq/. What other harm have I, good lady, done.
But spoke the harm that is by otliers done ?
Const. Which harm within itself so heinous is,
As it makes harmful all that spoak of it.
Arlh. I do beseech you, madam, be content.
Const. If thou, that bid'st me be content, wert
grim.
Ugly, and sland'rous to thy mother's womb.
Full of unpleasing blots, and sightless 9 stains.
Lame, foolish, crooked, swarth, prodigious ',
Patch'd with foul moles, and eye-offending marks,
I would not care, I then would be content ;
For tlien I should not love thee ; no, nor thou
Become thy great birth, nor deserve a crown.
But thou art fair ; and at thy birth, dear boy !
Nature and fortune join'd to make thee great :
Of nature's gifts thou mayst with lilies boast.
And with the half-blown rose : but fortune, O !
She is corrupted, chang'd, and won from thee ;
She adulterates hourly with thine uncle John ;
And with hpr golden hand hath pluck'd on France
To tread down fair respect of sovereignty.
Tell me, thou fellow, is not France forsworn ?
Envenom him with words ; or get thee gone.
And leave those woes alone, which I alone
Am bound to under-bear.
Sal. Pardon me, madam,
I may not go without you to the kings.
Const. Thou mayst, thou shalt, I will not go with
thee :
I will instruct my sorrows to be proud ;
For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout.
To me, and to the state % of my great grief.
Let kings assemble ; for my grief's so great.
That no supporter but the huge firm earth
Can hold it up : here I and sorrow sit ;
Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.
[5Ae throws lierself on the ground.
Enter King John, Kino Philip, Lewis, Blanch,
EuNoa, Bastard, Austria, and Attendants.
K. Phi. 'Tis true, fair daughter ; and this blessed
day.
Ever in France shall be kept festival :
To solemnize this day, the glorious sun
Stays in his course, and plays the alchemist ;
Turning, with splendour of his precious eye.
The meagre cloddy earth to glittering gold :
The yearly course, that brings this day about.
Shall never see it but a holyday.
Const. A wicked day, and not a holyday !
[Rising.
What hath this day deserv'd ; what hath it done ;
That it in golden letters should be set,
Among tlie high tides, in the kalendar?
Nay, rather, turn this day out of the week ;
This day of shame, oppression, perjury :
Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child
Pray, that their burdens may not fall this day,
Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross'd :
But on this day, let seamen fear no wreck,
» Unsightly. > Monttroui. » Dignity.
No bargains break, that are not this day made :
This day, all things begun come to ill end ;
Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change !
JT. P/ii. By heaven, lady, you shall have no cause
To curse the fair proceedings of this day :
Have I not pawn'd to you my majesty?
Const. You have beguil'd me with a counterfeit.
Resembling majesty ; which, being touch'd and tried.
Proves valueless : You are forsworn, forsworn ;
You came in arms to spill mine enemies' blood.
But now in arms you strengthen it with yours :
The grappling vigour and rough frown of war.
Is cold in amity and painted peace.
And our oppression hath made up this league : —
Arm, arm, you heavens, against these perjur'd kings !
A widow cries ; be husband to me, heavens !
Let not the hours of this ungodly day
Wear out the day in peace ; but, ere sunset,
Set arm'd discord 'twixt these perjur'd kings !
Hear me, O, hear me !
Aust. Lady Constance, peace.
Const. War ! war! no peace ! peace is to me a war.
0 Lymoges ! O Austria ! thou dost shame
That bloody spoil : Thou slave, thou wretch, thou
coward ;
Thou little valiant, great in villainy !
Thou ever strong upon the stronger side !
Thou fortune's champion, that dost never fight
But when her humorous ladyship is by
To teach thee safety ! thou art perjur'd too,
And sooth'st up greateness. What a fool art thou,
A ramping fool ; to brag, and stamp, and swear,
Upon my party ! Thou cold-blooded slave.
Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side ?
Been sworn my soldier ? bidding me depend
Upon thy stars, thy fortune, and thy strength ?
And dost thou now fall over to my foes ?
Thou wear a lion's hide ! doff it ' for shame.
And hang a calf's skin on tliose recreant limbs.
Aust. O, that a man should speak those words to
me !
Bast. And hang a calf's skin on those recreant
limbs.
Aust. Thou dar'st not say so, villain, for thy life.
Bast. And hang a calf's skin on those recreant
limbs.
IT. John. We like not this : thou dost forget thyself.
Enter Pandulph.
JT. Phi. Here comes the holy legate of the pope.
Pand. Hail, you anointed deputies of heaven! —
To thee, king John, my holy errand is.
1 Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal,
And from pope Innocent the legate here,
Do, in his name, religiously demand.
Why thou against the church, our holy mother.
So wilfully dost spurn ; and, force perforce.
Keep Stephen Langton, chosen archbishop
Of Canterbury, from that holy see?
This in our 'foresaid holy father's name.
Pope Innocent, I do demand of thee.
A". John. What earthly name to interrogatories
Can task the free breath of a sacred king ?
Thou canst not, cardinal, devise a name
So slight, unworthy, and ridiculous.
To charge me to an answer, as the pope.
Tell him this tale ; and from the mouth of England,
Add thus much more, — That no Italian priest
Shall tithe or toll in our dominions :
3 Put it ofT.
Z
338
KING JOHN.
Act III.
But as we under lieaven are supreme bead,
So, under him, that great supremacy,
Where we do reign, we will alone uphold,
"Without the assistance of a mortal hand :
So tell the pope ; all reverence set apart,
To him, and his usurp'd authority.
K. Phi. Brother of England, you blaspheme in
this.
JC John. Though you, and all the kings of Chris-
tendom,
Are led so grossly by this meddling priest.
Dreading the curse that money may buy out ;
And, by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust,
Purchase corrupted pardon of a man,
Who, in that sale, sells pardon from himself:
Though you, and all the rest, so grossly led.
This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish ;
Yet I, alone, alone do me oppose
Against the pope, and count his friends my foes.
Pand. Then, by the lawful power that I have,
Thou shalt stand curs'd and excommunicate :
And blessed shall he be, that doth revolt
From his allegiance to an heretick ;
And meritorious shall that hand be call'd,
Canonized, and worshipp'd as a saint,
That takes away by any secret course
Thy hateful life.
Const. O, lawful let it be,
That I have room with Rome to curse a while !
Good father cardinal, cry thou, amen,
To my keen curses ; for, without my wrong,
There is no tongue hath power to curse him right.
Pand. There's law and warrant, lady, for my curse.
Const. And for mine too ; when law can do no right.
Let it be lawful that law bar no wrong :
Law cannot give my child his kingdom here ;
For he, that holds his kingdom, holds the law :
Therefore, since law itself is perfect wrong,
How can the law forbid my tongue to curse ?
Pand. Philip of France, on peril of a curse.
Let go the hand of that arch-heretick ;
And raise the power of France upon his head.
Unless he do submit himself to Rome.
Eli. Look'st thou pale, France? do not let go
thy hand.
Const. Look to that, devil ! lest that France repent.
uiust. King Philip, listen to the cardinal.
Past. And hang a calf's skin on his recreant limbs.
JT. Joh7i. Philip, what say'st thou to the cardinal ?
Const. What should he say, but as the cardinal ?
Lew. Bethink you, father : for the difference
Is, purchase of a heavy curse from Rome,
Or the light loss of England for a friend :
Forego the easier.
Blanch. That's the curse of Rome.
Const. O Lewis, stand fast ; the devil tempts thee
here.
In likeness of a new untrimmed bride.
Planch. The lady Constance speaks not from her
faith.
But from her need.
Const. O, if thou grant my need.
Which only lives but by the death of faith.
That need must needs infer this principle,
That faith would live again by death of need ;
O, then, tread down my need, and faith mounts up ;
Keep my need up, and faith is trodden down.
K.John. The king is mov'd, and answers not to
this.
Const. O, be remov'd from him, and answer well.
Aust. Do so, king Philip; hang no more in
doubt.
Bast. Hang nothing but a calf's skin, most sweet
lout.
jr. Phi. I am perplex'd, and know not what to say.
Pand. What canst thou say, but will perplex thee
more.
If thou stand excommunicate, and curs'd ?
K. Phi. Good reverend father, make my person
yours,
And tell me, how you would bestow yourself.
This royal hand and mine are newly knit ;
And the conjunction of our inward souls
Married in league, coupled and link'd together
With all religious strength of sacred vows ;
The latest breath that gave the sound of words,
Was deep-sworn faith, peace, amity, true love,
Between our kingdoms, and our royal selves ;
And even before this truce, but new before, —
No longer than we well could wash our hands.
To clap this royal bargain up of peace, — —
Heaven knows, they were besmear'd and overstain'd
With slaughter's pencil ; where revenge did paint
The fearful difference of incensed kings :
And shall these hands so lately purg'd of blood.
So newly join'd in love, so strong in both,
Unyoke this seizure, and this kind regreet ?
Play fast and loose with faith ? so jest with heaven.
Make such unconstant children of ourselves.
As now again to snatch our palm from palm ;
Unswear faith sworn ; and on the marriage bed
Of smiling peace to march a bloody host,
And make a riot on the gentle brow
Of true sincerity ? O holy sir,
My reverend father, let it not be so :
Out of your grace, devise, ordain, impose
Some gentle order ; and then we shall be bless'd
To do your pleasure, and continue friends.
Pand. All form is formless, order orderless,
Save what is opposite to England's love.
Therefore, to arms ! be champion of our church !
Or let the church, our mother, breathe her curse,
A mother's curse, on her revolting son.
France, thou mayst hold a serpent by the tongue,
A cased lion by the mortal paw,
A fasting tiger safer by the tooth,
Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold.
K- Phi. I may disjoin my hand, but not my faith.
Pand. So mak'st thou faith an enemy to faith ;
And, like a civil war, sett'st oath to oath.
Thy tongue against thy tongue. O, let thy vow
First made to heaven, first be to heaven perform'd ;
That is, to be the champion of our church !
What since thou swor'st, is sworn against thyself.
And may not be performed by thyself :
For that, which thou hast sworn to do amiss,
Is not amiss when it is truly done ;
And being not done, where doing tends to ill,
The truth is then most done not doing it :
The better act of purposes mistook
Is, to mistake again ; though indirect.
Yet indirection thereby grows direct.
And falsehood, falsehood cures ; as fire cools fire.
Within the scorched veins of one new burn'd.
It is religion, that doth make vows kept ;
But thou hast sworn against religion ;
By what thou swear'st, against the thing thou swear'st ;
And mak'st an oath the surety for thy truth
Against an oath : The truth thou art unsure
^ Exchange of salutation.
Scene I.
KING JOHN.
339
To swear, swear only not to be forsworn :
Else, what a mockery should it be to swear ?
But thou dost swear only to be forsworn ;
And most forsworn, to keep what thou dost swear.
Therefore, thy latter vows, against thy first.
Is in thyself rebellion to thyself:
And better conquest never canst thou make.
Than arm thy constant and thy nobler parts
Against those giddy loose suggestions :
Upon which better part our prayers come in,
If thou vouchsafe them : but, if not, then know,
The peril of our curses light on thee ;
So heavy, as thou shalt not shake them off.
But, in despair, die under their black weight.
Aust. Rebellion, flat rebellion !
Bast. Will'tnotbe?
Will not a calf's skin stop that mouth of thine ?
Lew. Father, to arms !
Blanch. Upon thy wedding day ?
Against the blood that thou hast married ?
What, shall our feast be kept with slaughter'd
men?
Shall braying trumpets, and loud churlish drums, —
Clamours of hell, — be measures * to our pomp ?
O, husband, hear me ! — ah, alack, how new
Is husband in my mouth ! — even for that name,
Which till this time my tongue did ne'er pronounce.
Upon my knee I beg, go not to arms
Against mine uncle.
Const. O, upon my knee,
Made hard with kneeling, I do pray to thee.
Thou virtuous Dauphin, alter not the doom
Fore-thought by heaven.
Blanch. Now shall I see thy love ; What motive may
Be stronger with thee than the name of wife ?
Const. That which upholdethhim that thee upholds,
His honour ; O, thine honour, Lewis, thine honour !
Lew. I muse^, your majesty doth seem so cold.
When such profound respects do pull you on.
Pand. I will denounce a curse upon his head.
A". Phi. Thou shalt not need : — England, I'll
fall from thee.
Const. O fair return of banish'd majesty !
Eli. O foul revolt of French inconstancy !
K. John. France, thou shalt rue this hour within
this hour.
Bast. Old time, the clock-setter, that bald sexton
time.
Is it as he vdll ? well then, France shall rue.
Blanch. The sun's o'ercast with blood ; Fair day,
adieu !
Which is the side that I must go withal ?
I am with both : each army hath a hand j
And, in their rage, I having hold of both,
They whirl asunder, and dismember me.
Husband, I cannot pray that thou mayst win ;
Uncle, I needs must pray that thou mayst lose ;
Father, I may not wish the fortune thine ;
Grandam, I will not vnsh thy wishes thrive :
Whoever wins, on that side shall I lose ;
Assured loss, before the match be play'd.
Lew, Lady, with me j with me thy fortune lies.
Blanch. There where my fortune lives, there my
life dies.
JT. John. Cousin, go draw our puissance ^ to-
gether. — {Exit Bastard.
France, I am bum'd up vnth inflaming wrath ;
A rage, whose heat hath this condition,
* Music for dancing.
7 Force
« Wonder.
That nothing can allay, nothing but blood,
The blood, and dearest-valu'd bluod of France.
IC. Phi. Thy rage shall burn thee up, and thou
shalt turn
To ashes, ere our blood shall quench that fire :
Look to thyself, thou art in jeopardy.
A'. John. No more than he that threats. — To
arms let's hie ! {Fxeunl.
SCENE II Plains near Angiers.
Alarums ; Excursions. Enter t/ie Bastard, with
Austria's head.
Bast. Now, by my life, thisday grows wondrous hot ;
Some airy devil hovers in the sky.
And pours down mischief. Austria's head lie there,
While Philip breathes.
Enter ^ing John, Arthur, and Hubert.
A". John. Hubert, keep thisboy : — Philip, make up ;
My mother is assailed in our tent,
And ta'en, I fear.
' Bast. My lord, I rescu'd her ;
Her highness is in safety, fear you not :
But on, my liege : for very little pains
Will bring this labour to an happy end. [Exeunt.
SCENE lU. — TJie same.
Alarums ; Excursions ; Retreat. Enter Kino John,
Elinor, Arthur, the Bastard, Hubert, and Lords.
K. John. So shall it be ; your grace shall stay
behind, [ To Elinor.
So strongly guarded. — Cousin, look not sad :
{To Arthur.
Thy grandam loves thee ; and thy uncle will
As dear be to thee as thy father was.
Arth. O, this will make my mother die with grief.
K. John. Cousin, [To the Bastard.] away for
England ; haste before :
And, ere our coming, see thou shake the bags
Of hoarding abbots ; angels 8 imprison'd
Set thou at liberty : the fat ribs of peace
Must by the hungry now be fed upon :
Use our commission in its utmost force.
Bast. Bell, book, and candle shall not drive me
back.
When gold and silver becks me to come on.
I leave your highness : — Grandam, I will pray
(If ever I remember to be holy,)
For your fair safety ; so I kiss your hand.
Eli. Farewell, my gentle cousin.
K. John. Cor, farewell.
[El-it Bastard.
Eli. Come hither, little kinsman ; hark, a word.
[She lakes Arthur aside.
K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle
Hubert,
We owe thee much ; within this wall of flesh
There if a soul, counts thee her creditor,
And with advantage means to pay thy love :
And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath
Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished.
Give me thy hand. I liad a thing to say, —
But I will fit it with some better time.
By heaven, Hubert, I am almost asham'd
To say what good respect I have of thee.
Huh. I am much bounden to your majesty.
* Gold cola
Z 2
340
KING JOHN.
Act III.
K. John. Good friend, tliou hast no cause to say
so yet :
But thou shalt have ; and creep time ne'er so slow,
Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good.
I had d thing to say, — But let it go :
The Sim is in the heaven, and the proud day,
Attended with the pleasures of tlie world,
Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds 9,
To give me audience : — If the midnight bell
Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth,
Sound one unto the drowsy race of night ;
If this same were a church-yard where we stand.
And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs ;
Or if that surly spirit, melancholy.
Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thick ;
(Which, else, runs tickling up and down the veins.
Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes.
And strain their cheeks to idle merriment,
A passion hateful to my purposes ;)
Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes.
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply
Without a tongue, using conceit * alone,
Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words ;
Then, in despite of brooded watchful day,
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts :
But, ah, I will not : — Yet I love thee well ;
And, by my troth, I think, thou lov'st me well.
Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake,
Though that my death were adjunct * to my act,
By heaven, I'd do't.
K. John. Do not I know, thou would'st ?
Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye
On yon young boy : I'll tell thee what, my friend,
He is a very serpent in my way ;
And, wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread,
He lies before me : Dost thou understand me ?
Thou ait his keeper.
Hub. And I will keep him so.
That he shall not offend your majesty.
X. John. Death.
Hub. My lord?
K. John, A grave.
Huh. He shall not live.
K. John. Enough.
I could be merry now : Hubert, I love thee ;
Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee ;
Remember. Madam, fare you well :
I'll send those powers o'er to your majesty.
Eli. My blessing go with thee !
K. John. For England, cousin :
Hubert shall be your man, attend on you
With all true duty. — On toward Calais, ho !
\_Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — Thesame. The French King's Tent.
Enter King Philip, Lewis, Pandulph, and
Attendants.
K. Phi. So, by a roaring tempest on the flood,
A whole armado 3 of convicted * sail
Is scatter'd and disjoin'd from fellowship.
Pand. Courage and comfort! all shall yet go well.
JT. Phi. What can go well, when we have run so
ill?
Are we not beaten ? Is not Angiers»lost ?
Arthur ta'en prisoner ? divers dear friends slain ?
And bloody England into England gone,
O'erbearing interruption, spite of France ?
9 Showy ornaments.
2 Joined. 3 Fleet of i
1 Conception.
'^ Overcome.
Lew. What he hath won, that hath he fortified :
So hot a speed with such advice dispos'd,
Such temperate order in so fierce a cause.
Doth want example : Who hath read, or heard.
Of any kindred action like to this ?
jr. Phi. Well could I bear that England had this
praise,
So we could find some pattern of our shame.
Enter Constance.
Look, who comes here ! a grave unto a soul ;
Holding the eternal spirit, against her will.
In the vile prison of afflicted breath : —
I pr'ythee, lady, go away with me.
Const. Lo, now! now see the issue of your peace!
JT. Phi. Patience, good lady ! comfort, gentle
Constance !
Const. No, I defy 5 all counsel, all redress,
But that which ends all counsel, true redress.
Death, death : — O awiiable lovely death !
Arise forth from the couch of lasting night.
Thou hate and terror to prosperity.
And I will kiss thy detestable bones ;
And put my eye-balls in thy vanity brows ;
And ring these fingers with thy household worms ;
And stop this gap of breath with fulsome dust,
And be a carrion monster like thyself :
Come, grin on me, and I will think'st thou smil'st,^
And buss thee as thy wife ! Misery's love,
O, come to me.
IT. Phi. O fair affliction, peace.
Co?ist. No, no, I will not, having breath to
cry : —
O, that my tongue were in the thunder's mouth !
Then with a passion would I shake the world ;
And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy,
Which cannot hear a lady's feeble voice.
Which scorns a modern ^ invocation.
Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow.
Const. Thou art not holy to belie me so ;
I am not mad : this hair I tear, is mine ;
My name is Constance ; I was Geffrey's wife ;
Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost :
I am not mad ; I would to heaven, I were !
For then, 'tis like I should forget myself :
O, if I could, what grief should I forget ! —
Preach some philosophy, to make me mad.
And thou shalt be canoniz'd, cardinal ;
For, being not mad, but sensible of grief.
My reasonable part produces reason
How I may be deliver'd of these woes.
And teaches me to kill or hang myself:
If I were mad, I should forget my son ;
Or madly think, a babe of clouts were he :
I am not mad ; too well, too well I feel
The different plague of each calamity.
if. Phi. Bind up those tresses: 0,what love I note
In the fair multitude of those her hairs I
Where but by chance a silver drop hath fallen.
Even to that drop ten thousand wiry friends
Do glew themselves in~ sociable grief;
like true, inseparable, faithful loves.
Sticking together in calamity.
Const. To England, if you will.
jr. Phi. Bind up your hairs.
Const. Yes, that I will ; and wherefore will ]
doit?
r tore them from their bonds : and cried aloud,
0 that these hands could so redeem my son,
s Refuse. « Common.
Scene IV.
KING JOHN.
341
As they have given these hairs their liberty /
But now 1 envy at their liberty,
And will again commit them to their bonds,
Because my poor child is a prisoner.
And, father cardinal, I have heard you say,
That we shall see and know our friends in heaven ;
If that be true, I shall see my boy again :
For since the birth of Cain, the first male child.
To liira that did but yesterday suspire ',
There was not such a gracious 8 creature born.
But now will canker sorrow eat my bud,
And chase the native beauty from his cheek,
And he will look as hollow as a ghost ;
As dim and meagre as an ague's fit ;
And so he'll die ; and, rising so again,
When I shall meet him in the court of heaven
I shall not know him : therefore never, never
Must I behold my pretty Arthur more.
Pand. You hold too heinous a respect of grief.
Const. He talks to me that never had a son.
IT. Phi. You are as fond of grief, as of your child.
Const. Grief fills the room up of my absent child,
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me ;
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ;
Tlien have I reason to be fond of grief.
Fare you well : had you such a loss as I,
I could give better comfort than you do. —
I will not keep this form upon my head,
[Tearing off her liead-dress.
When there is such disorder in my wit.
O lord, my boy, my Arthur, my fair son !
My life, my joy, my food, my all the world !
My widow-comfort, and my sorrow's cure. [Exit.
K. Phi. I fear some outrage, and I'll follow her.
[ExU.
Lew. There's nothing in this world can make me
joy:
Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale,
Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man ;
And bitter shame hath spoil'd the sweet world's
taste.
That it yields nought but shame and bitterness.
Pand. Before the curing of a strong disease.
Even in tlie instant of repair and health.
The fit is strongest ; evils that take leave,
On their departure most of all show evil :
What have you lost, by losing of this day ?
Lew. All days of glorj', joy, and happiness.
Pand. If you had won it, certainly you had.
No, no : when fortune means to men most good.
She looks upon them with a threatening eye.
'Tis strange, to think how much king John hath lost
In this which he accounts so clearly won :
Are not you griev'd that Arthur is his prisoner?
Lew. As heartily as he is glad he hath him.
Pand. Your mind is all as youthful as your blood.
Now hear me speak with a prophetick spirit ;
For even the breath of what I mean to speak
7 Breathe. » Graceful.
Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub.
Out of the path which shall directly lead
Thy foot to England's throne; and, therefore, mark.
John hath seiz'd Arthur ; and it cannot be,
That, whiles warm life plays in that infant's veins,
The misplac'd John should entertain an hour.
One minute, nay, one quiet breath of rest :
A sceptre snatch'd with an unruly hand,
Must be as boisterously maintain'd as gain'd :
And he that stands upon a slippery place.
Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up :
Tiiat John may stand, then Arthur needs must fall j
So be it, for it cannot be Ijut so.
Lew. But what shall I gain by young Arthur's
fall?
Pand. You, in tlie right of lady Blanch, your
wife.
May then make all the claim that Arthur did.
Lew. And lose it, life and all, as Arthur did.
Pa7id. How green are you, and fresh in this old
world !
John lays you plots ; the times conspire with you :
For he that steeps his safety in true blood,
Shall find but bloody safety, and untrue.
This act, so evilly born, shall cool the hearts
Of all his people, and freeze up their zeal ;
That none so small advantage shall step forth.
To check his reign, but they will cherish it :
No natural exhalation in the sky.
No scai)e of nature, no distemper'd day.
No common wind, no customed event.
But they will pluck away his natural cause,
And call them meteors, prodigies, and signs.
Abortives, presages, and tongues of heaven,
Plainly denouncing vengeance upon John.
Lew. May be, he will not touch young Arthur's
life.
But hold himself safe in his prisonment.
Pand. O, sir, when he shall hear of your approach.
If that young Artliur be not gone already,
Even at that news he dies : and then the heart
Of all his people shall revolt from him.
And kiss the lips of unacquainted change ;
And pick strong matter of revolt, and wrath.
Out of the bloody fingers' ends of John.
Methinks, I see this hurly all on foot;
And, O, what better matter breeds for you.
Than I have nam'd ! — The bastard Faulconbridgc
Is now in England, ransacking the church,
Offending charity : If but a dozen French
Were there in arms, they would be as a call
To train ten tliousand English to their side ;
Or, as a little snow, tumbled about,
Angn becomes a mountain. O noble Dauphin,
Go with me to the king : 'Tis wonderful.
What may be wrought out of their discontent :
Now that their souls are topful of offence.
For England go ; I will whet on the king.
Lew. Strong reasons make strong actions ; Let
us go;
If you say, ay, the king will not say, no. [Exeunt.
Z3
342
KING JOHN.
Act IV
ACT IV.
SCENE I. — Northampton. A Room in the Castle.
Enter HuBEaT and two Attendants.
Hub. Heat me these irons hot: and look thou
stand
Within the arras 9 : when I strike my foot
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth :
And bind the boy, which you shall find with me,
Fast to the chair : be heedful : hence, and watch.
1 Attend. I hope your warrant will bear out the
deed.
Hub. Uncleanly scruples ! Fear not you : look
to't [Exeunt Attendants.
Young lad, come forth ; I have to say with you.
Enter Arthur.
Arth. Good-morrow, Hubert.
Hub. Good-morrow, little prince.
Arth. As little prince (having so great a title
To be more prince,) as may be. — You are sad.
Hub, Indeed, I have been merrier.
Arth. Mercy on me !
Methinks, no body should be sad but I :
Yet I remember, "when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, I
Only for wantonness. By my Christendom,
So I were out of prison and kept sheep,
I should be merry as the day is long ; i
And so I would be here, but that I doubt
My uncle practises more harm to me :
He is afraid of me, and I of him :
Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son ?
No, indeed, is't not ; And I would to heaven,
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert,
Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate
He will awake my mercy which lies dead :
Therefore, I will be sudden and despatch. [Aside.
Arth. Are you sick, Hubert ? you look pale to-day :
In sooth, I would you were a little sick.
That I might sit all night, and watch with you :
I warrant I love you more than you do me.
Huh. His words do take possession of my bosom.
Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper.'\ How
now, foolish rheum : [Aside.
Turning dispiteous torture out of door !
I must be brief; lest resolution drop
Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears.
Can you not read it ? is it not fair writ ?
Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect :
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes?
Hub. Young boy, I must.
Arth. And will you ?
Hub. And I will.
Arth. Have you the heart ? When your head did
but ake,
I knit my handkerchief about your brows,
(The best I had, a princess wrought it me,)
And I did never ask it you again :
And with my hand at midnight held your head ;
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,
Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time ;
Saying, What lack you ? and. Where lies your grief?
Or, What good love may I perform for you ?
Many a poor man's son would have lain still,
9 Tapestry.
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you;
But you at your sick service had a prince. •
Nay, you may think my love was crafty love.
And call it cunning ; Do, an if you will :
If heaven be pleas'd that you must use me ill,
Why, then you must. — Will you put out mine eyes?
These eyes, that never did, nor never shall,
So much as frown on you ?
Hub. I have sworn to do it ;
And with hot irons must I burn them out.
Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it !
The iron of itself, though heat red-hot.
Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears,
And quench his fiery indignation.
Even in the matter of mine innocence :
Nay, after that, consume away in rust,
But for containing fire to harm mine eye.
Are you more stubborn-hard than hammer'd iron?
An if an angel should have come to me.
And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes,
I would not have believ'd no tongue, but Hubert's.
Hub. Come forth. [Stamps.
Re-enter Attendants, with Cord, Irons, ^c
Do as I bid you do.
Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me ! my eyes
are out.
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.
Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.
Arth. Alas ! what need you be so boist'rous rough ?
I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.
For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound !
Nay, hear me, Hubert ! drive these men away,
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb ;
I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,
Nor look upon the iron angerly :
Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you,
Whatever torment you do put me to.
Hub. Go, stand within ; let me alone with him.
1 Attend. I am best pleas'd to be from such a
deed. [Exeunt Attendants.
Arth. Alas ! I then have chid away my friend ;
He hath a stem look, but a gentle heart : —
Let him come back, that his compassion may
Give life to yours.
Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself.
Arth. Is there no remedy ?
Hub. None, but to lose your eyes.
Arth. O heaven ! — that there were but a mote
in yours,
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair,
Any annoyance in that precious sense !
Then, feeling what small things are boist'rous there.
Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.
Hub. Is this your promise? go to, hold your
tongue.
Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes :
Let me not hold my tongue ; let me not, Hubert !
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue.
So I may keep mine eyes ; O, spare mine eyes ;
Though to no use, but still to look on you !
Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold.
And would not harm me.
ffyf,, I can heat it, boy.
4
Scene II.
KING JOHN.
343
r
Arth. No, in good sooth : the fire is dead with
grief,
Being create for comfort, to be us'd
In undeserv'd extremes • : See else, yourself j
There is no malice in this burning coal ;
The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out.
And strcw'd repentant ashes on his head.
Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy.
Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush.
And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert :
Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes ;
And, like a dog that is compell'd to fight,
Snatch at his master that doth tarre ^ him on.
All things, that you should use to do me wrong,
Deny their office : only you do lack
That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron, extends,
Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses.
Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch tlune eyes
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes 3 :
Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy.
With this same very iron to bum them out.
Arth. O, now you look like Hubert ! all this while
You were disguised.
Hub. Peace : no more. Adieu ;
Your uncle must not know but you are dead :
I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports.
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure.
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world.
Will not offend thee.
Arth. O heaven ! — I thank you, Hubert.
Hub. Silence ; no more : Go closely "* in with me ;
Much danger do I undergo for thee. \^Exeu7it.
SCENE II. — A Room of State in the Palace.
Enter Kiaa Jons, crowned ; Pembrokk, Salisbury,
and otiier Lords. The King takes his State.
JT. John. Here once again we sit, once again
crown'd,
And look'd upon, I hope, with cheerful eyes.
Pern. This once again, but that your highness
pleas'd.
Was once superfluous : you were crown'd before,
And that high royalty was ne'er pluck'd off j
The faiths of men ne'er stained with revolt ;
Fresh expectation troubled not the land.
With any long'd-for change, or better state.
Sal. llierefore, to be possess'd with double pomp.
To guard * a title that was rich before.
To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,
To throw a perfume on the violet.
To smooth the ice, or add another hue
Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light
To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish 7,
Is wasteful, and ridiculous excess.
Pern. But that your royal pleasure must be done.
This act is as an ancient tale new told ;
And, in the last repeating, troublesome,
Being urged at a time unseasonable.
Sal. In tliis the antique and well-noted face
Of plain old form is much disfigured :
And, like a shifted wind unto a sail.
It makes the course of thoughts to fetch about :
Startles and frights consideration ;
Makes sound opinion sick, and truth suspected.
For putting on so new a fashion'd robe.
Pern. When workmen strive to do better than well,
In cruelty I have not deMtved.
Ownt.
Lace.
« Set him on.
* Secretly.
• Decorate.
They do confound their skill in covetousness ^ :
And, oftentimes, excusing of a fault,
Doth make the fault the worse by the excuse ;
As patches, set upon a little breach.
Discredit more in hiding of the fault,
Than did the fault before it was so patch'd.
Sal. To this effect before you were new crown'd,
We breath 'd our counsel : but it pleas'd your highness
To overbear it ; and we are all well pleas'd ;
Since all and every part of what we would.
Doth make a stand at what your highness will.
IT. John. Some reasons of this double coronation
I have possess'd you with, and think them strong ;
And more, more strong, (when lesser is my fear,)
I shall indue you with : Mean time, but ask
What you would have reform'd that is not well ;
And well shall you perceive, how willingly
I will both hear and grant you your requests.
Pern. Then I, (as one that am the tongue of these
To soimd 8 the purposes of all their hearts,)
Both for myself and them, (but chief of all,
Your safety, for the which myself and them
Bend their best studies,) heartily request
The enfranchisement of Arthur ; wFiose restraint
Doth move the murmuring lips of discontent
To break into this dangerous argument, —
If, what in rest you have, in right you hold,
Why then your fears, (which as they say, attend
The steps of wrong, ) should move you to mew up
Your tender kinsman, and to choke his days
With barbarous ignorance, and deny his youth
The rich advantage of good exercise ?
That the time's enemies may not have this
To grace occasions, let it be our suit,
That you have bid us ask his liberty ;
Which for our goods we do no further ask.
Than whereupon our weal, on you depending.
Counts it your weal, he have his liberty.
IT. John, Let it be so ; I do commit his youth
Enter Hubert.
To your direction. — Hubert, what news with you
Pern. This is the man should do the bloody deed ;
He show'd his warrant to a friend of mine :
The image of a wicked heinous fault
Lives in his eye ; that close aspect of his
Does show tlie mood of a much-troubled breast ;
And I do fearfully believe, 'tis done.
What we so fear'd he had a charge to do.
Sal. The colour of the king doth come and go.
Between his purpose and his conscience,
Like heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set :
His passion is so ripe, it needs must break.
Pern. And, when it breaks, I fear, will issue thence
The foul corruption of a sweet child's death.
K. John. We cannot hold mortality's strong
hand : —
Good lords, although my will to give is living.
The suit which you demand is gone and dead :
He tells us, Arthur is deceas'd to-night
Sal. Indeed, we fear'd, his sickness was past cure.
Pern. Indeed we heard howTiear his death he was,
Before the child himself felt he was sick :
This must be answer'd, either here, or hence.
K. John. Why do you bend sucli solemn brows on
me?
Think you, I bear the sliears of destiny ?
Have I commandment on the pulse of life ?
Sal. It is apparent foul-play ; and 'tis shame.
' Desire of ex ceMing.
Z 4
" Publish.
344
KING JOHN.
Act IV.
That gref&tness should so grossly offer it :
So thrive it in your game ! and so farewell.
Pern. Stay yet, lord Salisbury ; I'll go with thee,
And find the inheritance of this poor child,
This little kingdom of a forced grave.
That blood, which ow'd 9 the breadth of all this isle.
Three foot of it doth hold : Bad world the while !
This must not be thus borne : this will break out
To all our sorrows, and ere long, I doubt
[Exeunt Lords.
K. John. They burn in indignation ; I repent j
There is no sure foundation set on blood ; ,
No certain life achiev'd by others' death. — —
Enter a Messenger.
A fearful eye thou hast : Where is that blood,
That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks ?
So foul a sky clears not without a storm :
Pour down thy weather : — How goes all in France ?
Mess. From France to England. — Never such a
power
For any foreign preparation,
Was levied in the body of a land !
The copy of your speed is learn'd by them ;
For, when you should be told they do prepare.
The tidings come, that they are all arriv'd.
iT. John. O, where hath our intelligence been
drunk ?
Where hath it slept ? Where is my mother's care ?
That such an army could be drawn in France,
And she not hear of it ?
Mess. My liege, her ear
Is stopp'd with dust ; the first of April, died
Your noble mother : And, as I hear, my lord.
The lady Constance in a frenzy died
Three days before : but this from rumour's tongue
I idly heard ; if true, or false, I know not.
K. John, Withhold thy speed, dreadful occasion ;
O, make a league with me, till I have pleas'd
My discontented peers ! — What ! mother dead ?
How wildly then walks my estate in France ! —
Under whose conduct came those powers of France,
That thou for truth giv'st out, are landed here ?
Mess. Under the Dauphin.
Enter the Bastard and Peter of Pomfret.
K. John. Thou hast made me giddy
With these ill tidings. — Now, what says the world
To your proceedings ? do not seek to stuflf
My head with more ill news, for it is full.
Bast. But, if you be afeard to hear the worst.
Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head.
K. John. Bear with me, cousin ; for I was amaz'd
Under the tide ; but now I breathe again
Aloft the flood ; and can give audience
To any tongue, speak it of what it will.
Bast. How I have sped among the clergymen,
Tlie sums I have collected shall express.
But, as I travelled hither through the land,
I find the people strangely fantasied ;
Possess'd with rumours, full of idle dreams ;
Not knowing what ttiey fear, but full of fear :
And here's a prophet, that I brought with me
From forth the streets of Pomfret, whom I found
With many hundreds treading on his heels ;
To whom he sung, in rude harsh-sounding rhymes.
That, ere the next Ascension-day at noon.
Your highness should deliver up your crown.
9 Owned. .
K. John. Thou idle dreamer, wherefore didst thou
so?
Peter. Foreknowing that the truth will fall out so.
K. John. Hubert, away with him ; imprison him ;
And on that day at noon, whereon, he says,
I shall yield up my crown, let him be hang'd :
Deliver him to safety ', and return.
For I must use thee. — O my gentle cousin,
\^Exit Hubert, ivith Peter.
Hear'st thou the news abroad, who are arriv'd ?
- Bast. The French, my lord ; men's mouths are
full of it :
Besides, I met lord Bigot, and lord Salisbury,
(With eyes as red as new-enkindled fire,)
And others more, going to seek the grave
Of Arthur, who, they say, is kill'd to-night
On your suggestion.
K. John. Gentle kinsman, go.
And thrust thyself into their companies :
I have a way to win their loves again ;
Bring them before me.
Bast. I will seek them out.
K. John. Nay, but make haste ; the better foot
before.
O, let me have no subject enemies.
When adverse foreigners affright my towns
With dreadful pomp of stout invasion ! —
Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels ;
And fly, like thought, from them to me again.
Bast. The spirit of the time shall teach me speed.
[Exit.
K. John. Spoke like a spiteful noble gentleman. —
Go after him ; for he, perhaps, shall need
Some messenger betwixt me and the peers ;
And be thou he.
Mess. With all my heart, my liege.
[Exit.
K. John. My mother dead !
He-enter Hubert.
Huh. My lord, they say, five moons were seen
to-night :
Four fixed ; and the fifth did whirl about
The other four, in wond'rous motion.
K. John. Five moons ?
Hub. Old men, and beldams, in the streets
Do prophecy upon it dangerously :
Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths :
And when they talk of him, they shake their heads.
And whisper one another in the ear ;
And he, that speaks, doth gripe the hearer's wrist ;
Whilst he, that hears, makes fearful action.
With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes.
I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus.
The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool,
With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news ;
Who, with his shears and measure in his hand.
Standing on slippers, (which his nimble haste
Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,)
Told of a many thousand warlike French,
That were embattled and rank'd in Kent :
Another lean unwash'd artificer
Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death.
K. John. Why seek'st thou to possess me with
these fears ?
Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death ?
Thy hand hath murder'd him : I had mighty cause
To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him.
^ Safe custody.
il
Scene II.
Hub.
KING JOHN.
34.5
Had none, my lord ! why, did you not pro-
voke me ?
K. John. It is the curse of kings, to be attended
By slaves, that take their humours for a warrant
To break within the bloody house of life :
And, on the winking of authority.
To understand a law ; to know the meaning
Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it frowns
More upon humour than advis'd respect. ^
Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I did.
K. John. O, when the last account 'twixt heaven
and earth
Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal
Witness against us to damnation !
How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds.
Makes deeds ill done ! Hadest not thou been by,
A fellow by the hand of nature mark'd.
Quoted ^, and sign'd, to do a deed of shame.
This murder had not come into my mind:
But, taking note of thy abhorr'd aspect.
Finding thee fit for bloody villainy.
Apt, liable, to be employ'd in danger,
I faintly broke with tliee of Arthur's death ;
And thou, to be endeared to a king.
Made it no conscience to destroy a prince.
Hub. My lord,
K. John. Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made
a pause,
When I spake darkly what I purposed ;
Or tum'd an eye of doubt upon my face.
As bid me tell my tale in express words ;
Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break
off.
And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me :
But thou didst understand me by my signs.
And didst in signs again parley with sin :
Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent.
And, consequently, thy rude hand to act
The deed, which both our tongues held vile to
name, — •
Out of my sight, and never see me more !
My nobles leave me ; and my state is brav'd.
Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers :
Nay in the body of this fleshly land.
This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath,
Hostility and civil tumult reigns
Between my conscience, and my cousin's death.
Hub. Arm you against your other enemies,
I'll make a peace between your soul and you.
Young Arthur is alive : This hand of mine
Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand.
Not painted with the crimson spots of blood.
Within this bosom never enter'd yet
The dreadful motion of a murd'rous thought.
And you have slander'd nature in my form ;
Which, howsoever rude exteriorly.
Is yet the cover of a fairer mind
Than to be butcher of an innocent child.
K. John. Doth Arthur live ? O, haste thee to the
peers.
Throw this report on their incensed rage.
And make them tame to their obedience !
Forgive the comment that my passion made
Upon thy feature ; for my rage was blind,
And foul imaginary eyes of blood
Presented thee more hideous than thou art.
O, answer not ; but to my closet bring
Tlie angry lords with all expedient haste :
I conjure thee but slowly ; run more fast. \^Exeuni.
2 Deliberate coiisideratioa ' Noted, observed.
SCENE III. — Before tlie Castle.
Enter Arthur, on the Walls.
Arth' Tlie wall is high ; and yet will I leap down :
Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not ! —
There's few, or none, do know me ; if they did.
This ship-boy's semblance hath disguis'd me quite.
I am afraid ; and yet I'll venture it.
If I get down, and do not break my limbs,
I'll find a thousand shifts to get away :
As good to die, and go, as die, and stay.
[Leaps down.
O me ! my uncle's spirit is in these stones : —
Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones '
\^Dies.
Enter Pembroke, Salisbury, and Bigot.
Sal, Lords, I will meet him at Saint Edmund's
Bury ;
It is our safety, and we must embrace
This gentle offer of the perilous time.
Pern. Who brought that letter from the cardinal ?
Sal. The count Melun, a noble lord of France ;
Whose private with me \ of the Dauphin's love.
Is much more general than these lines import.
Big. To-morrow morning let us meet liim then.
Sal. Or, rather then set forward : for 'twill be
Two long days' journey, lords, or e'er we meet.
Enter the Bastard.
Bast. Once more to-day well met, distemper'd *
lords !
The king, by me, requests your presence straight.
Sal. Tlie king hath dispossess'd himself of us ;
We will not line his thin bestained cloak
With our pure honours, nor attend the foot
That leaves the print of blood where-e'er it walks :
Return, and tell him so ; we know the worst.
Bast. Whate'er you think, good words, I tliink,
were best.
Sal. Our griefs, and not our manners, reason now.
Bast. But there is little reason in your grief;
Therefore, 'twere reason you had manners now.
Peni. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege.
Bast. 'Tis true ; to hurt his master, no man else.
Sal. This is the prison : What is he lies here ?
[Seeing Arthur.
Pern. O death, made proud with pure and princely
beauty !
The earth had not a hole to hide this deed.
Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath done,
Doth lay it open, to urge on revenge.
Big. Or when he doom'd this beauty to a grave,
Found it too precious-princely for a grave.
Sal. Sir Richard, what think you? Have you
beheld.
Or have you read, or heard ? or could you think ?
Or do you almost think, although you see,
That you do see ? could thought, without this object,
Form such another ? Tliis is the very top.
The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest.
Of murder's arms : this is the bloodiest shame.
The wildest savag'ry, the vilest stroke.
That ever wall-ey'd wrath, or staring rage,
Presented to the tears of soft remorse. "
Pent. All murders past do stand excus'd in this :
And this, so sole, and so unmatchable.
Shall give a holiness, a purity,
To the yet-unbegottcn sin of time ;
* Private account * Out of humour. « Titj;
346
KING JOHN.
Act IV. Scene III.
And prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest,
Exampled by this heinous spectacle.
Bast. It is a damned and a bloody work ;
The graceless action of a heavy hand,
If that it be thie work of any hand.
Sal. If that it be the work of any hand ? —
We had a kind of light, what would ensue :
It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand ;
The practice, and the purpose, of the king : —
From whose obedience I forbid my soul,
Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life.
And breathing to his breathless excellence
The incense of a vow, a holy vow ;
Never to taste the pleasures of the world.
Never to be infected with delight,
Nor conversant with ease and idleness.
Till I have set a glory to this hand,
By giving it the worship of revenge.
Pern. Big. Our soulsreligiously confirm thy words.
Enter Hubert.
Hub. Lords, I am hot with haste in seeking you :
Arthur doth live ; the king hath sent for you.
Sal. O, he is bold, and blushes not at death : —
Avaunt, thou hateful villain, get thee gone !
Hub. I am no villain.
Sal. Must I rob the law ?
[Drawing his sword.
Bast. Your svord is bright, sir : put it up again.
Sal. Not till I sheath it in a murderer's skin.
Hub. Stand back, lord Salisbury, stand back, I say ;
By heaven, I think, my sword's as sharp as yours ;
I would not have you, lord, forget yourself.
Nor tempt the danger of my true 7 defence ;
Lest I, by marking of vour rage, forget
Your worth, your ajreatness, and nobility.
Big. Out, dunghill ! dar'st thou brave a nobleman?
Hub. Not for my life : but yet I dare defend
My innocent life against an emperor.
Sal. Thou art a murderer.
Hub. Do not prove me so ^ ;
Yet, I am none : Whose tongue soe'er speaks false,
Not truly speaks ; who speaks not truly, lies.
Pern. Cut him to pieces.
Bast. Keep the peace, I say.
Sal. Stand by, or I shall gall you, Faulconbridge.
Bast. Thou wert better gall the devil, Salisbury :
If thou but frown on me, or stir thy foot.
Or teach thy hasty spleen to do me shame,
I'll strike thee dead. Put up thy sword betime.
J9^. What wilt thou do, renowned Faulconbridge?
Second a villain, and a murderer ?
Hub. Lord Bigot, I am none.
Big. Who kill'd this prince ?
Hitb. 'Tis not an hour since I left him well :
I honour'd him, I lov'd him ; and will weep
My date of life out, for his sweet life's loss.
Sal. Trust not those cunning waters of his eyes,
' Honest
8 By compelling me to kill you.
For villainy is not williout such rheum 9 ;
And he, long traded in it, makes it seem
Like rivers of remorse ! and innocency.
Away, with me, all you whose souls abhor
The uncleanly savours of a slaughter-house,
For I am stifled with this smell of sin.
Big. Away, toward Bury, to the Dauphin there.
Pern. There, tell the king, he may inquire us out.
[Exeunt Lords.
Bast. Here's a good world ! — Knew you of this
fair work ?
Beyond the infinite and boundless reach
Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death,
Art thou damn'd, Hubert.
Hub. Do but hear me, sir.
Bast. Ha ! I'll tell thee what j
There is not yet so ugly a fiend of hell
As thou shalt be, if thou didst kill this child.
Hub. Upon my soul,
Bast. If thou didst but consent
To this most cruel act, do but despair.
And, if thou wantest a cord, the smallest thread
That ever spider twisted from her womb
Will serve to strangle thee : a rush will be
A beam to hang thee on ; or wouldst thou drown
thyself.
Put but a little water in a spoon.
And it shall be as all the ocean.
Enough to stifle such a villain up. — —
I do suspect thee very grievously.
Hub. If I in act, consent, or sin of thought,
Be guilty of the stealing that sweet breath
Which was embounded in this beauteous clay,
Let hell want pains enough to torture me !
I left him well.
Bast. Go bear him in thine arms. —
I am amaz'd, raethinks ; and lose my way
Among the thorns and dangers of this world. —
How easy dost thou take all England up !
Froi* forth this morsel of dead royalty.
The life, the right, and truth of all this realm
Is fled to heaven ; and England now is left
To tug and scamble, and to part by the teeth
The unowed ^ interest of proud swelling state.
Now, for the bare-picked bone of majesty,
Doth dogged war bristle his angry crest.
And snarleth in the gentle eyes of peace :
Now powers from home, and dicontents at home,
Meet in one line ; and vast confusion waits
( As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast,)
The imminent decay of wrested pomp.
Now happy he, whose cloak and cincture 3 can
Hold out this tempest. Bear away that child,
And follow me with speed ; I'll to the king :
A thousand businesses are brief in hand.
And heaven itself doth frown upon the land.
[Exeunt
9 Moisture
' Unowned.
» Pity.
3 Girdle.
Act V. ScENB I.
KING JOHN.
347
ACT V.
SCENE I A Room in the Palace.
Enter Kivo John, Pandulpu with the Crovm, and
Attendants.
K. John. Thus have I yielded up into your hand
The circle of my glory.
Pand. Take again
[Giving John tlie Crown.
From this my hand, as holding of the pope,
Your sovereign greatness and authority.
jr. John. Now keep your holy word : go meet the
French ;
And from his holiness use all your power
To stop their marches, 'fore we are inflam'd.
Our discontented counties do revolt ;
Our people quarrel with obedience ;
Swearing allegiance, and the love of soul.
To stranger blood, to foreign royalty.
This inundation of distemper'd humour
Rests by you only to be qualified.
Then pause not ; for the present time's so sick.
That present medicine must be minister'd.
Or overthrow incurable ensues.
Pand. It was my breath that blew this tempest up.
Upon your stubborn usage of the pope :
But, since you are a gentle convertite^.
My tongue shall hush again this storm of war.
And make fair weather in your blustering land.
On this Ascension-day, remember well.
Upon your oath of service to the pope,
Go I to make the French lay down their arms. \_Exit.
K.John. Is this Ascension-day ? Did not the prophet
Say, that, before Ascension-day at noon,
My crown I should give off? Even so I have :
I did suppose, it should be on constraint ;
But heaven be thank'd, it is but voluntary.
Enter the Bastard.
Bast. All Kent hath yielded ; nothing there holds
out.
But Dover castle : London hath receiv'd,
yke a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers :
Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone
To offer service to your enemy ;
And wild amazement hurries up and down
The little number of your doubtful friends.
K. John. Would not my lords return to me ag£un,
After they heard young Arthur was alive?
jBfw*. They found him dead, and cast into the streets ;
An empty casket, wliere the jewel of life
By some curst hand was robb'd and ta'en away.
K. John. That villain Hubert told me he did live.
Bast. So, on my soul, he did, for aught he knew.
But wherefore do you droop ? why look you sad ?
Be great in act, as you have been in thought ;
Let not the world see fear, and sad distrust.
Govern the motion of a kingly eye :
Be stirring as the time ; be fire with fire ;
Threaten the threat'ner, and outface the brow
Of bragging horror : so shall inferior eyes.
That borrow their behaviours from the great.
Grow great by your example, and put on
The dauntless spirit of resolution.
Away ; and glister like the god of war,
* Convert
When he intendeth to become the field :
Show boldness, and aspiring confidence.
What, shall they seek the lion in his den,
And fright him there? and make him tremble tliere?
O, le^t it not be said ! — Forage, and run
To meet displeasure further from the doors ;
And grapple with him, ere he come so nigh.
K. John. The legate of the pope hath been witli me.
And I have made a happy peace with him ;
And he hath promis'd to dismiss the powers
Led by the Dauphin.
Bast. O inglorious league !
Shall we, upon the footing of our land.
Send fair-play orders, and make compromise.
Insinuation, parley, and base truce.
To arms invasive ? Shall a beardless boy,
A cocker'd ^ silken wanton brave our field-J,
And flesh his spirit in a warlike soil.
Mocking the air with colours idly spread,
And find no check ? Let us, my liege, to arms :
Perchance, the cardinal cannot make your peace ;
Or if he do, let it at least be said,
They saw we had a purpose of defence.
Jr. John. Havethoutheorderingof this present time.
Bast. Away then, with good courage ; yet, I know,
Our party may well meet a prouder foe. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. — A Plain near St. Edmund's Bury.
Enter, in arms, Lewis, Salisbury, Melun, Pem-
broke, Bigot, and Soldiers.
Lew. My lord Melun, let this be copied out.
And keep it safe for our remembrance :
RetiuTi the precedent to these lords again ;
That, having our fair order written down.
Both they, and we, perusing o'er these notes.
May know wherefore we took the sacrament.
And keep our faiths firm and inviolable.
Sal. Upon our sides it never shall be broken.
And, noble Dauphin, albeit we swear
A voluntary zeal, and unurg'd faith,
To your proceedings ; yet, believe me, prince,
I am not glad that such a sore of time
Should seek a plaster by contemn'd revolt.
And heal the inveterate canker of one wound,
By making many : O, it grieves my soul.
That I must draw this metal from my side
To be a widow-maker ; O, and there.
Where honourable rescue, and defence.
Cries out upon the name of Salibbury :
But such is the infection of the time.
That, for the health and physick of our right,
We cannot deal but with the very hand
Of stern injustice and confused wrong. —
And is't not pity, O my grieved friends !
That we, the sons and children of this isle,
Were bom to see so sad an hour as this ;
Wherein we step after a stranger march
Upon her gentle bosom, and fill up
Her enemies' ranks (I must withdraw and weep
Upon the spot of this enforced cause,)
To grace the gentry of a land remote.
And follow unacquainted colours here ?
What here ? — O nation, that thou couldst remove !
» Fondled.
S48
KING JOHN.
Act V.
That Neptune's arms, who clippeth " thee about,
Would bear thee from the knowledge of thyself,
And grapple thee unto a pagan shore ;
Where these two Christian armies might combine
The blood of malice in a vein of league.
And not to spend it so unneighbourly !
Lew. A noble temper dost thou show in tnis ;
And great affections, wrestling in thy bosom.
Do make an earthquake of nobility.
O, what a noble combat hast thou fought.
Between compulsion and a brave respect ! 7
Let me wipe off this honourable dew,
That silverly doth progress on thy cheeks :
My heart hath melted at a lady's tears,
Being an ordinary inundation ;
But this effusion of such manly drops.
This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul,
Startles mine eyes, and makes me more amaz'd
Than had I seen the vanity top of heaven
Figur'd quite o'er with burning meteors.
Lift up thy brow, renowned Salisbury,
And with a great heart heave away this storm :
Commend these waters to those baby eyes.
That never saw the giant world enrag'd ;
Nor met with fortune other than at feasts,
Full warm of blood, of mirth, of gossiping.
Come, come ; for thou shalt thrust thy hand as deep
Into the purse of rich prosperity,
As Lewis himself: — so, nobles, shall you all.
That knit your sinews to the strength of mine.
Enter Pandulph, attended.
And even there, methinks an angel spake :
Look, where the holy legate comes apace.
To give us warrant from the hand of heaven ;
And on our actions set the name of right.
With holy breath.
Pand. Hail, noble prince of France !
The next is this, — king John hath reconcil'd
Himself to Rome ; his spirit is come in,
That so stood out against the holy church,
The great metropolis and see of Rome :
Therefore thy threat'ning colours now wind up.
And tame the savage spirit of wild war ;
That, like a lion foster'd up at hand.
It may lie gently at the foot of peace.
And be no further harmful than in show.
Lew. Your grace shall pardon me, I will not back ;
I am too high-born to be propertied 8,
To be a secondary at control.
Or useful serving-man, and instrument,
To any sovereign state throughout the world.
Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars,
Between this chastis'd kingdom ar^d myself,
And brought in matter that should feed this fire ;
And now 'tis far too huge to be blown out
With that same weak wind which enkindled it.
You taught me how to know the face of right,
Acquainted me with interest to this land,
Yea, thrust this enterprize into my heart ;
And come you now to tell me, John hath made
His peace with Rome ? What is that peace to me ?
I, by the honour of my marriage-bed.
After young Arthur, claim this land for mine ;
And, now it is half-conquer'd must I back.
Because that John hath made his peace with Rome ?
Am I Rome's slave ? What penny hath Rome borne.
What men provided, what munition sent.
" Embraceth.
» Appropriated.
Love of country.
To underjjrop this action ? is't not 1,
That undergo this charge ? who else but I,
And such as to my claim are liable,
Sweat in this business, and maintain this war ?
Have I not heard these islanders shout out,
Vive le roy ! as I have bank'd their towns ?
Have I not here the best cards for the game.
To win this easy match play'd for a crown ?
And shall I now give o'er the yielded set?
No, on my soul, it never shall be said.
Pand. You look but on the outside of this work.
Lew. Outside or inside, I will not return
Till my attempt so much be glorified
As to my ample hope was promised
Before I drew this gallant head of war,
,And cuU'd these fiery spirits from the world.
To outlook 9 conquest, and to win renown
Even in the jaws of danger and of death. —
[Trumpet sounds.
What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us ?
Enter the Bastard, attended.
Bast. According to the fair play of the world.
Let me have audience ; I am Sent to speak : —
My holy lord of Milan, from the king
I come, to learn how you have dealt for him ;
And, as you answer, I do know the scope
And warrant limited unto my tongue.
Pand. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite,
And will not temporize with my entreaties ;
He flatly says, he'll not lay down liis arms.
Bast. By all the blood that ever fury breath'd.
The youth says well : — Now hear our English king;
For thus his royalty doth speak in me.
He is prepar'd ; and reason too, he should :
This apish and unmannerly approach.
This harness'd masque, and unadvised revel,
This unhair'd sauciness, and boyish troops.
The king doth smile at ; and is well prepar'd
To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms.
From out the circle of his territories.
That hand, which had the strength, even at your door.
To cudgel you, and make you take the hatch ' ;
To dive like buckets, in concealed wells ;
To crouch in litter of your stable planks ;
To lie, like pawns, lock'd up in chests and trunks ;
To hug with swine ; to seek sweet safety out
In vaults and prisons ; and to thrill and shake,
Even at the crying of your nation's crow '■\
Thinking his voice an armed Englishman ;
Shall that victorious hand be feebled here.
That in your chambers gave you chastisement ?
No : Know the gallant monarch is in arms ;
And like an eagle o'er his aiery 3 towers.
To souse annoyance that comes near his nest. —
And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts.
You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb
Of your dear mother England, blush for shame :
For your own ladies, and pale-visag'd maids.
Like Amazons, come tripping after drums ;
Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change.
Their neelds ^ to lances, and their gentle hearts
To fierce and bloody inclination.
Lew. There end thy brave ^, and turn thy face in
peace ;
We grant, thou canst outscold us : fare thee well ;
We hold our time too precious to be spent
With such a brabbler.
9 Face down.
2 The crowing of a cock.
< Needles.
Leap over the hatch.
3 Nest.
^ Boast
Scene III.
KING JOHN.
349
Pand. Give me leave to speak.
Bast. No, I will speak.
Lew. We will attend to neither : —
Strike up the drums ; and let the tongue of war
Plead for our interest, and our being here.
Bast. Indeed, your drums Leing beaten, will cry
out ;
And so shall you, being beaten : Do but start
An echo with the clamour of thy drum,
And even at hand a drum is ready brac'd.
That shall reverberate all as loud as thine ;
Sound but another, and another shall.
As loud as thine, rattle the welkin's 6 ear.
And mock the deep-mouth 'd thunder ; for at hand
(Not trusting to this halting legate here.
Whom he hath us'd rather for sport than need,)
Is warlike John ; and in his forehead sits
A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day
To feast upon whole thousands of the French.
Lew. Strike up our drums to find this danger out.
Bast. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not
doubt. [Exeunt.
SCENE 111. — A Field of Battle.
Alarums. Enter King John and Hubert.
X. John. How goes the day with us ? O, tell me,
Hubert.
Hub. Badly, I fear : How fares your majesty ?
iT. Jofm. Thisfever, that hath troubled me so long.
Lies heavy on me ; O, my heart is sick !
Enter a Messenger.
Afess. My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulcon-
bridge.
Desires your majesty to leave the field ;
And send him word by me, which way you go.
JT. John. Tell him toward Swinstead, to the abbey
there.
Mess. Be of good comfort ; for the great supply
That was expected by the Dauphin here.
Are wreck 'd three nights ago on Goodwin sands.
This news was brought to Richard but even now :
The French fight coldly, and retire themselves.
A". John. Ah me ! this tyrant fever burns me up.
And will not let me welcome this good news.
Set on toward Swinstead : to my litter straight :
Weakness possesscth me, and I am faint. [Exeu7it.
SCENE IV. — Another Part of the same.
Enter Salisbury, Pembroke, Bigot, and others.
Sal. I did not think the king so stor'd with friends.
Pern. Up once again ; put spirit in the French ;
If they miscarry, we miscarry too.
Sal. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge,
In spite of spite, alone upholds the day.
Pem. They say, king John, sore sick, hath left
the field.
EtUer Melun wounded, and led by Soldiers.
Mel. Lead me to the revolts of England here.
Sal. When we were happy, we had other names.
Pem. It is the count Melun.
Sal. Wounded to death.
Mel. Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold ' ;
Unthread the rude eye of rebellion.
And welcome home again discarded faith.
Seek out king John, and fall before his feet ;
Sky.
A proverb intimating treachery.
For, if the French be lords of this loud day.
He 8 means to recompense the pains you take.
By cutting off your heads : Thus hath he sworn,
And I with him, and many more with me,
Upon the altar at St. Edmund's Bury ;
Even on that altar, where we swore to you
Dear amity and everlasting love.
Sal. May this be possible ? may this be true ?
Mel. Have I not hideous death within my view.
Retaining but a quantity of life ;
Which bleeds away, even as a form of wax
Resolved from his figure 'gainst the fire ? ^
What in the world should make me now deceive,
Since I must lose the use of all deceit ?
Why should I tlien be false ; since it is true
That I must die here, and live hence by truth ?
I say again, if Lewis do win the day,
He is forsworn, if e'er those eyes of yours
Behold another day break in the east :
But even this night, — whose black contagiousbreath
Already smokes about the burning crest
Of the old, feeble, and day-wearied sun, —
Even this ill night your breathing shall expire ;
Paying the fine of rated treachery.
Even with a treacherous fine of all your lives.
If Lewis by your assistance win the day.
Commend me to one Hubert, with your king ;
The love of him, — and this respect besides.
For that my grandsire was an Englishman, —
Awakes my conscience to confess all this.
In lieu whereof, I pray you bear me hence
From forth the noise and rumour of the field ;
Where I may think the remnant of my thoughts
In peace, and part this body and my soul
With contemplation and devout desires.
Sal. We do believe thee. — And beshrew my soul
But I do love the favour and the form
Of this most fair occasion, by the which
We will unthread the steps of this our flight ;
And, like a bated and retired flood.
Leaving our rankness and irregular course.
Stoop low within those bounds we have o'erlook'd.
And calmly run on in obedience,
Even to our ocean, to our great king John.
My arm shall give thee help to bear thee hence ;
For I do see the cruel pangs of death
Right in thine eye. — Away, my friends! New flight :
And happy newness i, that intends old right.
[Exeunt, leading off M.Y.WS.
SCENE V. — The French Camp.
Enter Lewis and his Train.
Lew. The sun of heaven, methought, was loth to
set;
But stay'd and made the western welkin blush.
When the English measur'd backward their own
ground,
In faint retire : O, bravely came we off.
When with a volley of our needless shot,
After such bloody toil we bid good night ;
And wound our tatter'd colours clearly up,
Last in the field, and almost lords of it !
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Where is my prince, the Dauphin ?
Lew. Here : — What news ?
Mess. The count Melun is slain ; the English lords.
By his persuasion, are again fall'n off:
» Lewis. 9 In allusion to the images made by witchet.
> Innovation.
350
KING JOHN.
Act V.
And your supply, which you have wish*d so long,
Are cast away, and sunk, on Goodwin sands.
Lew. Ah, foul shrewd news ! — Beshrcw thy very
heart !
I did not think to be so sad to-night,
As this hath made me. — Who was he, that said.
King John did fly, an hour or two before
The stumbling night did part our weary powers ?
Mess. Whoever spoke it, it is true, my lord.
Lew* Well ; keep good quarter, and good care
to-night ;
The day shall not be up so soon as I,
To try the fair adventure of to-morrow. [Exeunt.
SCENE VI. — An open Place in the Neighbour-
hood of Swinstead- Abbey.
Enter the Bastard and Hubert meeting.
Hub. Who's there? speak, ho! speak quickly,
or I shoot.
Bast. A friend : — - What art thou?
Hub. Of the part of England.
Bast. Whither dost thou go ?
Hub. What's that to thee? Why may not I demand
Of thine affairs, as well as thou of mine ?
Bast. Hubert, I think.
-Hub. Thou hast a perfect thought :
I will upon all hazards, well believe
Thou art my friend, that know'st my tongue so well :
Who art thou ?
Bast. Who thou wilt : an if thou please,
Thou mayst befriend me so much as to think
I come one way of the Plantagenets
Hub. Unkind remembrance ! thou, and eyeless
night.
Have done me shame : — Brave soldier, pardon me,
That any accent, breaking from thy tongue.
Should 'scape the true acquaintance of mine ear.
Bast. Come, come; sans'^ compliment, what news
abroad ?
Hub. Why, here walk I, in the black brow of night,
To find you out.
Bast. Brief, then ; and what's the news ?
Hub. O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night.
Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible.
Bast. Show me the very wound of this ill news ;
I am no woman, I'll not swoon at it.
Hiib. The king, I fear, is poison'd by a monk :
I left him almost speechless, and broke out
To acquaint you with this evil ; that you might
The better arm you to the sudden time.
Than if you had at leisure known of this.
Bast. How did he take it ? who did taste to him ?
Hub. A monk, I tell you : a resolved villain.
Whose bowels suddenly burst out : the king
Yet speaks, and, peradventure, may recover.
Bast. Who didst thou leave to tend his majesty ?
Hub. Why, know you not? the lords are all come
back.
And brought prince Henry in their company ;
At whose request the king hath pardon'd them,
And they are all about his majesty.
Bast. Withhold thine indignation, mighty heaven !
And tempt us not to bear above our power !
I'll tell thee, Hubert, half my power this night.
Passing these flats, are taken by the tide.
These Lincoln washes have devoured them ;
Myself, well mounted, hardly have escaped.
" Without.
Away, before ! conduct me to the king ;
I doubt, he will be dead, or e'er I come. [Exeunt.
SCENE VII The Orchard of Swinstead- Ahhey.
Enter Prince Henry, Salisbury, and Bigot.
P. Hen. It is too late ; the life of all his blood
Is touch'd corruptibly ; and his pure brain
(Which somesupposethesoul's frail dwelling-house,)
Doth by the idle comments that it makes.
Foretell the ending of mortality.
Enter Pembroke.
Pern. His highness yet doth speak ; and holds
belief.
That, being brought into the open air.
It would allay the burning quality
Of that fell poison which assaileth him.
P. Hen. Let him be brought into the orchard
here. —
Doth he still rage ? ^ [ExU Bigot.
Pern. He is more patient
Than when you left him ; even now he sung.
P. Hen. O vanity of sickness ! fierce extremes.
In their continuance, will not feel themselves.
Death, having prey'd upon the outward parts.
Leaves them insensible ; and his siege is now
Against the mind, the which he pricks and wounds
With many legions of strange fantasies ;
Which, in their throng and press to that last hold.
Confound themselves. 'Tis strange, that death
should sing.
I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan.
Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death ;
And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, sings
His soul and body to their lasting rest.
Sal. Be of good comfort, prince ; for you are bom
To set a form upon that indigest
Which he hath left so shapeless and so rude.
Re-enter Bigot and Attendants, who bring in King
John in a Chair.
K. John. Ay, marry, now my soul hath elbow-
room ;
It would not out at windows, nor at doors.
There is so hot a summer in my bosom.
That all my bowels crumble up to dust :
I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen
Upon a parchment ; and against this fire
Do I shrink up.
P. Hen. How fares your majesty ?
K. John. Poison'd, — ill fare ; — dead, forsook,
cast off;
And none of you will bid the winter come.
To thrust his icy fingers in my maw ;
Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their course
Through my burn'd bosom ; nor entreat the north
To make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips.
And comfort me with cold: — I do not ask you much,
I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait 3
And so ingrateful, you deny me that.
P. Hen. 0,tliat there were some virtue in my tears.
That might relieve you !
K. John. The salt in them is hot. —
Within me is a hell ; and there the poison
Is, as a fiend, confin'd to tyrannize
On unreprievable condemned blood.
' Narrow, avaricious.
Scene VII.
KING JOHN.
351
Enter the Bastard.
Bast. O, I am scalded with my violent motion,
And spleen of speed to see your majesty.
IT. John. O cousin, thou art come to set mine eye :
The tackle of my heart is crack'd and bum'd ;
And all the shrouds, wherewith my life should sail.
Are turned to one thread, one little hair :
My heart hath one poor string to stay it by,
Which holds but till thy news be uttered ;
And then all this thou see'st, is but a clod,
And module* of confounded royalty.
Bast. The Dauphin is preparing hitherward ;
Where, heaven he knows, how we shall answer him :
For, in a night, the best part of my power.
As I upon advantage did remove.
Were in the washes, all unwarily.
Devoured by the unexpected flood. [The ^ing dies.
Sal. You breathe these dead news in as d^d an
ear. —
My liege ! my lord ! — Butnow a king, — now thus.
P. Hen. Even so must I run on, and even so stop.
What surety of the world, what hope, what stay,
When this was now a king, and now is clay !
Bast. Art thou gone so ? I do but stay behind,
To do the office for thee of revenge ;
And then my soul shall wait on thee to heaven.
As it on earth hath been thy servant still.
Now, now, you stars, that move in your right spheres.
Where be your powers ? Show now your mended
faiths ;
And instantly return with me again,
To push destruction, and perpetual shame.
Out of the weak door of our fainting land :
Straight let us seek, or straight we ^all be sought ;
The Dauphin rages at our very heels.
Sal. It seems, you know not then so much as we :
The cardinal Pandulph is within at rest,
4 Model
Who half an hour since came from the Dauphin ;
And brings from him such offers of our peace
As we with honour and respect may take.
With purpose presently to leave this war.
Bast. He will the rather do it, when he sees
Ourselves well sinewed to our defence.
Sal. Nay, it is in a manner done already ;
For many carriages be hath despatch'd
To the sea-side, and put his cause and quarrel
To the disposing of the cardinal :
With whom yourself, myself, and other lords,
If you think meet, this afternoon will post
To consummate this business happily.
Bast. Let it be so : — And you, my noble prince,
With other princes that may best be spar"d.
Shall wait upon your father's funeral.
P. Hen. At Worcester must his body be interr'd ;
For so he will'd it.
Bast. Thither shall it then.
And happily may your sweet self put on
The lineal state and glory of the land !
To whom, with all submission, on my knee,
I do bequeath my faithful services
And true subjection everlastingly.
Sal. And the like tender of our love we make,
To rest without a spot for evermore.
P. Hen. I have a kind soul, that would give you
thanks.
And knows not how to do it, but with tears.
Bast. O, let us pay the time but needful woe.
Since it hath been beforehand with our griefs. —
This England never did (nor never shall)
Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror.
But when it first did help to wound itself.
Now these her princes are come home again,
Come the three comers of the world in arms.
And we shall shock them : Nought shaU make us rue.
If England to itself do rest but true. [Exeunt.
,1/
•^
^THE LIFE AND DEATH OF
KING RICHARD II.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
King Richard the Second.
Edmund of Langley, Duke of York ; 1 Uncles to
John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster ; ^ the King.
Henry, sumamed Bolingbroke, Duke if Hereford,
Sm to John of Gaunt ; afterwards K. Henry IV.
Duke of Aumerle, So7i to the Duke of York.
Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk.
Duke of Surrey.
Earl of Salisbury. Earl Berkeley.
Bushy, "j
Bagot, i Creatures to King Richard.
Green, J
Earl of Northumberland.
Henry Percy, his Son.
Lord Ross. Lord Willoughby.
Lord Fitzwater.
Bishop of Carlisle. Abbot of Westminsteb-
Lord Marshal ; and another Lord.
Sir Pierce of Exton. Sir Stephen Scroop.
Captain of a Band <f Welshmen.
Queen to King Richard.
Duchess of Gloster.
Duchess of York.
Lady attending on tlie Queen.
Lords, Heralds, Officers, Soldiers, two Gardeners.
Keeper, Messenger, Groom, ami otfier Attendants.
SCENE, dispcrsedli/ in England and Wales.
I
;EPa:R. — Mr loro, will x pi.k&.sb voa to fall, to?
Utca. — T&3TE OF IT FIRST, AS THOO ART WONT TO DO.
THE LIFE AND DEATH OF
KING RICHARD II,
ACT I.
SCENE I. — London. A Room in the Palace. |
Enter King Richard, attended: John of Gaunt, I
and other Nobles, with him.
K. Rich. Old John of Gaunt, time-honour'd
Lancaster,
Hast thou, according to thy oath and band ',
Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son ;
Here to make good the boisterous late appeal,
Which then our leisure would not let us hear.
Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ?
Gaunt. I have, my liege.
K. Rich. Tell me, moreover, hast thou sounded him.
If he appeal the duke on ancient malice ;
Or worthily as a good subject should,
On some known ground of treachery in him ?
Gaunt. As near as I could sift him on that argu-
ment, —
On some apparent danger seen in him,
Aim'd at your highness ; no inveterate malice.
K. Rich. Tlien call them to our presence; face
to face,
And frowning brow to brow, ourselves will hear
The accuser, and the accused, freely speak :
[Exeunt some Attendants.
* Bond.
High-stomach'd are they both, and full of ire,
In rage deaf as the sea, hasty as fire.
Re-enter Attendants, with Boling broke avn
Norfolk.
Boling. May many years of happy days befal
My gracious sovereign, my most loving liege !
Nor. Each day still better other's happiness ;
Until the heavens, envying eartli's good hap.
Add an immortal title to your crown !
K. Rich. We thank you both : yet one but flat-
ters us.
As well appeareth by the cause you come ;
Namely, to appeal each other of high treason.
Cousin of Hereford, what dost thou object
Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ?
Boling. First, (heaven be the record to my
speech ! )
In the devotion of a subject's love,
Tendering the precious safety of my prince,
And free from other misbegotten hate.
Come I appellant to this princely presence. -
Now, Thomas Mowbray, do I turn to thee.
And mark my greeting well ; for what I speakj
My body sha 1 make good upon this earth.
Act I. Scene I.
KING RICHARD II.
353
Sob
^■Thai
Or my divine soul answer it in heaven.
Thou art a traitor, and a miscreant ;
Too good to be so, and too bad to live :
Since, the more fair and crystal is the sky,
The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.
Once more, the more to aggravate the note,
With a foul traitor's name stuff' I thy throat ;
And wish, (so please my sovereign,) ere I move,
What my tongue speaks, my right-drawn sword may
prove.
Nor. Let not my cold words here accuse my zeal :
'Tis not the trial of a woman's war.
The bitter clamour of two eager tongues.
Can arbitrate tliis cause betwixt us twain :
The blood is hot, that must be cool'd for this,
Yet can I not of such tame patience boast.
As to be hush'd, and nought at all to say :
First, the fair reverence of your highness curbs me
From giving reins and spurs to my free speech :
Which else would post, until it had return'd
These terms of treason doubled down his throat.
Setting aside his high blood's royalty.
And let him be no kinsman to my liege,
I do defy him, and I spit at him ;
Call him — a slanderous coward, and a villain :
Whicti to maintain, I would allow him odds,
And meet him, were I tied to run a-foot
Even to tho frozen ridges of tlie Alps,
Or any other ground inhabitable 2,
Where ever Englishman durst set his foot.
Mean time, let this defend my loyalty, —
By all my hopes, most falsely doth he lie.
Boling. Pale trembling coward, there I throw
my gage.
Disclaiming here the kindred of a king ;
And lay aside my high blood's royalty,^
Which fear, not reverence, makes thee to except :
If guilty dread hath left thee so much strength.
As to take up mine honour's pawn, then stoop ;
By that, and all the rights of knighthood else.
Will I make good against thee, arm to arm.
What I have spoke, or thou canst worse devise.
Nor. I take it up ; and, by that sword I swear.
Which gently laid my knighthood on my shoulder,
I'll answer thee in any fair degree,
Or chivalrous design of knightly trial :
And, when I mount, alive may I not light,
If I be traitor, or unjustly fight !
JT. JRich. What doth our cousin lay to Mowbray's
charge ?
It must be great, that can inherit us
So much as of a thought of ill in him.
JSoling. Look, what I speak my life shall prove
it true ; —
t Mowbray hath receiv'd eight thousand nobles,
name of lendings for your highness' soldiers ;
The which he hath detain'd for vile employments.
Like a false traitor, and injurious villain.
Besides I say, and will in battle prove, —
Or here, or elsewhere, to tlie furthest verge
'lliat ever was survey'd by English eye, —
That all the treasons, for these eighteen years
Complotted and contrived in tliis land.
Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring.
Further I say, — and furtlier will maintain
I^pon his bad life, to make all this good, —
I'hat he did plot the duke of Gloster's death ;
Suggest his soon-believing adversaries ;
And, consequently, like a traitor coward,
< UiihabiUble.
Sluic'dout his innocentsoul through streamsof blood:
Which blood, like sacrificing Abel's, cries,
Even from tlie tongueless caverns of the earth,
To me, for justice, and rough chastisement;
And, by the glorious worth of my descent.
This arm shall do it, or this life be spent.
K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution
soars ! —
Thomas of Norfolk, what say'st thou to this ?
Nor. O, let my sovereign turn away his face.
And bid his ears a little while be deaf.
Till I have told this slander of his blood,
How God, and good men, hate so foul a liar.
K' Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes, and
ears:
Were he my brother, nay, my kingdom's heir,
(As he is but my father's brother's son,)
Now by my scepter's awe I make a vow.
Such neighbour nearness to our sacred blood
Should nothing privilege him, nor partialize
The unstooping firmness of my upright soul ;
He is our subject, Mowbray, so art thou ;
Free speech, and fearless, I to thee allow.
Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart,
Through the false passage of thy throat, thou liest !
Three parts of that receipt I had for Calais,
Disburs'd I duly to his highness' soldiers :
The other part reserv'd I by consent ;
For that my sovereign liege was in my debt,
Upon remainder of a dear account.
Since last I went to France to fetch his queen :
Now swallow down that lie. For Gloster's
death, —
I slew him not ; but to my own disgrace,
Neglected my sworn duty in that case. —
For you, my noble lord of Lancaster,
The honouraI)le father to my foe.
Once did I lay in ambush for your life,
A trespass that doth vex my grieved soul,
But, ere I last receiv'd the sacrament,
I did confess it ; and exactly begg'd
Your grace's pardon, and, I hope, I had it.
This is my fault : As for the rest appeal'd.
It issues from the rancour of a villain,
A recreant and most degenerate traitor :
Which in myself I boldly will defend ;
And interchangeably hurl down my gage
Upon this overweening traitor's foot.
To prove myself a loyal gentleman
Even in the best blood chamber'd in his bosom :
In haste whereof, most heartily I pray
Your highness to assign our trial day.
K. Rich. Wratli-kindled gentlemen, be rul'd by
me;
Let's purge this choler without letting blood :
This we prescribe, though no physician ;
Deep malice makes too deep incision :
Forget, forgive ; conclude, and be agreed ;
Our doctors say, this is no time to bleed. —
Good uncle, let this end where it begun ;
We'll calm the duke of Norfolk, you your son.
Gaunt. To be a make-peace shall become ray age:
Throw down, my son, the duke of Norfolk's gage.
K. Rich. And, Norfolk, tlirow down his.
Gaunt. When, Harry? when?
Obedience bids, I should not bid again.
K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down; we bid; there
is no boot.'
Nor. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot:
' No advantage in delay.
A a
354.
KING RICHARD II.
Act I,
My life thou shall command, but not my shame :
The one my duty owes ; but my fair name,
( Despite of death, that lives upon my grave, )
To dark dishonour's use thou shalt not have.
I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled here ;
Pierc'd to the soul with slander's venom'd spear ;
The which no balm can cure, but his heart-blood
Whicli breath'd this poison.
K. Rich. Rage must be withstood ;
Give me his gage : — Lions make leopards tame.
JVor. Yea, but not change their spots : take but
my shame,
And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord,
The purest treasure mortal times afford.
Is — spotless reputation ; that away,
Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay.
A jewel in a ten-times-barr'd-up chest
Is — a bold spirit in a loyal breast.
Mine honour is my life ; both grow in one ;
Take honour from me, and my life is done :
Then, dear my liege, mine honour let me try ;
In that 1 live, and for that will I die.
A' Rich, Cousin, throw down your gage ; do you
begin.
Baling. O, God defend my soul from such foul sin !
Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's siglit ?
Or with pale beggar-fear impeach my height
Before this outdar'd dastard ? Ere my tongue
Shall wound mine honour with such feeble wrong,
Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear
The slavish motive of recanting fear ;
And spit it bleeding in his high disgrace,
Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's
face. \_Exit (jacjnt.
K' Rich. We were not born to sue, but to command :
Which since we cannot do to make you friends,
Be ready as your lives shall answer it.
At Coventry, upon saint Lambert's day ;
There shall your swords and lances arbitrate
The swelling difference of your settled hate ;
Since we cannot atone '^ you, we shall see
Justice design ^ the victor's chivalry. —
Marshal command our officers at arms
Be ready tp direct these liome-alarms. [^Exeunt.
SCENE II. — The same. A Room in the Duke
of Lancaster's Palace.
Enter Gaunt and Duchess of Gloster.
Gaunt. Alas ! the part I had in Gloster's blood
Doth more solicit me, than your exclaims,
To stir against the butchers of his life.
But since correction lieth in those hands,
Which made the fault that we cannot correct.
Put we our quarrel to the will of heaven ;
Who when he sees the hours ripe on earth,
Will rain hot vengeance on offenders' heads.
Duch. Finds brotherhood in thee no sharper spur?
Hath love in thy old blood no living fire?
Edward's seven sons, whereof thyself art one,
Were as seven phials of his sacred blood.
Or seven fair branches springing from one root :
Some of those seven are dried by nature's course,
Some of those branches by the destinies cut :
But, Thomas, my dear lord, my life, my Gloster, —
One phial full of Edward's sacred blood.
One flourishing branch of his most royal root, —
Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt ;
* Reconcile.
5 Show.
Is hack'd down, and his summer leaves all faded,
By envy's hand, and murder's bloody axe.
Ah, Gaunt! his blood was thine j and though thou
liv'st.
Yet art thou slain in him : thou dost consent
In some large measure to thy father's death.
In that thou seest thy wretched brother die,
Who was the model of thy father's life.
Call it not patience. Gaunt, it is despair :
In suffering thus thy brother to be slaughter'd.
Thou show'st the naked patliway to thy life,
Teaching stern murder how to butcher thee :
That which in mean men we entitle — patience.
Is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
What shall I say ? to safeguard tliine own life,
Tlie best way is — to 'venge my Gloster's death.
Gaunt. Heaven's is the quarrel; for heaven's
substitute,
His deputy anointed in his sight.
Hath caus'd his death : the which if wrongfully.
Let heaven revenge ; for I may never lift
An angry arm against his minister.
Duch. Where then, alas! may I complain myself ?
Gaunt. To heaven, the widow's champion and
defence.
Duch. Why then, I will. Farewell, old Gaunt.
Thou go'st to Coventry, there to behold
Our cousin Hereford and fell Mowbray fight :
O, sit my husband's wrongs on Hereford's spear.
That it may enter butcher Mowbray's breast !
Or, if misfortune miss the first career.
Be Mowbray's sins so heavy in his bosom.
That they may break his foaming courser's back.
And throw the rider headlong in the lists,
A caitiff recreant to my cousin Hereford !
Farewell, old Gaunt; thy sometimes brother's wife,
With her companion grief must end her life.
Gaunt. Sister ; farewell : I must to Coventry !
As much good stay with thee, as go with me !
Duch. Yet one word more ; — Grief boundeth
where it falls.
Not with the empty hollowness, but weight :
I take my leave before I have begun ;
For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done.
Commend me to my brother, Edmund York.
Lo, this is all : — Nay, yet depart not so :
Though this be all, do not so quickly go ;
I shall remember more. Bid him — O, what ? —
With all good speed at Flashy 6 visit me.
Alack, and what shall good old York there see.
But empty lodgings and unfumish'd walls.
Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones ?
And what cheer there for welcome, but my groans?
Therefore commend me ; let him not come there,
To seek out sorrow that dwells every where :
Desolate, desolate, will I hence, and die ;
The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.
\^Exeunt.
SCENE III. — Gosford Green, near Coventry.
Lists set out, and a Throne. Heralds, <^c. attending.
Enter the Lord Marshal, and Aumerle.
Mar. My lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford arm'd?
Aum. Yea, at all points : and longs to enter in.
Mar. The duke of Norfolk, sprightfully and bold.
Stays but the summons of the appellant's trumpet.
Aum. Why, then the champions are prepar'd and
stay
For nothing but his majesty's approach.
6 Her house in Essex.
1
Scene III.
KING RICHARD II.
355
Flourish of Trumpets. Enter Kino Richard, who
takes his seat on his throne ; Gaunt, and several
Noblemen, who take tlieir places. A trumpet is
■ sounded, and anstvercd by another trumpet within.
Then enter Norfolk, in armour, preceded by a
Herald.
K. Bich. Marshal, demand of yonder champion
The cause of his arrival here in arms :
Ask him his name ; and orderly proceed
To swear him in the justice of his cause.
Mar. In God's name, and the king's, say who
thou art,
And why thou com'st, thus knightly clad in arms :
Against what man thou com'st, and what thy quarrel :
Speak truly, on thy knighthood, and thy oath ;
And so defend tliee heaven, and thy valour !
Nor. My name is Thomas Mowbray, duke of
Norfolk ;
Who hither come engaged by my oath,
(Which, heaven defend, a knight should violate !)
Both to defend my loyalty and truth,
To God, my king, and my succeeding issue,
Against the duke of Hereford that appeals me :
And, by the grace of God, and this mine arm,
To prove him, in defending of myself,
A traitor to my God, my king, and me :
And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven !
[7/t? takes his seat.
Trumpet sounds. Enter Bolingbroke, in armour ;
preceded by a Herald.
K. Rich. Marshal, ask yonder knight in arms.
Both who he is, and why he cometh hither
Tlius plated in habiliments of war ;
And formally according to our law
Depose him in the justice of his cause.
Mar. What is thy name ? and wherefore com'st
thou hither.
Before king Richard, in his royal lists?
Against whom comest thou? and what's thy quarrel?
Speak like a true knight, so defend thee heaven !
Baling. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
Am I ; who ready here do stand in arms.
To prove, by heaven's grace, and my body's valour.
In lists, on Thomas Mowbray, duke of Norfolk,
That he's a traitor, foul and dangerous.
To God of heaven, king Richard, and to me :
And, as I truly fight, defend me heaven !
Mar. On pain of death, no person be so bold,
Or daring-hardy, as to touch the lists ;
Except the marshal, and such ofliicers
Appointed to direct these fair designs.
Baling. Lord marshal, let me kiss my sovereign's
hand,
And bow my knee before his majesty :
For Mowbray, and myself, are like two men
That vow a long and weary pilgrimage ;
Then let us take a ceremonious leave,
And loving farewell, of our several friends.
Mar. Tlie appellant in all duty greets your
highness.
And craves to kiss your hand, and take his leave.
K. Rich. We will descend, and fold him in our
arms.
Cousin of Hereford, as thy cause is right,
So be thy fortune in this royal fight !
Farewell, my blood ; which if t^ay thou ^cd.
Lament we may, but not revenge thee dead.
Boling. O, let no noble eye profane a tear
For me, if I be gored with Mowbray's spear ;
As confident, as is the falcon's flight
Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.
My loving lord, [To Lord Marshal.] I take my
leave of you ; —
Of you, my noble cousin, lord Aumerle ; —
Not sick, although I have to do with death ;
But lusty, young, and cheerly drawing breath. — — .
Lo, as at English feasts, so I regreet
The daintiest last, to make tlie end most sweet :
O thou, the earthly author of my blood, —
[To Gaunt.
Whose youthful spirit, in me regenerate,
Doth with a two-fold vigour lift me up
To reach at victory above my head, —
Add proof unto mine armour with thy prayers ;
And with thy blessings steel my lance's point.
That it may enter Mowbray's waxen coat.
And furbish new the name of John of Gaunt,
Even in the lusty 'haviour of his son.
Gaunt. Heaven in thy good cause make thee
prosperous !
Be swift like lightning in the execution :
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,
Fall like amazing thunder on the casque
Of thy adverse pernicious enemy :
Rouse up thy youthful blood, be valiant, and live.
Boling. Mine innocency, and saint George to
thrive ! [He takes his seat.
Nor. [Bising.] However heaven, or fortune, cast
my lot,
There lives or dies, true to king Richard's tlirone,
A loyal, just, and upright gentleman :
Never did captive with a freer heart
Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace
His golden uncontroU'd enfranchisement,
More tlian my dancing soul doth celebrate
This feast of battle with mine adversary. —
Most nughty liege, — and my companion peers,—
Take from my mouth the wish of happy years :
As gentle and as jocund, as to jest.
Go I to fight ; Truth hath a quiet breast.
JT. Bich. Farewell, my lord : securely I espy
Virtue with valour couched in thine eye.
Order the trial, marshal, and begin.
[T/ie King and the Lords return lo their seats.
Mar. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
Receive tliy lance ; and God defend the right !
Boling. [Bising.] Strong as a tower in hope, I
cry — amen.
Mar. Go bear this lance [To an Officer.] to
Thomas duke of Norfolk.
1 Her. Harry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
Stands here for God, his sovereign, and himself,
On pain to be found false and recreant.
To prove the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray,
A traitor to his God, his king* and him,
And dares him to set forward to the fight.
2 Her. Here standeth Thomas Mowbray, duke
of Norfolk,
On pain to be found false and recreant.
Both to defend himself, and to approve
Henry of Hereford, Lancaster, and Derby,
To God, his sovereign, and to him disloyal ;
Courageously, and with a free desire.
Attending but tiie signal to begin.
Mar. Sound trumpets j and set forward, com-
batants. [A charge sounded.
Stay, the king hath thrown his warder ^ down.
7 TruneheoiL
Aa 2
356
KING RICHARD II.
Act I.
A". Rich. Let them lay by their helmets and their
spears,
And both return back to their chairs again : —
Withdraw with us : — and let the trumpets sound,
"While we return these dukes what we decree, —
[A long ^flourish.
Draw near, [ To tlie Combatants.
And list, what with our council we have done.
For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd
With that dear blood which it hath fostered ;
And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect
Of civilwounds plough'd up with neighbours' swords;
[And for we think the eagle-winged pride
Of sky-aspiring and ambitious thoughts,
With rival-hating envy, set you on
To wake our peace, which in our country's cradle
Draws the sweet infant breath of gentle sleep ;]
Which so rous'd up, with boisterous untun'd drums.
With harsh resounding trumpets' dreadful bray.
And grating shock of wrathful iron arms,
Might from our quiet confines fright fair peace.
And make us wade even in our kindred's blood j —
Therefore we banish you our territories : —
You, cousin Hereford, upon pain of death.
Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields.
Shall not regreet our fair dominions.
But tread the stranger paths of banishment.
Baling. Your will be done : This must my com-
fort be,
That sun that warms you here, shall shine on me ;
And those his golden beams, to you here lent.
Shall point on me, and gild my banishment.
JC. Rich. Norfolk, for thee remains a heavier doom,
Which I with some unwillingness pronounce :
The fly-slow hours shall not determinate
The dateless limit of thy dear exile ; —
The hopeless word of — never to return
Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.
N'o?'. A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,
And all unlook'd for from your highness' mouth :
A dearer merit, not so deep a maim
As to be cast forth in the common air,
Have I deserved at your highness' hand.
The language I have learn'd these forty years.
My native English, now I must forego.
And now my tongue's use is to me no more.
Than an unstringed viol or a harp ;
Or, like a cunning instrument cas'd up.
Or, being open, put into his hands
That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
§ Within my mouth you have engaol'd my tongue.
Doubly portcullis'd, with my teeth, and lips ;
And dull, unfeeling barren ignorance
Is made my gaoler to attend on me.
I am too old to fawn upon a nurse.
Too far in years to be a pupil now ;
What is thy sentence, then, but speechless death,
Which robs my tongue from breathing native breatli?
A". Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate ;
After our sentence, plaining comes too late.
A^r. Then thus, I turn me from my country's light,
To dwell in solemn shades of endless night. [Retiring.
K. Rich. Return again, and take an oath witli thee.
Lay on our royal sword your banish'd hands ;
Swear by the duty that you owe to heaven,
(Our part therein we banish with yourselves,)
To keep the oath that we administer : —
You never shall, (so help you truth and heaven !)
Embrace each other's love in banishment ;
Nor never look xipon each other's face ;
Nor never write, regreet, nor reconcile
This lowering tempest of your home-bred hate ;
Nor never by advised purpose meet.
To plot, contrive, or complot any ill,
'Gainst us, our state, our subjects, or our land.
Holing. I swear.
Kor. And I, to keep all this.
Baling. Norfolk, so far as to mine enemy
By this time, had the king permitted us.
One of our souls had wander'd in the air,
Banish'd this frail sepulchre of our flesh.
As now our flesh is banish'd from this land :
Confess thy treasons, ere thou fly the realm ;
Since thou hast far to go, bear not along
The clogging burden of a guilty soul.
Kor. No, Bolingbroke ; If ever I were traitor.
My name be blotted from the book of life.
And I from heaven banish'd as from hence !
But what thou art, heaven, thou, and I do know ;
And all too soon, I fear, the king shall rue- —
Farewell, my liege : — Now no way can I stray ;
Save back to England, all the world's my way. [I!xit.
jr. Rich. Uncle, even in the glasses of thine eyes
I see thy grieved heart, thy sad aspect
Hath from the number of his banish'd years
Pluck'd four away ; — Six frozen winters spent.
Return [To Boling.] with welcome home from
banishment.
Boling. How long a time lies in one little word !
Four lagging winters, and four wanton springs.
End in a word ; such is the breath of kings.
Gaunt. I thank my liege, that in regard of me.
He shortens four years of my son's exile :
But little vantage shall I reap thereby ;
For, ere the six years that he hath to spend.
Can change their moons, and bring their times about.
My oil-dried lamp, and time bewasted light,
Shall be extinct with age, and endless night ;
My inch of taper will be burnt and done.
And blindfold death not let me see my son.
IT. Rich. Why, uncle, thou hast many years to live.
Gaunt. Butnotaminute, king, that thou canst give:
Shorten my days thou canst with sullen sorrow.
And pluck nights from me, but not lend a morrow :
Thou canst help time to furrow me with age.
But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage ;
Thy word, is current with him for my death ;
But, dead, thy kingdom cannot buy my breath.
A'. Rich. Thy son is banish'd upon good advice ;
Whereto thy tongue a party verdict gave ^ ;
Why at our justice seem'st thou then to lower?
Gaunt. Things sweet to taste, prove in digestion
sour.
You urg'd me as a judge ; but I had rather,
You would have bid me argue like a father : —
O, had it been a stranger, not my child.
To smooth his fault, I should have been more mild :
A partial slander 9 sought I to avoid.
And in the sentence my own life destroy'd.
Alas, I look'd, when some of you should say,
I was too strict, to make mine own away ;
But you gave leave to my unwilling tongue.
Against my will to do myself this wrong.
JT. Rich. Cousin, farewell : — and, uncle, bid him so,
Six years we banish him, and he shall go.
[Flourish. Exeunt K. Richarp and Train.
Aum. Cousin, farewell : what presence must not
know,
From where you do remain let paper show.
8 Had a part or share. » Rt^proacli of partiality
^
Scene IV.
KING RICHARD II.
357
Mar. My lord, no leave take I ; for I will ride,
As far as land will let me, by your side.
Gaunt. 0,to what purpose dost tliou hoard thy words,
That thou return'st no greeting to thy friends ?
Boling. I have too few to take my leave of you,
"When the tongue's office sliould be prodigal
To breatlie the abundant dolour of the heart.
Gaunt. Thy grief is but tliy absence for a time.
Holing. Joy absent, grief is present for that time.
Gaunt.VfhsLt is six winters? they are quickly gone.
Boling. To men in joy : but grief makes one hour
ten.
Garint. Call it a travel tliat thou tak'st for pleasure.
Boling. My heart will sigh when I miscall it so,
Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage.
Gaunt. Tlie sullen passage of thy weary steps
Esteem a foil, wherein thou art to set
The precious jewel of thy home-return.
Boling. Nay, rather, every tedious stride I make
Will but remember me what a deal of world
I wander from tlie jewels that I love.
Must I not serve a long apprenticehood
To foreign passages, and in the end.
Having my freedom, boast of nothing else.
But that I was a journeyman to grief?
Gaunt. All places that the eye of heaven visits.
Are to a wise man ports and happy havens :
Teach thy necessity to reason thus ;
There is no virtue like necessity.
Think not, the king did banish thee ;
But thou tlie king : Woe doth the heavier sit.
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.
Go, say — I sent thee forth to purchase honour.
And not — the king exil*d thee : or suppose.
Devouring pestilence hangs in our air.
And thou art flying to a fresher clime.
Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it
To lie that way thou go'st, not whence thou com'st :
Suppose the singing birds, musicians ;
The grass whereon thou tread'st, the presence^ strew'd ;
Tlie flowers, fair ladies ; and thy steps no more
Than a delightful measure or a dance :
For gnarling - sorrow hath less power to bite
The man that mocks at it, and sets it light.
Boling. O, who can hold a fire in his hand.
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus ?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite,
By bare imagination of a feast ?
Or wallow naked in December snow,
By thinking on fantastick summer's heat?
O, no, the apprehension of the good.
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse :
Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more,
Tlian when it bites, but lanceth not the sore.
Gaunt. Come, come, my son, I'll bring thee on
thy way :
Had I thy youth, and cause, I would not stay.
Boling. Then, England's ground, farewell ; sweet
soil, adieu ;
My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet !
Where-e'er I wander, boast of this I can,
Thougli banish'd, yet a truebom Englishman.
{Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — The same. A Room in the King's
Castle.
Enter King Richard, Bagot, and Green; Au-
MJiKi^r. following.
JT. Rich We did observe. — Cousin Aumerle,
How far brougiit you high Hereford on his way ?
' Presence chamber at court * Growling.
Aum. I brought higii Hereford, if you call him so,
But to the next high way, and there I left him.
K. Rich. And, say, what store of parting tears
were shed?
Aum. 'Faith, none by me : except the north-east
wind.
Which then blew bitterly against our faces,
Awak'd the sleeping rheum ; and so, by chance.
Did grace our hollow parting with a tear.
K. Rich. What said our cousin, when you parted
with him ?
Aum. Farewell :
And, for my heart disdain'd that my tongue
Should so profane the word, that taught me craft
To counterfeit oppression of such grief,
That words seem'd buried in my sorrow's grave.
Marry, would the word farewell have lengthen 'd
hours.
And added years to his short banishment.
He should have had a volume of farewells;
But, since it would not, he had none of nie.
K. Rich. He is our cousin, cousin ; but 'tis doubt.
When time shall call him home from banishment,
Whether our kinsman come to st e his friends.
Ourself, and Bushy, Bagot here, and Green,
Observ'd his courtship to the common people : —
How he did seem to dive into their hearts.
With humble and familiar coui-tcsy ;
What reverence he did throw away on slaves ;
Wooing poor craftsmen, with the craft of smiles,
And patient underbearing of his fortune,
As 'twere to banish their affects with him.
Otf goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench ;
A brace of draymen bid — God speed him well.
And had the tribute of his supple knee.
With — Thanks, mi/ countrymen^ my loving friends i
As were our England in reversion his.
And he our subjects' next degree in hope.
Green. Well, he is gone ; and with him go these
thoughts.
Now for the rebels, which stand out in Ireland ; —
Expedient manage must be made, my liege ;
Ere further leisure yield them further means.
For their advantage, and your highness' loss.
K. Rich. W^e will ourself in person to this war.
And, for 3 our coffers — with too great a court.
And liberal largess — are gi-own somewhat light.
We are enforc'd to farm our royal realm ;
The revenue whereof shall furnish us
For our affairs in hand : If that come short.
Our substitutes at home shall have blank charters ;
Whereto, when they shall know wliat men are rich,
They shall subscribe them for large sums of gold.
And send them after to supply our wants ;
For we will make for Ireland presently.
Enter Bushy.
Bushy, what news?
Bushy. Old John of Gaunt is gnevoussick, my lord;
Suddenly taken ; and hatli sent post-haste.
To entreat your majesty to visit him.
K. Rich. Where lies he ?
Bushy. At Ely-house.
A'. Rich. Now put it, heaven, in his phj'sician'smind.
To lielp him to his grave immediately !
llie lining of his coffers sliall make coats
To deck our soldiers for these Irish wars. —
Come, gentlemen, let's all go visit him :
Pray heaven, we may make haste, and come too
late ! [ExeurU.
3 Became
A a 3
358
KING RICHARD II.
Act II,
ACT II.
SCENE I. — London. A Room in Ely-house.
Gaunt on a Couch; the Duke of York, and others
standing by him.
Gaunt. Will the king come ? that I may breathe
my last
In wholesome counsel to his unstayed youth.
York. Vex not yourself, nor strive not with your
breath ;
For all in vain comes counsel to his ear.
Gaunt. O, but they say, the tongues of dying men
Enforce attention, like deep harmony :
"Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain :
For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in
pain.
He, that no more must say, is listen'd more
Than they whom youth and ease have taught to*
glose ^ ;
More are men's ends mark'd, than their lives before :
The setting sun, and musick at the close,
As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last ;
Writ in remembrance, more than things long past •
Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear,
My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.
York. No; it is stopp'd with other flattering sounds,
As, praises of his state : then, there are found
Lascivious metres ; to whose venom sound
The open ear of youth doth always listen :
Report of fashions in proud Italy ;
Whose manners still our tardy apish nation
Limps after, in base imitation.
Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity,
(So it be new, there's no respect how vile,)
That is not quickly buzz'd into his ears ?
Then all too late comes counsel to be heard
Where will doth mutiny with wit's regard.
Direct not him, whose way himself will choose ;
'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose.
Gaunt. Methinks, I am a prophet new inspir'd ;
And thus, expiring, do foretell of him :
His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last :
For violent fires soon burn out themselves :
Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short;
He tires betimes, that spurs too fast betimes ;
With eager feeding, food doth choke the feeder :
Light vanity, insatiate cormorant.
Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.
This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle.
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise ;
This fortress, built by nature for herself.
Against infection, and the hand of war ;
This happy breed of men, this little world ;
This precious stone set in the silver sea.
Which serves it in the office of a wall.
Or as a moat defensive to a house.
Against the envy of less happier lands ;
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,
This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,
Fear'd by their breed, and famous by their birth.
Renowned for their deeds as far from home,
(For Christian service, and true chivalry,)
As is the sepulchre in stubborn Jewry,
Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's son :
' Flatter.
This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land.
Dear for her reputation through the world.
Is now leas'd out (I die pronouncing it,)
Like to a tenement or pelting ^ farm :
England, bound in with the triumphant sea.
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege
Of watery Neptune, is now bound Jh with shame.
With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds ;
That England, that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself :
O, would the scandal vanish with my life.
How happy then were my ensuing death !
Enter King Richard, and Queen ; Aumerle,
Bushy, Green, Bagot, Ross, and Willoughby.
York. The king is come : deal mildly with his
youth ;
For young hot colts, being rag'd, do rage the more.
Queen. How fares our noble uncle, Lancaster ?
K. Rich. What comfort, man ? How is't with aged
Gaunt ?
Gaunt. O, how that name befits my composition !
Old Gaunt, indeed ; and gaunt ^ in being old :
Within me grief hath kept a tedious fast ;
And who abstains from meat, that is not gaunt ?
For sleeping England long time have I watch'd ;
Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt :
The pleasure that some fathers feed upon.
Is my strict fast, I mean — my children's looks ;
And, therein fasting, hast thou made me gaunt :
Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave.
Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones.
K. Rich. Can sick men play so nicely with their
names ?
Gaunt. No, misery makes sport to inock itself:
Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me,
I mock my name, great king, to flatter thee.
IT. Rich. Should dying men flatter with those
that live ?
Gaunt. No, no ; men living flatter those that die.
IT. Rich. Thou, now a dying, say*st — thou flat-
ter'st me.
Gaunt. Oh] no; thou diest, though I the sicker be.
JT. Rich. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill.
Gaunt. Now, He that made me, knows I see
thee ill ;
111 in myself to see, and in thee seeing ill.
Thy death-bed is no lesser than the land.
Wherein thou liest in reputation sick :
And thou, too careless patient as thou art,
Commit'st thy anointed body to the cure
Of those physicians that first wounded thee :
A thousand flatterers sit within thy crown.
Whose compass is no bigger than thy head ;
And yet, incaged in so small a verge,
The waste is no whit lesser than thy land.
O, had thy grandsire, with a prophet's eye.
Seen how his son's son should destroy his sons,
From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame j
Deposing thee before thou wert possess'd.
Which art possess'd now to depose thyself.
Why, coiisin, wert thou regent of the world,
It were a shame to let this land by lease :
But, for thy world, enjoying but this land.
I
Paltry.
Lean, thin.
Scene I.
KING RICHARD II.
359
Is it not more than shame, to shame it so ?
Landlord of England art thou now, not king :
Thy state of law is bondslave to the law ;
And tliou
K. Rich. a lunatick lean-witted fool,
Presuming on an ague's privilege,
Dar'st with thy frozen admonition
Make pale our cheek j chasing the royal blood,
With fury, from liis native residence.
Now by my seat's right royal majesty,
Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son.
This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head,
Should run thy head from thy unreverend shoulders.
Gau7it. O, spare me not, my brother Edward's son.
For that I was his father Edward's son ;
That blood already, like the pelican.
Hast tliou tapp'd out, and drunkenly carous'd :
My brother Gloster, plain well-meaning soul,
( Whom fair befall in heaven 'mongst happy souls !)
May be a precedent and witness good.
That tliou respect'st not spilling Edward's blood :
Join with the present sickness that I have ;
And thy unkindness be like crooked age,
To crop at once a too-long wither'd flower.
Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee ! —
These words hereafter thy tormentors be, —
Convey me to my bed, then to my grave :
Love they to live, that love and honour have.
[Exit, borne out by his Attendants.
K. Rich. And let them die, that age and suUens
have;
For both hast thou, and both become the grave.
York. 'Beseech your majesty, impute his words
To wayward sickliness and age in him :
He loves you, on my life, and holds you aear
As Harry duke of Hereford, were he here.
A". Rich. Right; you say true: as Hereford's love,
so his:
As theirs, so mine ; and all be as it is.
Enter Northumberland.
North. My liege, old Gaunt conmiends him to
your majesty.
IT. Rich. What says he now ?
North. Nay, nothing ; all is said :
His tongue is now a stringless instrument ;
Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent.
York. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so !
Though death be poor, it ends a mortal woe.
A' Rich. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he ;
His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be :
So much for that. Now for our Irish wars :
We must supplant those rough rug-headed kerns' j
Which live like venom, where no venom else,
But only they, hath privilege to live.
And for these great affairs do ask some charge.
Towards our assistance, we do seize to us
The plate, coin, revenues, and moveables,
Whereof our uncle Gaunt did stand possess'd.
York. How long shall I be patient ? Ah, how long
Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong ?
Not Gloster's death, nor Hereford's banishment.
Not Gaunt's rebukes, nor England's private wrongs,
Nor tlie prevention of poor Bolingbroke
About his marriage, noi my own disgrace,
Have ever made me sour my patient cheek,
Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face. —
I am the last of noble Edward's sons.
Of whom thy father, prince of Wales, was first ;
' Irith soldiers.
In war, was never lion rag'd more fierce.
In peace was never gentle lamb more mild.
Than was that young and princely gentleman :
His face thou hast, for even so look'd he,
Accomplish'd with the number of thy hours ;
But, when he frown'd, it was against the French,
And not against his friends : his noble hand
Did win what he did spend, and spent not that
Which his triumphant father's hand had won :
His hands were guilty of no kindred's blood.
But bloody with the enemies of his kin.
O, Richard ! York is too far gone with grief.
Or else he never would compare between.
A". Rich. Why, uncle, what's the matter?
York. O, my liege,
Pardon me, if you please ; if not, I, i)leaii'd
Not to be pardon'd, am content withal.
Seek you to seize, and gripe into your hands,
The royalties and rights of banish'd Hereford ?
Is not Gaunt dead ? and doth not Hereford live?
Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harry true?
Did not the one deserve to have an heir?
Is not his heir a well- deserving sou ?
Take Hereford's rights away, and take from time
His charters, and his customary rights j
Let not to-morrow then ensue to-day ;
Be not thyself, for how art thou a king.
But by fair sequence and succession ?
If you do wrongfully seize Hereford's rights.
Call in the letters patent that he hath
By his attornies-general to sue
His livery 8, and deny his offer'd homage,
You pluck a thousand dangers on your hea
You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts.
And prick my tender patience to those thoughts
Which honour and allegiance cannot think.
IT. Rich. Think what you will ; we seize into
our hands
His plate, his goods, his money, and liis lands.
York. I'll not be by, tlie while : My liege, fare-
well :
What will ensue hereof, there's none can tell ;
But by bad courses may be understood.
That their events can never fall out good. [Ejnt.
K. Rich. Go, Bushy, to the earl of Wiltshire
straight ;
Bid him repair to us to Ely-house,
To see tliis business : To-morrow next
We will for Ireland ; and 'tis time, I trow j
And we create, in absence of ourself.
Our uncle York lord governor of England,
For he is just and always lov'd us well. —
Come on, our queen : to-morrow must we part ;
Be merry, for our time of stay is short. [Flourish.
[Exeunt King, Queen, Bushy, Aumerle,
Green, and Bagot.
North. Well, lords, the duke of Lancaster is dead.
Ross. And living too ; for now his son is duke.
IVillo. Barely in title, not in revenue.
North. Richly in both, if justice had her right.
Ross. My heart is great ; but it must break with
silence,
Ere't be disburden'd with a liberal tongue.
North. Nay, speak thy mind ; and let him ne'er
speak more.
That sjKjaks thy words again, to do thee harm !
U'i/lo. Tends that thou'dst speak, to the duke of
Hereford ?
* Claim po«en*ion ; a Uw term.
A a 4
360
KING RICHARD II.
Act II.
If it be so, out with it boldly, man ;
Quick is mine ear to hear of good towards him.
Ross. No good at all, that I can do for him ;
Unless you call it good to pity him,
Stript and bereft of all his patrimony.
Nbrl/i. Now, afore heaven, 'tis shame, such
wrongs are borne.
In him a royal prince, and many more
Of noble blood in this declining land.
The king is not himself, but basely led
By flatterers ; and what they will inform,
Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all.
That will the king severely prosecute
'Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.
Boss. The commons hath he pill'd 9 with grievous
taxes.
And lost their hearts ; the nobles hath he fin'd
For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.
WUlo. And daily new exactions are devis'd ;
As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what:
But what, in heaven's name, doth become of this ?
N'ortk. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he hath
not.
But basely yielded upon compromise
That which liis ancestors achiev'd with blows :
More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars
Jioss. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in farm.
IFUlo. The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken
man.
A^orth. Reproach, and dissolution, hangeth over
him.
Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars.
His burdenous taxations notwithstanding.
But by the robbing of the banish'd duke.
North. His noble kinsman ; most degenerate king !
But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,
Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm :
We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,
And yet we strike not, but securely perish, i
Ross. We see the very wreck that we must suffer ;
And unavoided is the danger now.
For suffering so the causes of our wreck.
North. Not so ; even through the hollow eyes of
death,
I spy life peering ; but I dare not say
How near the tidings of our comfort is.
WUlo. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost
ours.
Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland .•
We three are but thyself ; and, speaking so,
Thy words are but as thoughts ; therefore be bold.
North, Then thus : — I have from Port le Blanc,
a bay
In Britanny, receiv'd intelligence,
That Harry Hereford, Reignold lord Cobham,
[The son of Richard earl of Arundel,]
That late broke from the duke of Exeter,
His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury,
Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir John Ramston,
Sir John Norbery, sir Robert Waterton, and Francis
Quoint,
All these well furnish'd by the duke of Bretagne,
With eight tall 2 ships, three thousand men of war,
Are making hither with all due expedience 3,
And shortly mean to touch our northern shore :
Perhaps, they had ere this ; but that they stay
The first departing of tlie king for Ireland.
If then, we shall sliake of!" our slavish yoke.
9 Pillaged.
a Stout.
' Perish by confidence in our security.
3 Exiiedition.
Imp * out oilr drooping country's broken wing,
Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown,
Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt ^,
And make high majesty look like itself.
Away, with me, in post to Raven spurg ;
But if you faint, as fearing to do so.
Stay, and be secret, and myself will go.
Ross. To horse, to horse ! urge doubts to them
that fear.
WUlo. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there.
{Exeunt.
SCENE II. — The same. A Room in the Palace.
Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot.
Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad :
You promis'd, when you parted with the king.
To lay aside life-harming heaviness.
And entertain a cheerful disposition.
Queen. To please the king, I did ; to please myself,
I cannot do it ; yet I know no cause
Why I should welcome such a guest as grief,
Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest
As my sweet Richard : Yet, again, methinks.
Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb,
Is coming towards me ; and my inward soul
With nothing trembles : at something it grieves,
More than with parting from my lord the king.
Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty
shadows,
Which show like grief itself, but are not so :
For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects ;
Like pf^rspectives 6, which, rightly gaz'd upon,
Show nothing but confusion ; ey'd awry.
Distinguish form : so your sweet majesty,
Looking awry upon your lord's departure.
Finds shapes of grief, more than himself to wail ;
Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows
Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen,
More than your lord's departure weep not ; more's
not seen :
Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye.
Which, for things true, weeps things imaginary.
Queen. It may be so ; but yet my inward soul
Persuades me, it is otherwise : Howe'er it be,
I cannot but be sad ; so heavy sad,
As, — though, in thinking on no thought I think, —
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.
Bushy. 'Tis nothing but conceit', my gracious
lady.
Quee7i. 'Tis nothing less; conceit is still deriv'd
From some fore-father grief ; mine is not so ;
For nothing hath begot my something grief ;
Or something hath the nothing that I grieve :
'Tis in reversion that I do possess;
But what it is, that is not yet known ; what
I cannot name; 'tis nameless woe, I wot.**
Enter Gkeen.
Green. Heaven save your majesty ! — and well
met, gentlemen : —
I hope, the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland.
Queen. Why hop'st thou so ? 'tis better hope, he is ,
For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope ;
Then wherefore dost thou hope, he is not sliipp'd ?
Green. That he, our hope, might have retir'd Iiis
power,
4 Supply with new feathers.
s Pictures.
^ Know
5 Gilding.
Fanciful conception.
Scene II.
KING RICHARD II,
361
And driven into despair an enemy's hope,
Who strongly hath set footing in tliis land :
The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself,
And with uplifted arms is safe arriv'd
At Ravenspurg.
Queen. Now God in heaven forbid !
Green. O, madam, 'tis too true : and that is
worse, —
The lord Nortlmmberland, his young son Henry
Percy,
The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby,
With all their powerful friends, are fled to him.
Bushy. Why have you not proclaim'd Nortlium-
berland.
And all the rest of the revolting faction
Traitors ?
Green. We have : whereon the earl of Worcester
Hath broke his staff', resign'd his stewardship,
And all the household servants fled with him
To Bolingbroke.
Queen. So, Gr8en,thou art the midwife to my woe,
And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir :
Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy j
And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother,
Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow join'd.
Bushy. Despair not, madam.
Queen. Who shall liinder me ?
I will despair, and be at enmity
With cozening hope ; he is a flatterer,
A parasite, a keeper-back of death,
Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,
Which false hope lingers in extremity.
Enter York.
Green Here comes' the duke of York.
Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck ;
O, full of careful business are his looks !
Uncle,
For heaven's sake, speak comfortable words.
York. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts :
Comfort's in heaven ; and we are on the earth.
Where nothing lives but crosses, care, and grief.
Your husband he is gone to save far off",
Whilst others come to make him lose at home :
Here am I left to underprop his land;
Who, weak with age, cannot support myself;
Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made ;
Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him.
Enter a Servant.
Serv. My lord, your son was gone before I came.
York. He was ? — Why, so ! — go all which way
it will !
The nobles they are fled, the commons cold,
And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.
Sirrah,
Get thee to Flashy, to my sister Gloster ;
Bid her send me presently a thousand pound : —
Hold, take my ring.
Serv. My lord, 1 had forgot to tell your lordship :
To-day, as I came by, I called there ;
But I shall grieve you to report the rest.
York. What is it, knave ?
Serv. An hour before I came, the duchess died.
York. God for his mercy ! what a tide of woes
Comes rushing on this woeful land at once !
I know not what to do : — I would to heaven,
(So my untruth^ had not provok'd him to it,)
The kittg had cut off' my head witli my brotlier's. —
" DUIoyalty.
What, are there posts despatch'd for Ireland ? —
How shall we do for money for these wars ?
Come, sister, — cousin, I would say, pray, pardon
me. —
Go, fellow, [To the Servant.] get thee home, pro-
vide some carts.
And bring away the armour that is there. —
\^Exit Servant.
Gentlemen, will you go muster men ? if I know
How, or which way, to order these affairs.
Thus thrust disorderly into my hands,
Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen ;
The one's my sovereign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend ; the other again,
Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd ;
Whom conscience and my kindred bids to riglit.
Well, somewhat we must do. — Come, cousin, I'll
Dispose of you : — Go, muster up your men.
And meet me presently at Berkley-castle.
I should to Flashy too , —
But time will not permit : .— All is uneven,
And every thing is left at six and seven.
[Exeunt York and Queew.
Btishy. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland,
But none returns. For us to levy power.
Proportionable to the enemy,
Is all impossible.
Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in love.
Is near the hate of those love not the king.
Bagot. And that's the wavering commons: for
their love
Lies in their purses ; and whoso empties them,
By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate.
Bushy. Wherein tlie king stands generally con-
demn'd.
Bagot. If judgment lie in them, then so do we.
Because we ever have been near the king.
Green. Well, I'll for refuge straight to Bristol
castle ;
The earl of Wiltshire is already there.
Bushy. Thither will I with you : for little oflSce
The hatefu^ commons will perform for us ;
Except like curs to tear us all to pieces.
Will you go along with us ?
Bagot. No ; I'll to Ireland to his majesty.
Farewell : if heart's presages be not vain.
We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again.
Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back Boling-
broke.
Green. Alas, poor duke ! the task he undertakes
Is — numb'ring sands, and drinking oceans dry ;
Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly.
Bushy. Farewell at once ; for once, for all, and
ever.
Green. Well, we may meet again.
I fear me, never.
[Ereunt.
SCENE III. — The Jrtlds in Gloucestershire.
Enter Bolingbroke and Northumbxrlano, wUh
Forces.
Boling. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now ?
North. Believe me, noble lord,
I am a stranger here in Glostersliire.
These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways,
Draw out our miles and make tliem wearisome :
And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar.
Making the hard way sweet and d^'lectablc.
But, I bethink mc, what a weary way
362
KING RICHARD II.
Act IK Scene III.
From Ravenspurg to Cotswold will be found
In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company ;
Which, 1 protest, hath very much beguil'd
The tediousness and process of my travel :
Rut theirs is sweeten'd with the hope to have
The present benefit which I possess :
And ho])e to joy, is little less in joy,
Than hope enjoy'd : by this the weary lords
Shall make their way seem short ; as mine hath done
Ry sight of what I have, your noble company.
Holing. Of much less value is my company.
Than your good words. Rut who comes here?
' Enter Harky Percy.
North. It is my son, young Harry Percy,
Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever. —
Harry, how fares your uncle ?
Fercy. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd
his health of you.
North. Why, is he not with the queen ?
Percy. No, my good lord ; he hath forsook the
court,
Rroken his staff of office, and dispers'd
The household of the king.
North. What was his reason ?
He was not so resolv'd, when last we spake together.
Percy. Recause your lordship was proclaimed
traitor.
Rut he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg,
To offer service to the duke of Hereford ;
And sent me o'er by Rerkley, to discover
What power the duke of York had levied there ;
Then with direction to repair to Ravenspurg.
North. Have you forgot the duke of Hereford,
boy ?
Percy. No, my good lord ; for that is not forgot.
Which ne'er I did remember ; to my knowledge,
I never in my life did look on him.
North. Then learn to know him now j this is the
duke.
Percy. My gracious lord, I tender you my service,
Such as it is, being tender, raw, and youug ;
Which elder days shall ripen and confirm
To more approved service and desert.
Poling. I thank thee, gentle Percy ; and be sure,
T count myself in nothing else so happy.
As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends ;
And, as my fortune ripens with thir.love.
It shall be still thy true love's recompense :
My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals it.
North. How far is it to Berkley ? And what stir
Keeps good old York there, with his men of war ?
Percy. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees,
Mann'd with three hundred men, as I have heard :
And in it are the lords of York, Rerkley, and Sey-
mour;
None else of name, and noble estimate.
Enter Ross and Willoughby.
North. Here come the lords of Ross and Wil-
loughby,
Bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste.
Baling. Welcome, my lords : I wot ', your love
pursues
A banish'd traitor ; all my treasury
Is yet but unfelt thanks, which more enrich'd,
Shall be your love and labour's recompense.
Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most noble
lord.
' Know.
WUlo. And far surmounts our labour to attain it.
Baling. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the
poor;
Which till my infant fortune comes to years.
Stands for my bounty. Rut who comes here ?
^ Enter Berki.ky.
North. It is my lord of Rerkley, as I guess.
Berk. My lord of Hereford, my message is to you.
Baling. My lord, my answer is — to Lancaster ;
And I am come to seek that name in England :
And I must find that title in your tongue,
Refore I make reply to aught you say.
Berk. Mistake me not, my lord ; 'tis not my mean-
ing,
To raze one title of your honour out : —
To you, my lord, I come, (what lord you will,)
From the most glorious regent of this land,
The duke of York ; to know, what pricks you on
To take advantage of the absent time %
And fright our native peace with self-born arms.
Enter York, attended^
Baling. I shaUnotneedstransportmy words by you.
Here comes his grace in person. — My noble uncle !
{^ITneels.
York. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy
knee.
Whose duty is deceivable and false.
Baling. My gracious uncle !
York. Tut, tut !
Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle :
I am no traitor's uncle ; and that word — grace,
In an ungracious mouth, is but profane.
Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs
Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground?
Rut then more why ; — Why have they dar'd to march
So many miles upon her peaceful bosom ;
Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war, \
And ostentation of despised arms? ■*
Com'st thou because the anointed king is hence?
Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind.
And in my loyal bosom lies his power.
Were I but now the lord ^f such hot youth.
As when brave Gaunt, thy4ather, and myself,
Rescued the black prince, that young Mars of men,
From forth the ranks of many thousand French ;
O, then, how quickly should this arm of mine,
Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee,
And minister correction to thy fault !
Baling. My gracious uncle, let me know my fault;
On what condition stands it, and wherein ?
York. Even in condition of the worst degree, —
In gross rebellioi^, and detested treason :
Thou art a banisH'^'d man, and here art come,
Refore the expiration of thy time.
In braving arms against thy sovereign.
Baling. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Here-
ford;
Rut as I come, I come for Lancaster.
And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace.
Look on my wrongs with an indifferent 3 eye :
You are my father, for, methinks, in you
I see old Gaunt alive ; O, then, my father !
Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd
A wandering vagabond ; my rights and royalties
Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away
To upstart unthrifts ? Wherefore was I born ?
If that my cousin king be king of England,;,
2 Time of the king's absence.
Impartial
Act III. Scene I.
KING RICHARD II.
363
It must be granted, I ain duke of Lancaster.
You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman ;
Had you first died, and he had been thus trod down,
He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father.
To rouse his wrongs ■♦, and chase them to the bay.
I am denied to sue my livery * here,
And yet my letters-patent give me leave :
My father's goods are all distrain'd and sold ;
And these, and all, are all amiss employ'd.
What would you have me do ? I am a subject,
And challenge law : Attomies are denied me ;
And therefore personally I lay my claim
To my inheritance of free descent.
North- The noble duke hath been too much abus'd.
Boss. It stands your grace upon 6, to do him right.
IFUlo. Base men by his endowments are made
great
York. My lords of England, let me tell you this, —
I have had feeling of my cousin's wrongs.
And labour'd all I could to do him right :
But in tliis kind to come, in braving arms,
Be his own carver, and cut out his way.
To find out right with wrong, — it may not be j
And you, that do abet him in this kind,
Cherish rebellion, and are rebels all.
North. The noble duke hath sworn, his coming is
But for his own : and, for the right of that.
We all have strongly sworn to give him aid ;
And let liim ne'er see joy, that breaks that oath.
York. Well, well, I see the issue of these arms ;
I cannot mend it, I must needs confess.
Because my power is weak, and all ill left:
But, if I could, by him that gave me life,
I would attach you all, and make you stoop
Unto the sovereign mercy of the king ;
But, since I cannot, be it known to you,
I do remain as neuter. So fare you well ; —
Unless you please to enter in the castle.
And tliere repose you for this night.
Baling. An offer, uncle, that we will accept.
But we must win your grace, to go with us -
To Bristol castle ; which, they say, is held
By Bushy, Bagot, and their complices,
The caterpillars of the commonwealth.
Which I have sworn to weed, and pluck away.
York. It may be, I will go witli you : — but yet
I'll pause ;
For I am loath to break our country's laws.
Nor friends, nor foes, to me welcome you are :
Things past redress, are now with me past care.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV. —A Camp in Wales.
Eater Salisburt, and a Captain.
Capt. My lord of Salisbury, we have staid ten days,
And hardly kept our countrymen together,
And yet we hear no tidings from the king :
Therefore we will disperse ourselves : farewell.
Sal. Stay yet another day, thou trusty Welshman ;
The king reposeth all his confidence
In thee.
Capt. 'Tis thought the king is dead ; we will not
. stay-
Tlie bay-trees in our country are all wither'd,
And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven ;
The pale-fac'd moon looks bloody on the earth,
And lean-look'd prophets whisper fearful change ;
Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap, —
The one, in fear to lose what they enjoy.
The other, to enjoy by rage and war :
These signs forerun the death or fall of kings. —
Farewell : our countrymen are gone and fled.
As well assur'd, Richard their king is dead. [Exit.
Sal. Ah, Richard ! with the eyes of heavy mind,
I see thy glory, like a shooting star.
Fall to the base earth from the firmament !
Thy sun sets weeping in tlie lowly west.
Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest :
Thy friends are fled, to wait upon thy foes ;
And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. [Exit.
ACT III.
SCENE I. — Bolingbroke'5 Camp ot Bristol.
Enter Bolingbroke, York, Northumberland,
Percy, Willoughby, Ross : Officers behind with
Bushy and Green, prisoners.
Boling. Bring forth these men. —
Bushy, and Green, I will not vex your souls
( Since presently your souls must part your bodies,)
With too much urging your pernicious lives.
For 'twere no charity : yet, to wash your blood
From off my hands, here in the view of men,
I will unfold some causes of your death.
You have misled a prince, a royal king,
A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments.
By you unhappied and disfigur'd clean.'
You have, in manner, with your sinful hours,
* Made a divorce betwixt his queen and him ;
i*roke the possession of a royal bed.
And stain'd tlio beauty of a fair queen's checks
Willi tears drawn from her eyes by your foul wrongs.
Myself — a prince, by fortune of my birth ;
* The persons who wrong him.
> Po«8eMion of my land. Sec.
^ Completely.
< It U your interest.
Near to the king in blood ; and near in love,
Till you did make him misinterpret me, —
Have stoop'd my neck under your injuries,
And sigh'd my English breath in foreign clouds.
Eating the bitter bread of banishment :
Whilst you have fed upon my seignories,
Dispark'd my parks, and fell'd my forest woods ;
From my own windows torn my household coat,
Raz'd out my impress, leaving me no sign, —
Save men's opinions, and my living blood, —
To show the world I am a gentleman.
This, and much more, much more than twice all this.
Condemns you to the death: — See them deli ver'd over
To execution and the hand of death.
Bushy. More welcome is the stroke of death to me,
Than Bolingbroke to England.
Green. My comfort is, — that heaven will take
our souls.
And plague injustice.
Boling. My lord Northumberland, see them de-
spatch'd.
[Exeunt Northumbbrlans and others,
with Prisoners.
Uncle, you say, the queen is at your house ;
364
KING RICHARD II.
Act III.
For heaven's sake, fairly let her be entreated :
Tell her, I send to her my kind commends ;
Take special care my greetings be deliver'd.
York. A gentleman of mine I have despatch'd
With letters of your love to her at large.
Holing. Thanks, gentle uncle — Come, lords away;
To fight with Glendower and his complices;
Awhile to work, and, after, holiday. \_Exeunt.
SCENE II. — The Coast of Wales. A Castle in view.
Flo%irish : Drums and Trumpets. Enter King
Richard, Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle, and
Soldiers.
IT. Rich. Barkloughly castle call you this at hand?
Aum. Yea, my lord : How brooks your grace theair.
After late tossing on the breaking seas ?
JT. Rich. Needs must I like it well; I weep for joy,
To stand upon my kingdom once again.
Dear earth, I do salute thee with my hand.
Though rebels wound thee with their horses' hoofs :
As a long parted mother with her child
Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting ;
So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth,
And do thee favour with my royal hands.
Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth.
Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav'nous sense.
But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom.
And heavy gaited toads, lie in their way;
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet,
Which with usurping steps do trample thee.
Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies :
And when they from thy bosom pluck a. flower.
Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder ;
Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch
Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies.
Mock not, my senseless conjuration, lords ;
This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones
Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king
Shall falter under foul rebellious arms.
Car. Fear not, my lord ; that Power, that made
you king.
Hath power to keep you king, in spite of all.
The means that heaven yields must be embrac'd,
And not neglected ; else, if heaven would.
And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse ;
The proffer'd means of succour and redress. ;^
Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss;
Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security.
Grows strong and great, in substance, and in friends.
IT. Rich. Discomfortable cousin ! know'st thou not.
That when the searching eye of heaven is hid
Behind the globe, and lights the lower world.
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen.
In murders, and in outrage, bloody here ;
But when, from under this terrestrial ball.
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines.
And darts his light through every guilty hole.
Then murders, treasons, and detested sins.
The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs.
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?
So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke, —
Who all this while hath revell'd in the night.
Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes, —
Shall see us rising in our throne the east.
His treasons will sit blushing in his face.
Not able to endure the sight of day.
But, self-affrighted, tremble at his sin.
Not all the water in the rough rude sea
Can wash the balm from an anointed king :
The breatli of worldly men cannot depose
The deputy elected by the Lord :
For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd,
To lift shrewd steel against our golden crowa
God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay
A glorious angel : then, if angels fight, ;
Weak men must fall ; for heaven still guards the right.
Enter Salisbury.
Welcome, my lord ; How far off lies your power ?
Sal. Nor near, nor further off, my gracious lord.
Than this weak arm : Discomfort guides my tongue,
And bids me speak of nothing but despair.
One day too late, I fear, my noble lord.
Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth :
O, call back yesterday, bid time return.
And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men !
To-day, to-day, unhappy day too late,
O'erthrows thy joys, friends, fortune, and thy state;
For all the Welshmen, hearing thou wert dead.
Are gone to Bolingbroke, dispers'd, and fled.
Aum. Comfort, my liege : why looks your grace
so pale ?
jr. Rich. But nowthe bloodof twenty thousand men
Did triumph in my face, and they are fled ;
And till so much blood thither come again.
Have I not reason to look pale and dead ?
All souls that will be safe fly from my side ;
For time hath set a blot upon my pride.
Au7n. Comfort, my liege ; remember who you are.
A". Rich. I had forgot myself: am I not king?
Awake thou sluggard majesty ! thou sleep'st.
Is not the king's name forty thousand names ?
Arm, arm, my name, a puny subject strikes
At thy great gloiy. — Look not to the ground.
Ye favourites of a king ; Are we not high ? .
High be our thoughts ; I know my uncle Yoi-k
Hath power enough to serve our turn. But who
Comes here ?
Enter Scroop.
Scroop. More health and happiness betide my liege,
Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him.
IT. Rich. Mine ear is open and my heart prepar'd ;
The worst is worldly loss, thou canst unfold.
Say, is my kingdom lost ? why, 'twas my care ;
And what loss is it, to be rid of care ?
Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we ?
Greater he shall not be ; if he serve God,
We'll serve him too, and be his fellow so :
Revolt our subjects ? that we cannot mend ;
They break their faith to God, as well as us :
Cry, woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay ;
The worst is — death, and death will have his day.
Scroop. Glad am I, that your highness is so arm'd
To bear the tidings of calamity.
Like an unseasonable stormy day.
Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores.
As if the world were all dissolv'd to tears ;
So high above his limits swells the rage
Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land
With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than steel.
White beards have arm'd their thin and hairless scalps
Against thy majesty ; boys, with women's voices.
Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints
In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown :
Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows
Of double-fatal yew against thy state ;
Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills
Against thy seat : both young and old rebel.
And all goes worse than I have power to tell.
Scene II.
KING RICHARD II.
36^
K. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tell'st a tale so ill.
Where is the earl of Wiltshire ? where is Bagot ?
What is become of Bushy ? where is Green ?
That they have let the dangerous enemy
Measure our confines with such peaceful steps?
If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it.
I warrant, they have made peace with Bolingbroke.
Scroap. Peace have they made with him, indeed,
my lord.
K. Rich. O villains, vipers, lost without redemption !
Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man !
Snakes, in my lieart-blood warm'd, that sting my
heart !
Scroop. Sweet love, I see changing his property,
Turns to the sourest and most deadly hate : —
yVgain uncurse their souls; their peace is made
With heads, and not with hands ; those whom you
curse
Have felt tJie worst of deatli's destroying wound.
And lie full low, grav'd in the hollow ground.
Aum. Is Bushy, Green, and the earl of Wiltshire
dead?
Scroop. Yea, all of them at Bristol lost their heads.
jitim.Where is the duke my father with his power?
JC. Rich. No matter where ; of comfort no man
speak :
Lot's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs ;
IVIake dust our paper, and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.
Let's choose executors, and talk of wills :
And yet not so, — for what can we bequeath,
Save our deposed bodies to the ground ?
Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's,
And nothing can we call our own, but death ;
And that small model of the barren earth,
AVhich serves as paste and cover to our bones.
For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground,
A lul tell sad stories of the death of kings : —
How some have been depos'd, some slain in war;
Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd ;
Some poison 'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd ;
All murder'd : — For within the hollow crown,
That rounds the mortal temples of a king.
Keeps death his court ; and there the antick sits,
Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp ;
Allowing hi.n a breath, a little scene
To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks ;
Infusing him with self and vain conceit, —
As if this flesh, which walls about our life.
Were brass impregnable ; and humour'd thus.
Comes at the last, and with a little pin
Bores through his castle wall, and — farewell king!
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood
With solemn reverence ; throw away respect.
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty,
For you have but mistook me all this while :
I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief.
Need friends : — Subjected thus.
How can you say to me — I am a king?
Car. My lord, wise men ne'er wail thtir present
woes.
But presently prevent the ways to wail.
To fear the foe, since fear oppresseth strength,
Gives, in your weakness, strength unto your foe,
And so your follies fight against yourself.
Fear, and be slain ; no worse can come, to fight :
And fight and die, is death destroying death ;
Where fearing dying, pays death servile breath.
yf u;;i. My father hath a power, enquire of liim ;
And learn to make a bo<ly of a limb.
IT. Rich. Thou chid'st me well : — Proud Boling-
broke, I come
To change blows with thee for our day of doom.
This ague-fit of fear is overblown ;
An easy task it is to win our own.
Say, Scroop, where lies our uncle with his power?
Speak sweetly, man, although thy looks be sour.
Scroop. Men judge by the complexion of the sky
The state and inclination of the day :
So may you by my dull and heavy eye,
My tongue hath but a heavier tale to say.
I play the torturer, by small and small.
To lengthen out the worst that must be spoken : —
Your uncle York hath join'd with Bolingbroke ;
And all your northern castles yielded up,
And all your southern gentlemen in arms
Upon his party.
A". Rich. Thou hast said enough. ■
Beshrew thee, cousin, which did lead me forth.
[To AUMERLE.
Of that sweet way I was in to despair !
What say you now ? what comfort have we now ?
By heaven, I'll hate him everlastingly.
That bids me be of comfort any more.
Go, to Flint castle; there I'll pine away ;
A king, woe's slave, shall kingly woe obey.
That power I have, discharge ; and let them go
To ear 8 the land that hath some hope to grow,
For I have none : — Let no man speak again
To alter this, for counsel is but vain.
j4uni. My liege, one word.
IT. Rich. He does me double wrong
That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.
Discharge my followers, let them hence ; — Away,
From Richard's night, to Bolingbroke's fair day.
lEreunt.
SCENE IIL — Wales. Before FUnt Castle.
Enter, with Brum and Colours, Bolingbroke and
Forces; York, Northumberland, and others.
Holing. So that by this intelligence we learn,
The Welshmen are dispers'd ; and Salisbury
Is gone to meet the king, who lately landed,
With some few private friends upon this coast.
North. The news is very fair and good, my lord :
Richard, not far from hence, hath hid his head.
York. It would beseem the lord Northumberland,
To say — king Richard : — Alack the heavy day.
When such a sacred king should hide his head !
North. Your grace mistakes me ; only to be brief,
Left I his title out.
York. The time hath been,
Would you have been so brief with him he would
Have been so brief witli you, to shorten you,
For taking so the head, your whole head's length.
Boling. Mistake not, uncle, farther than you
slibuld.
York. Take not, good cousin, furtlier than you
should.
Lest you mistake : The heavens are o'er your head.
Doling. I know it, uncle ; and oppose not
Myself against their will. — But who comes here ?
Enter Pbrct.
Well, Harry ; what, will not tJiis castle yield?
Percy. The castle royally is mann'd, my lord,
Against thy entrance.
Bding. Royally !
Why, it contains no king ?
• Plough.
366
KING RICHARD II.
Act III.
Percy. Yes, my good lord,
It doth contain a king : king Richard lies
Within the limits of yon lime and stone ;
And with him are the lord Aumerle, lord Salisbury,
Sir Stephen Scroop ; besides a clergyman
Of holy reverence, who, I cannot learn.
North. Belike it is the bishop of Carlisle.
Baling. Noble lord, [ To North.
Go to the rude ribs of that ancient castle ;
Through brazen trumpet send the breath of parle
Into his ruin'd ears, and thus deliver.
Harry Bolingbroke
On both his knees doth kiss king Richard's hand ;
And sends allegiance, and true faith of heart,
To his most royal person : hither come
Even at his feet to lay ray arms and power ;
Provided that, my banishment repeal'd,
And lands restor'd again, be freely granted :
If not, I'll use the advantage of my power,
And lay the summer's dust with showers of blood,
Rain'd from the wounds of slaughter'd Englishmen :
The which, how far off' from the mind of Bolingbroke
It is, such crimson tempest should bedrench
The fresh green lap of fair king Richard's land,
My stooping duty tenderly shall show.
Go, signify as much ; while here we march
Upon the grassy carpet of this plain. —
[Northumberland advances to the
Castle with a Trumpet.
Let's march without the noise of threat'ning drum.
That from the castle's totter' d battlements
Our fair appointments may be well perus'd.
Methinks, king Richard and myself should meet
With no less terror than the elements
Of fire and water, when their thund'ring shock
At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven.
Be he the fire, I'll be the yielding water :
The rage be his, while on the earth I rain
My waters ; on the earth, and not on him.
March on, and mark king Richard how he looks.
A Parle sounded, and answered hy another Trumpet
within. Flourish. Enter on the Walls King
Richard, the Bishop of Carlisle, Aumerle,
Scroop, and Salisbury.
York. See, see, king Richard doth himself appear,
As doth the blushing discontented sun
From out the fiery portal of the east ;
When he perceives the envious clouds are bent
To dim his glory, and to stain the track
Of his bright passage to the Occident.
Yet looks he like a king ; behold, his eye.
As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth.
Controlling majesty ; Alack, alack, for woe,
That any harm should stain so fair a show !
K. Rich. We are amaz'd ; and thus long have we
stood
To watch the fearful bending of thy knee,
[To Northumberland.
Because we thought ourself thy lawful king :
And if we be, how dare thy joints forget
To pay their awful duty to our presence ?
If we be not, show us the hand of God
That hath dismiss'd us from our stewardship ;
For well we know, no hand of blood and bone
Can gripe the sacred handle of our scepter.
Unless he do profane, steal, or usurp.
And though you think, that all, as you have done,
Have torn their souls, by turning them from us,
And we are barren, and bereft of friends :
Yet know, — my master, God omnipotent,
Is must'ring in his clouds, on our behalf,
Armies of pestilence; and they shall strike
Your children yet unborn, and unbegot,
That lift your vassal hands against my head,
And threat the glory of my precious crown.
Tell Bolingbroke, (for yond', methinks, he is,)
That every stride he makes upon my land,
Is dangerous treason : He is come to ope
The purple testament of bleeding war ;
But ere the crown he looks for live in peace.
Ten thousand bloody crowns of mothers' sons
Shall ill become the flower of England's face ;
Change the complexion of her maid-pale peace
To scarlet indignation, and bedew
Her pasture's grass with faithful English blood.
North. The king of heaven forbid, our lord the king
Sliould so with civil and uncivil arms
Be rush'd upon ; Thy thrice-noble cousin,
Harry Bolingbroke, doth humbly kiss thy hand ;
And by the honourable tomb he swears,
That stands upon thy royal grandsire's bones j
And by the royalties of both your bloods.
Currents that spring from one most gracious head ;
And by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt ;
And by the worth and honour of himself,
Comprising all that may be sworn or said, —
His coming hither hath no further seope,
Than for his lineal royalties, and to beg
Enfranchisement immediate on his knees :
Which on thy royal party granted once,
His glittering arms he will commend to rust,
His barbed steeds to stables, and his heart
To faithful service of your majesty.
This swears he, as he is a prince, is just;
And, as I am a gentleman, I credit him.
K. Rich. Northumberland, say, — thus the king
returns
His noble cousin is right welcome hither ;
And all the number of his fair demands
Shall be accomplish'd without contradiction ;
With all the gracious utterance thou hast.
Speak to his gentle hearing kind commends. —
We do debase ourself, cousin, do we not,
[To Aumerle.
To look so poorly, and to speak so fair ?
Shall we call back Northumberland, and send
Defiance to the traitor, and so die ?
Aum. No, my good lord ; let's fight with gentle
words,
Till time lend friends, and friends their helpful
swords.
K. Rich. Merciful heaven, that e'er this tongue of
mine.
That laid the sentence of dread banishment
On yon proud man, should take it off again
With words of sooth ! 9 O, that I were as great
As is my grief, or lesser than my name !
Or that I could forget what I have been !
Or not remember what I must be now !
Swell'st thou, proud heart ? I'll give thee scope to
beat.
Since foes have scope to beat both thee and me.
Aum, Northumberland comes back from Boling-
broke.
K. Rich. What must the king do now ? Must he
submit?
The king shall do it. Must he be depos'd ?
I'he king shall be contented : must he lose
9 Softness.
I
Scene III.
KING RICHARD II.
367
I
The name of king? o' God's name, let it go :
I'll give my jewels for a set of beads ;
My gorgeous palace, for a hermitage ;
My gay apparel, for an alms-man's gown ;
My figur'd goblets for a dish of wood ;
My scepter, for a palmer's walking-staff;
My subjects, for a pair of carved saints ;
And my large kingdom, for a little grave,
A little, little grave, an obscure grave : —
Or I'll be buried in the king's highway.
Some way of common trade where subjects' feet
May hourly trample on their sovereign's head :
For on my heart they tread, now whilst I live ;
And, buried once, why not upon my head ' — —
Aumerle, thouweep'st;Mytender-heaitedcousm !—
We'll make foul weather with despised tear ^ ;
Our sighs, and they, shall lodge the summer corn,
And make a dearth in this revolting land.
Or shall we play the wantons with our woes.
And make some pretty match with shedding tears ;
As thus ; — To drop them still upon one place,
Till they have fretted us a pair of graves
Within the earth ; and therein laid, — There lies
Two kinsmeih digged their graves with weeping eyes ?
Would not this ill do well?— Well, well, I see
I talk but idly, and you mock at me. —
Most mighty prince, my lord Northumberland,
What says king Bolingbroke ? will his majesty
Give Richard leave to live till Richard die ?
You make a leg ', and Bolingbroke says — ay.
North. My lord, in the base -' court he doth attend,
To speak with you ; may't please you to come down ?
A'. Rich. Down, down, I come ; like glistering
Phaeton,
Wanting the manage of unruly jades.
[North, retires to Boling.
In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base^
To come at traitors' calls, and do them grace.
In the base court? Come down? Down, court!
down, king !
For night-owls shriek, where mounting larks should
sing. {Exeunt, from above.
Boling. What says his majesty ?
North. Sorrow and grief of heart
Mtdtes him speak fondly, like a frantick man :
Yet he is come.
Enter King Richard, and his Attendants, below.
Boling, Stand all apart.
And show fair duty to his majesty.
My gracious lord, — [Kjieeling.
K. Rich. Fair cousin, you debase your princely
knee.
To make the base earth proud with kissing it :
Me rather had, my heart might feel your love.
Than my unpleas'd eye see your courtesy.
Up, cousin, up : yovu" heart is up, I know,
ITius high at least, [Touching his own head.] al-
though your knee be low.
Boling. My gracious lord, I come but for mine own.
X. Rich. Your own is yours, and I am yours, and all.
Boling. So far be mine, my most redoubted lord,
As my true service shall deserve your love.
X. Rich. Well you deserve : — They well deserve
to have.
That know the strong'st and surest way to get, —
Uncle, give me your hand : nay, dry your eyes;
Tears show their love, but want tlieir remedies. —
Cousin, I am too young to be your father,
I A tw«. * Lower,
Though you are old enough to be my heir.
What you will have, I'll give, and willing too ;
For do we must, wliat force will have us do. —
Set on towards London : Cousin, is it so?
Boling. Yea, my good lord.
JST. Rich. Then I must not say, no.
[Flourish. Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — Langley. The Duke of York's
Garden.
Enter the Queen, and two Ladies.
Queen. What sport shall we devise here in this
garden,
To drive away the heavy thought of care ?
1 Lady. Madam, well play at bowls.
Queen. 'Twill make me think,
Tlie world is full of rubs, and that my fortune
Runs 'gainst the bias.
I Lady. Madam, we will dance.
Queen. My legs can keep no measure in delight.
When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief:
Therefore, no dancing, girl ; some other sport.
1 Lady. Madam, we'll tell tales.
Queen. Of sorrow, or of joy ?
1 Lady. Of either, madam.
Queen. Of neither, girl :
For if of joy, being altogether wanting.
It doth remember me the more of sorrow ;
Or if of grief, being altogether had,
It adds more sorrow to my want of joy :
For what I have, I need not to repeat ;
And what I want, it boots not to complain.
1 Lady. Madam, I'll sing.
Queen,. 'Tis well that thou hast cause ;
But thou shouldst please me better, wouldst thou
weep.
1 Lady. I could weep, madam, would it do you
good.
Qxieen. And I could weep, would weeping do me
good,
And never borrow any tear of thee.
But stay, here come the gardeners :
Let's step into the shadow of these trees. —
Enter a Gardener, and two Servants.
My wretchedness unto a row of pins.
They'll talk of state ; for every one doth so
Against a change : Woe is forerun with woe.
[Queen and Ladies retire.
Gard. Go, bind thou up yon' dangling apricocks,
Which, like unruly children, make their sire
Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight :
Give some supportance to the bending twigs. —
Go thou, and like an executioner.
Cut off the heads of too-fast-growing sprays.
That look too lofty in our commonwealth :
All must be even in our government,
You thus employ 'd, I will go root away
The noisome weeds, tliat without profit suck
The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers.
1 Serv. Why should we, in the compass of a pale,
Keep law, and form, and due proportion,
Showing, as in a model, our firm estate ?
When our sea-walled garden, the whole land.
Is full of weeds ; her fairest flowers chok'd up,
Her fruit-trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd.
Her knots 3 disorder'd, and her wholesome herbs
Swarming with caterpillars ?
3 Figuret planted in a box.
S68
KING RICHARD II.
Act IV
Card. Hold thy peace : —
He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring,
Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf :
The weeds, that his broad-spreading leaves did
shelter.
That seem'd in eating him to hold him up.
Are pluck'd up, root and all, by Bolingbroke ;
I mean tlie earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.
1 Serv. What, are they dead?
Gard. They are ; and Bolingbroke
Hath seiz'd the wasteful king. — Oh ! What pity
is it.
That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land.
As we this garden ! We at time of year
Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees ;
Lest, being over-proud with sap and blood.
With too much riches it confound itself:
Had he done so to great and growing men,
They might have liv'd to bear, and he to taste
Their fruits of duty. All superfluous branches
We lop away, that bearing boughs may live :
Had he done so, himself had borne the crown,
Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.
1 Serv. What, think you then, the king shall be
depos'd ?
Gard. Depress'd he is already ; and depos'd,
'Tis doubt, he will be : Letters came last night
To a dear friend of the good duke of York's,
That tell black tidings.
Queen. O, I am press'd to death,
Through want of speaking ! — Thou, old Adam's
likeness, [Coming fy-om her concealment.
Set to dress tWs garden, how dares
Tliy harsh-rude tongue sound this unpleasing news ?
Why dost thou say, king Richard is depos'd ?
Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth,
Divine his downfal ? Say, where, when and how,
Cam'st thou by these ill tidings ? speak, thou wretch.
Gard. Pardon me, madam : little joy have I,
To breathe this news ; yet, what I say, is true.
King Richard, he is in the mighty hold
Of Bolingbroke ; their fortunes both are weigh'd :
In your lord's scale is nothing but himself.
And some few vanities that make him light ;
I^ut in the balance of great Bolingbroke,
Besides himself, are all the English peers.
And with that odds he weighs king Richard down.
Post you to London, and you'll find it so ;
1 speak no more than every man doth know.
Queen. Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot,
Doth not thy embassage belong to me,
And am I last that knows it? O, thou think'st
To serve me last, that I may longest keep
Thy sorrow in my breast. — Come, ladies, go.
To meet at London London's king in woe. —
What, was I born to this ! that my sad look
Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke ?
Gardener, for telling me this news of woe,
I would the plants thou graft'st may never grow.
[Exeunt Queen and Ladies.
Gard. Poor queen ! so that thy state might be no
worse,
I would, my skill were subject to thy curse. —
Here did she drop a tear ; here, in this place,
I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace :
Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen,
In the remembrance of a weeping queen.
[Exeunt,
I
ACT IV.
SCENE I. —London. Westminster- Hall.
The Lords Spintual on the right side of the Throne ;
the Lords Temporal on the left; the Commons he-
low. Enter Bolingbroke, Aumerle, Surrey,
Northumberland, Percy, Fitzwater, another
Lord, Bishop of Carlisle, Abbot of West-
minster, and Attendants. Officers behind, with
Bagot.
Baling. Call forth Bagot :
Now, Bagot, freely speak thy mind ;
What thou dost know of noble Gloster's death ;
Who wrought it with the king, and who perform'd
The bloody office of his timeless end ?
Bagot. Then set before my face the lord Aumerle.
Baling. Cousin, stand forth, and look upon that
man.
Bagot. My lord Aumerle, I know your daring
tongue
Scorns to unsay what once it hath deliver'd.
In that dead time when Gloster's death was plotted,
I heard you say, — Is not my arm of length,
That reachethfrom the restful English court
As far as Calais, to my uncles head ?
Amongst much other talk, that very time,
I heard you say, that you had rather refuse
The offer of an hundred thousand crowns.
Than Bolingbroke's return to England ;
Adding withal, how blest this land would be,
In this your cousin's death.
Aum. Princes, and noble lords.
What answer shall I make to this base man ?
Shall I so much dishonour my fair stars,
On equal terms to give him chastisement ?
Either I must, or have mine honour soil'd
With tlie attainder of his sland'rous lips.
There is my gage, the manual seal of death.
That marks thee out for hell : I say, thou liest.
And will maintain, what thou hast said, is false.
In thy heart-blood, though being all too base
To stain the temper of my knightly sword.
Baling. Bagot, forbear, thou shalt not take it up.
Aum. Excepting one, I would he were the best
In all this presence, that hath mov'd me so.
Fitz. If that thy valour stand on sympathies,
There is my gage, Aumerle, in gage to tliine :
By that fair sun that shows me where thou stand'st,
I heard thee say, and vauntingly thou spak'st it,
That thou wert cause of noble Gloster's death.
If thou deny'st it, twenty times thou liest ;
And I will turn thy falsehood to thy heart.
Where it was forged, with my rapier's point.
Aum. Thou dar'st not, coward, live to see that day.
Fitz. Now, by my soul, I would it were this hour.
Aum.. Fitzwater, thou art doom'd to hell for this.
Percy. Aumerle, thou liest ; his honour is as true,
In this appeal, as tliou art all unjust :
And, that thou art so, there I throw my gage,
To prove it on thee to the extremest point
Of mortal breathing ; seize it, if thou dar'st.
Scene I.
KING RICHARD II.
369
Aum. And if I do not, may my hands rot off,
And never brandish more revengeful steel
Over the glittering helmet of my foe !
Lord. I take the earth to the like, forsworn Au-
merle ;
And spur thee on with full as many lies
As may be hoUa'd in thy treacherous ear
From sun to sun : there is my honour's pawn ;
Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st.
Aum. Who sets me else? by heaven, I'll throw
at all :
I have a thousand spirits in one breast,
To answer twenty thousand such as you.
Surrey. My lord Fitzwater, I do remember well
The very time Aumerle and you did talk.
Fitx. My lord, 'tis true: you were in presence then;
And you can witness with me, this is true.
Surrey. As false, by heaven, as heaven itself is true.
Fitz. Surrey, thou liest.
Surrey. Dishonourable boy !
That lie shall lie so heavy on my sword.
That it shall render vengeance and revenge,
Till thou the lie-giver, and that lie, do lie
In earth as quiet as thy father's skull.
J n proof whereof, there is my honour's pawn ;
Engage it to the trial, if thou dar'st.
Fitz. How fondly dost thou spur a forward horse !
If I dare eat, or drink, or breathe, or live,
I dare meet Surrey in a wilderness.
And spit upon him, whilst I say, belies.
And lies, and lies : there is my bond of faith.
To tie thee to my strong correction. —
As I intend to tlirive in this new world,
Aumerle is guilty of my true appeal :
Besides, I heard the banish'd Norfolk say,
Tiiat tliou, Aumerle, didst send two of thy men
To execute the noble duke at Calais.
Auvi. Some lionest Christian trust me with a gage.
That Noi-folk lies : here do I throw down this.
If he may be repeal'd to try his honour.
Holing. These differences shall all rest under gage.
Till Norfolk be repeal'd : repeal'd he shall be,
And, though mine enemy, restor'd again
To all his land and signories ; when he's return'd.
Against Aumerle we will enforce his trial.
Car. That honourable day shall ne'er be seen. —
Many a time hath banish'd Norfolk fought
For Jesu Christ ; in glorious Christian field
Streaming the ensign of the Christian cross.
Against black Pagans, Turks, and Saracens :
And, toil'd with works of war, retir'd himself
To Italy ; and there at Venice, gave
His body to that pleasant country's earth.
And his pure soul unto his captain Christ,
Under whose colours he had fought so long.
Baling. Why, bishop, is Norfolk dead ?
Car. As sure as I live, my lord.
Holing. Sweet peace conduct his s'weet soul to
the bosom
Of good old Abraham ! — Lords appellants.
Your differences shall all rest under gage,
Till we assign you to your days of trial.
Enter York, attended.
York. Great duke of Lancaster, I come to tliee
Fromplume-piuck'd Richard ; who with willing soul
Adopts thee heir, and his Iiigh scepter yields
To the possession of thy royal hand :
Ascend his throne, descending now from him, —
And long live Henry, of that name the fourth !
Boling. In God's name, I'll ascend the regal throne.
Car. Marry, God forbid ! —
Worst in this royal presence may I speak,
Yet best beseeming me to speak the truth.
Would God, tliat any in tliis noble presence
Were enough noble to be upright judge
Of noble Richard ; then true nobless would
Learn him forbearance from so foul a wrong.
What subject can give sentence on his king ?
And who sits here, that is not Richard's subject?
Thieves are not judg'd, but they are by to hear.
Although apparent guilt be seen in them;
And shall the figure of God's majesty.
His captain, steward, deputy elect.
Anointed, crowned, planted many years.
Be judg'd by subject and inferior breath.
And he himself not present ? O, forbid it, God,
That, in a Christian climate, souls refin'd
Should show so heinous, black, obscene a deed !
I speak to subjects, and a subject speaks,
Stirr'd up by heaven thus boldly for his king.
My lord of Hereford here, whom you call king,
Is a foul traitor to proud Hereford's king :
And if you crown him, let me prophesy, —
The blood of English shall manure the ground.
And future ages groan for this foul act ;
Peace shall go sleep with Turks and Infidels,
And, in this seat of peace, tumultuous wars
Shall kin with kin, and kind with kind confound ;
Disorder, horror, fear, and mutiny.
Shall here inhabit, and this land be call'd
The field of Golgotha, and dead men's skulls.
O, if thou rear this house against this house,
It will the woefuUest division prove.
That ever fell upon this cursed earth :
Prevent, resist it, let it not be so.
Lest child, child's children, cry, against you — woe 1
North. Well have you argu'd, sir ; and, for your
pains.
Of capital treason we arrest you here :
My lord of Westminster, be it your charge
To keep him safely till his day of trial. —
May't please you, lords, to grant the commons' suit.
Boling. Fetch hither Richard,that in common view
He may surrender ; so we shall proceed
Without suspicion.
York. I will be his conduct. [Extt.
Boling. Lords, you that are here under our arrest.
Procure your sureties for your days of answer : —
Little are we beholden to your love, [ To Carlisle.
And little look'd for at your helping hands.
Re-enter York, with King Richard, and Officers
bearing the Crown, ^c.
jr. Rich. Alack, why am I sent for to a king.
Before I have shook off the regal thoughts
Wherewith I reign'd ? I hardly yet have leam'd
To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee : —
Give sorrow leave a while to tutor me
To this submission. Yet I well remember
The favours * of tliese men : Were tliey not mine ?
Did they not sometime cry, all hail ! to me ? —
To do what service am I sent for hitlier ?
York. To do that office, of thine own good will,
Which tired majesty did make thee offer,
The resignation of thy state and crown
To Henry Bolingbroke.
AT. Rich. Give me the crown : — Here, cousin,
seize the crown ;
< Countenances.
B b
370
KING RICHARD II.
Act IV. Scene I.
Here, on this side, my hand ; on that side, thine.
Now is this golden crown like a deep well,
That owes * two buckets filling one another;
The emptier ever dancing in the air,
The other down, unseen, and full of water :
That bucket down, and full of tears, am 1,
Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on liigh.
JBoling. I thought you had been willing to resign.
A". Bich. My crown, I am ; but still my griefs
are mine :
You may my glories and my state depose,
But not my grief; still am I king of those.
Holing. Part of your cares you give me with your
crown.
K. Rich* Your cares set up do not pluck my
cares down.
My care is — loss of care, by old care done ;
Your care is — gain of care, by new care won :
The cares I give, I have, though given away ;
They tend the crown, yet still with me they stay
Baling. Are you contented to resign the crown ?
IT. Rich. Ay, no; — no, ay; — For I must nothing
be;
Therefore no no, for I resign to thee.
Now mark me how I will undo myself: —
I give this heavy weight from off my head,
And this unwieldy scepter from my hand.
The pride of kingly sway from out my heart ;
With mine own tears 1 wash away my balm".
With mine own hands I give away my crown.
With mine own tongue deny my sacred state,
With mine own breath release all duteous- oaths :
All pomp and majesty I do forswear ;
My manors, rents, revenues, I forego ;
My acts, decrees, and statutes, I deny :
God pardon all oaths, that are broke to me !
God keep all vows unbroke, are made to thee !
Make me, that nothing have, with nothing griev'd ;
And thou with all pleas'd, that hast all achiev'd !
Long mayst thou live in Richard's seat to sit,
And soon lie Richard in an earthy pit ! —
God save king Henry, unking'd Richard says,
And send him many years of sunshine days ! —
What more remains ?
North. No more, but that you read
[Ofering a Paper.
These accusations, and these grievous crimes,
Committed by your person, and your followers.
Against the state and profit of this land ;
That, by confessing them, the souls of men
May deem that you are worthily depos'd.
JT. Rich. Must I do so? and must I ravel out
My weav'd up follies ? Gentle Northumberland,
If thy offences were upon record.
Would it not shame thee in so fair a troop,
To read a lecture of them ? If thou wouldst,
There shouldst thou find one heinous article, —
Containing the deposing of a king.
And cracking the strong warrant of an oath, —
Mark'd with a blot, mark'd in the book of heaven ; —
Nay, all of you, that stand and look upon me,
Whilst that my wretchedness doth bait myself, —
Though some of you are showing outward pity.
Have here deliver'd me to my sour cross.
And water cannot wash away your sin.
North. My lord, despatch : read o'er these ar-
ticles.
K. Rich. Mine eyes are full of tears, I cannot see :
And yet salt water blinds them not so much,
* Owns. 6 Oil of consecration.
But they can see a sort 7 of traitors here.
Nay, if I turn mine eyes upon myself,
I find myself a traitor with the rest ;
For I have given here my soul's consent,
To undeck the pompous body of a king ;
Make glory base ; and sovereignty, a slave ;
Proud majesty, a subject ; state, a peasant.
North. My lord,
iT. Rich. No lord of thine, thou haught, insult-
ing man.
Nor no man's lord ; I have no name, no title, —
No, not that name was given me at the font, —
But 'tis usurp'd : — Alack the heavy day,
That I have worn so many winters out.
And know not now what name to call myself !
O, that I were a mockery king of snow.
Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke,
To melt myself away in water-drops ! —
Good king, — great king, — (and yet not greatly
good,)
An if my word be sterling yet in England
Let it command a mirror hither straight ;
That it may show me what a face I have.
Since it is bankrupt of hi^ majesty.
Baling. Go, some of you, and fetch a looking-
glass. [Exit an Attendant.
North. Read o'er this paper, while the glass doth
come.
JT. Rich. Fiend ! thou torment'st me.
Baling. Urge it no more, my lord Northumberland,
North. The commons will not then be satisfied.
A". Rich. They shall be satisfied: I'll read enough,
When I do see the very book indeed
Where all my sins are writ, and that's myself. —
Re-enter Attendant, with a Glass.
Give me that glass, and therein will I read. —
No deeper wrinkles yet ? Hath sorrow struck
So many blows upon this face of mine.
And made no deeper wounds? — O, flattering glass,
Like to my followers in prosperity.
Thou dost beguile me ! Was this face the face.
That every day under his household roof
Did keep ten thousand men ? Was this the face.
That, like the sun, did make beholders wink ?
Was this the face, that fac'd so many follies.
And was at last out-fac'd by Bolingbroke ?
A brittle glory shineth in this face :
As brittle as the glory is the face ;
[Basheth the Glass against the ground.
For there it is, crack'd in a hundred shivers. —
Mark, silent king, the moral of this sport, —
How soon my sorrow hath destroy'd my face.
Baling. The shadow of your sorrow hath destroy'd
The shadow of your face.
IT. Rich. Say that again.
The shadow of my sorrow ? Ha ! let's see : —
'Tis very true, my grief lies all within ;
And these external manners of lament
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief.
That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul ;
There lies the substance : and I thank thee, king,
For thy great bounty, that not only giv'st
Me cause to wail, but teachest me the way
How to lament the cause. I'll beg one boon.
And then be gone, and trouble you no more.
Shall I obtain it ?
Boling. Name it, fair cousin.
K. Rich. Fair cousin ? Why, I am greater than
a king :
^ Pack.
I
Act V. Scene I.
KING RICHARD II.
I
For, when I was a king, my flatterers
Were then but subjects ; being now a subject,
I have a king here to my flatterer.
Being so great, I have no need to beg.
Boling. Yet ask.
K. Rich. And shall I have ?
Boling. You shall.
K. Rich. Then give me leave to go.
Boling. Whither?
K. Rich. Wliither you will, so I were from your
sights.
Boling, Go, some of you, convey him to the Tower.
K. Rich. O, good ! Convey ? — Conveyers 8 are
you all,
That rise tlius nimbly by a true king's fall.
[Exeunt Kino Richard, some Lords, and
a Guard.
371
Doling. On Wednesday next, we solemnly set down
Our coronation : lords, prepare yourselves.
[Exeunt all but the Abbot, Bishop ok
Carlisle, and Aosierlk.
j4bbot. A woeful pageant have we here beheld.
Car. The woe's to come ; the children yet unborn
Shall feel this day as sharp to them as thorn.
Aitm. You holy clergymen, is there no plot
To rid the realm of this pernicious blot ?
Abbot. Before I freely speak my mind herein,
You shall not only take the sacrament
To bury mine intents, but to effect
Whatever I shall happen to devise :
I see your brows are full of discontent,
Your hearts of sorrow, and your eyes of tears ;
Come home with me to supper ; I will lay
A plot, shall show us all a merry day. ^ [Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I.— London. A Street leading to the Tower.
Enter Queen, and Ladies.
Queen. This way the king will come; this is the way
To Julius Caesar's ill-erected tower 9,
To whose flint bosom my condemned lord
Is doom'd a prisoner, by proud Bolingbroke :
Here let us rest, if this rebellious earth
Have any resting for her true king's queen.
Enter King Richard, and Guards.
But soft, but see, or rather do not see.
My fair rose wither : Yet look up ; behold ;
That you in pity may dissolve to dew.
And wash him fresh again with true-love tears.
Ah, thou, the model where old Troy did stand ;
Thou map of honour; thou king Richard's tomb.
And not king Richard ; thou most beauteous inn.
Why should hard-favour'd grief be lodg'd in thee,
When triumph is become an ale-house guest ?
K. Rich. Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so.
To make my end too sudden : learn, good soul,
To think our former state a happy dream ;
From which awak'd, the truth of what we are
Shows us but this : I am sworn brother, sweet,
To grim necessity ; and he and I
Will keep a league till death. Hie tliee to France,
And cloister thee in some religious house :
Our holy lives must win a new worid's crown.
Which our profane hours here have stricken down.
Queen. What, is my Richard both in shape and
mind
Transform'd, and weaken'd? Hath Bolingbroke
Depos'd thine intellect? hath he been in thy heart ?
Tlie lion, dying, thrusteth forth his paw,
And wounds the earth, if nothing else, with rage^
To be o'en)ower'd ; and wilt thou, pupil-like,
TaKe thy correction mildly ? kiss the rod.
And fawn on rage with base humility,
Which art a lion, and a king of beasts?
K. Rich. A king of beasts, indeed ! if aught but
beasts,
I had been still a happy king of men.
Good sometime queen, prepare thee hence for
France :
Jugglers, also robbers.
• Tower of London.
Think, I am dead ; and that even here thou tak'st,
As from my death-bed, my last living leave.
In winter's tedious nights, sit by the fire.
With good old folks ; and let them tell thee tales
Of woeful ages, long ago betid :
And, ere thou bid good night, to quit ' their grief.
Tell thou the lamentable fall of me.
And send the hearers weeping to their beds.
For why, the senseless brands will sympathize
The heavy accent of thy moving tongue.
And, in compassion, weep tlie fire out:
And some will mourn in ashes, some coal-black.
For the deposing of a rightful king.
Enter Northumberland, attended.
North. My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is
chang'd ;
You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower
And, madam, there is order ta'en for you ;
With all swift speed you must away to France.
K. Rich. Northumberland, thou ladder where-
witlial
The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne, —
The time shall not be many hours of age
More than it is, ere foul sin, gathering head.
Shall break into corruption : thou shalt think.
Though he divide the realm, and give thee half.
It is too little, helping him to all ;
And he shall think, that thou, which know'st the way
To plant unrightful kings, wilt know again.
Being ne'er so little urg'd, auotiier way
To pluck him headlong from tlie usurped throne.
The love of wicked friends converts to fear ;
That fear, to hate ; and hate turns one, or both,
To worthy danger, and deserved death.
North. My guilt be on my head, and there an end.
Take leave, and part ; for you must part forthwith.
K. Rich. Doubly divorc'd ? — Bad men, ye violatt^
A two-fold marriage ; 'twixt my crow n and me ;
And then, betwixt me and my marrieil wife. —
Let me unkiss tlie oath 'twixt thee and me ;
And yet not so, for with a kiss 'twas made. —
Part us, Northumberland ; I towards the north,
Where shivering cold and sickness pines the clime ;
My wife to France ; from whence, set forth in pomp,
' Requite, repay.
Bb 2
S72
KING RICHARD II.
Act V.
She came adorned hither like sweet May,
Sent back like Hallowmas *, or short'st of day.
Queen. And must we be divided ? must we part ?
K. Rich. Ay, hand from hand, my love, and heart
from heart.
Queen. Banish us both, and send the king with me.
- North. That were some love, but little policy.
Queen. Then whither he goes, thither let me go.
IT. Rich. So two, together weeping, make one woe.
Weep thou for me in France, 1 for thee here ;
Better far off, than — near, be ne'er the near'.
Go, count thy way with sighs ; I, mine with groans.
Queen. So longest way shall have the longest
moans.
jr. Rick. Twice for one step I'll groan, the way
being short.
And piece the way out with a heavy heart.
Come, come, in wooing sorrow, let's be brief.
Since, wedding it, there is such length in grief.
One kiss shall stop our mouths, and dumbly part ;
Thus give I mine, and thus I take thy heart.
[Thei/ kiss.
Queen. Give me mine own again ; 'twere no good
part,
To take on me to keep and kill thy heart.
[ITiss again.
So, now I have mine own again, begone,
That I may strive to kill it with a groan.
IT. Rich. We make woe wanton with this fond
delay :
Once more adQeu ; the rest let sorrow say.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II. — The same. A Room in the Duke
of York's Palace.
Enter York, and his Duchess.
Duch. My lord, you told me, you would tell the
rest,
When weeping made you break the story off.
Of our two cousins coming into London.
York. Where did I leave ?
Duch. At that sad stop, my lord.
Where rude misgovern'd hands, from windows' tops.
Threw dust and rubbish on king Richard's head.
York. Then, as I said, the duke, great Boling-
broke, —
Mounted upon a- hot and fiery steed.
Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know^ —
With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course,
While all tongues cried — God save tliee, Boling-
broke !
You would have thought the very windows spake.
So many greedy looks of young and old
Through casements darted their desiring eyes
Upon his visage ; and that all the walls.
With painted imag'ry, had said at once, —
Jesu preserve thee ! welcome, Bolingbroke :
Whilst he, from one side to the other turning,
Bareheaded, lower than his proud steed's neck,
Bespake them thus, — I thank you, countrjrmen ;
And thus still doing, thus he pass'd along.
Duch. Alas, poor Richard ! where rides he the
while?
York. As, in a theatre, the eyes of men.
After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next.
Thinking his prattle to be tedious :
Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes
Did scowl on Richard ; no man cried, God save him !
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home :
2 Allhallows, i. e. All-saints, Nov. 1.
But dust was thrown upon his sacred head ;
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, —
His face still combating with tears and smiles,
The badges of his grief and patience, —
That, had not God, for some strong purpose, steel'd
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
And barbarism itself have pitied him.
But heaven hath a hand in these events ;
To whose high will we bound our calm contents.
To Bolingbroke are we sworn subjects now,
Whose state and honour I for aye allow.
Enter Aumerle.
Duch. Here comes my son Aumerle.
York. Aumerle that was ;
But that is lost, for being Richard's friend.
And, madam, you must call him Rutland now :
I am in parliament pledge for his truth.
And lasting fealty to the new-made king.
Duch. Welcome, my son : Who are the violets now,
That strew the green lap of the new-come spring ?
Aum. Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not:
Heaven knows, I had as lief be none, as one.
York. Well, bear you well in this new spring of
time.
Lest you be cropp'd before you come to prime.
What news from Oxford ? hold those justs 3 and
triumphs ?
Aum. For aught I know, my lord, they do.
York. You wUl be there, I know.
Aum. I purpose so.
York. What seal is that, that hangs without thy
bosom ?
Yea, look'st thou pale? let me see the writing.
Aum. My lord, 'tis nothing.
York. No matter then who sees it :
I will be satisfied, let me see the writing.
Aum. I do beseech your grace to pardon me ;
It is a matter of small consequence.
Which for some reasons I would not have seen.
York. Which for some reasons, sir, I mean to see.
I fear, I fear,
Duch. What should you fear ?
'Tis nothing but some bond that he is enter'd into
For gay apparel, 'gainst the triumph day.
York. Bound to himself? what doth he with a bond
That he is bound to ? Wife, thou art a fool. —
Boy, let mie see the writing.
Aum. I do beseech you, pardon me ; I may not
show it.
York. I will be satisfied; let me see it, I say.
[Snatches it, and reads.
Treason ! foul treason ! villain ! traitor ! slave !
Duch. What is the matter, my lord ?
York. Ho ! who is within there ? [ Enter a Servant.
Saddle my horse.
Heaven for his mercy ! what treachery is here !
Duch. Why, what is it, my lord ?
York. Give me my boots, I say ; saddle my
horse :
Now by mine honour, by my life, my troth,
I will appeach the villain. [Exit Servant.
Duch. What's the matter?
York. Peace, foolish woman.
Duch. I will not peace : — What is the matter,
son?
Aum. Good mother, be content ; it is no more
Than my poor life must answer.
Duch. Thy life answer ?
3 Tilts and tournaments.
Scene III.
KING RICHARD II.
373
Jte-enlcr Servant, with Boots.
York. Bring me my boots, I will unto the king.
Duch. Strike him, Aumcrle. — Poor boy, thou
art amaz'd :
Hence, villain ; never more come in my sight. —
[ To the Sei-varU.
York. Give me my boots, I say.
Duch. Why, York, what wilt thou do ?
Wilt thou not hide the trespass of thine own ?
Have we more sons ? or are we like to have ?
And wilt thou pluck my fair son from mine age,
And rob me of a happy mother's name?
Is he not like thee ? is he not tliine own ?
York. Thou fond mad woman,
Wilt thou conceal this dark conspiracy ?
A dozen of them here have ta'en the sacrament,
And interchangeably set down their hands.
To kill the king at Oxford.
I^uch. He shall be none ;
We'll keep him here : Then what is that to him ?
York. Away,
Fond woman ! were he twenty times my son,
I would appeach him.
Duch. Hadst thou groan'd for him.
As I have done, thou'dst be more pitiful.
York. Make way, unruly woman. \^Exit.
Duch. After, Aumerle ; mount thee uponhishorse;
Spur, post ; and get before him to tlje king.
And beg thy pardon ere he do accuse thee.
I'll not belong behind; though I be old,
I doubt not but to ride as fast as York :
And never will I rise up from the ground.
Till Bolingbroke have pardon'd tliee : Away :
I^egone. [Exeunt.
SCENE III. — Windsor. A Roo7n in the Castle.
Enter Bolingbroke, as ITing ; PERcy, and other
Lords.
Holing. Can no man tell of my unthrifty son ?
'Tis full three months since I did see him last :
If any plague hang over us, 'tis he.
T would to heaven, my lords, he might be found :
Inquire at London, 'mongst the taverns there,
For there, they say, he daily doth frequent,
With unrestrained loose companions ;
Even such, they say, as stand in narrow lanes.
And beat our watch, and rob our passengers ;
While he, young, wanton, and effeminate boy.
Takes on the point of honour, to support
So dissolute a crew.
Percy. My lord, some two days since I saw the
prince ;
And told him of these triumphs held at Oxford.
Baling. And what said the gallant ?
Percy. His answer was, — he would unto the
stews ;
And from the common'st creature pluck a glove,
And wear it as a favour ; and with that
He would unhorse the lustiest challenger.
Boling. As dissolute, as desperate ! yet through
both
I see some sparkles of a better hope.
Which elder days may happily bring forth.
But who comes here ?
Enter Aumerlk hastily.
Aum. Where is the king ?
Boling. What means
Our cousin, tliat he stares and looks so wildly ?
^uni. God save your grace. I do beseech your
majesty,
To have some conference with your grace alone.
Baling. Witlidraw yourselves, and leave us here
alone [Exeunt Percy and Lards.
What is the matter with our cousin now ?
Aum. For ever may my knees grow to the earth,
[A^?ieels.
My tongue cleave to my roof within my mouth.
Unless a pardon, ere I rise, or speak.
Boling. Intended, or committed, was this fault?
If but the first, how heinous e'er it be.
To win thy after-love, I pardon thee.
Aum. Then give me leave that I may turn the key.
That no man enter till my tale be done.
Boling. Have thy desire.
[Aumerle locks the door.
York. [IFi/hin.] My liege, beware; look to thy-
self;
Thou hast a traitor in thy presence there.
Boling. Villain, I'll make thee safe. [Drawing.
Aum. Stay thy revengeful hand ;
Thou hast no cause to fear.
York. [Within.] Open the door, secure, fool-
hardy king :
Shall I, for love, speak treason in thy face ?
Open the door, or I will break it open.
[Bolingbroke opens the door.
Enter York.
Boling. What is the matter, uncle ? speak ?
Recover breath ; tell us how near is danger,
That we may arm us to encounter it.
York. Peruse this writing here, and thou sbalt
know
The treason that my haste forbids me show.
Aum. Remember, as thou rcad'st, thy promise past:
I do repent me ; read not my name Uiere,
My heart is not confederate with my hand.
York. 'Twas, villain, ere thy hand did set it
down. —
I tore it from the traitor's bosom, king :
Fear, and not love, begets his penitence :
Forget to pity him, lest thy pity prove
A serpent that will sting thee to the heart.
Boling. O heinous, strong, and bold conspiracy ! —
O loyal father of a treacherous son !
Thou sheer ^ immaculate, and silver fountain,
From whence this stream through muddy passages,
Hath held his current, and defil'd himself !
Thy overflow of good converts to bad ;
And thy abundant goodness shall excuse
This deadly plot in thy digressing son.
York. So shall he spend mine honour with his
shame.
As thriftless sons their scraping fathers' gold.
Mine honour lives when his dishonour dies,
Or my sham'd life in his dishonour lies ;
Thou kill'st me in his life ; giving him breatli,
The traitor lives, tlie true man's put to death.
Duch. [mthiTi.] What ho, my liege ! for Hea-
ven's sake let me in.
Boling. What shrill-voic'd suppliant makes this
eager cry ?
Duch. A M'oman,and lliine aunt, great king ; tis I.
Speak with me, pity me, open the door ;
A beggar begs, tliat never begg'd before^
Boling. My dangerous cousin, let your mother in ;
I know she's come to pray for your foul sin.
* Transparent
Bb 3
374.
KING RICHARD II.
Act V.
York. If thou do pardon, whosoever pray.
More sins, for this forgiveness, prosper may.
This fester'd joint cut off, the rest rests sound ;
This, let alone, will all the rest confound.
Enter Duchess.
Duch' O king, believe not this hard-hearted man.
York. Thou frantick woman, what dost thou make
here?
Duch. Sweet York, be patient : Hear me, gentle
liege. [A'heels.
Baling. Rise up, good aunt.
Duch. Not yet, I thee beseech :
For ever will I kneel upon my knees,
And never see day that the happy sees,
Till thou give joy ; until thou bid me joy.
By pardoning Rutland, my transgressing boy.
Aum- Unto my mother's prayers, I bend my knee.
l^Kneels.
York. Against them both, my true joints bended
be. \_Kneels.
Ill mayst thou thrive, if thou grant any grace !
Duch. Pleads he in earnest ? look upon his face ;
His eyes do drop no tears, his prayers are in jest ;
His words come from his mouth, ours from our
breast :
He prays but faintly, and would be denied ;
We pray with heart, and soul, and all beside :
His weary joints would gladly rise, I know ;
Our knees shall kneel till to the ground they grow:
His prayers are full of false hypocrisy ;
Ours, of true zeal and deep integrity.
Our prayers do out-pray his ; then let them have
That mercy which true prayers ought to have.
Baling. Good aunt, stand up.
Duch. Nay, do not say — stand up ;
But, pardon, first ; and afterwards stand up.
And if I were thy nurse, thy tongue to teach.
Pardon — should be the first word of thy speech.
I never long'd to hear a word till now ;
Say — pardon, king ; let pity teach thee how :
The word is short, but not so short as sweet ;
No word like, pardon, for kings' mouths so meet. —
Thine eye begins to speak, set thy tongue there :
Or, in thy piteous heart plant thou thine ear ;
That, hearing how our plaints and prayers do pierce,
Pity may move thee, pardon to rehearse.
Baling. Good aunt, stand up.
Dnch. I do not sue to stand.
Pardon is all the suit I have in hand.
Boling. I pardon him, as God shall pardon me.
Duch. O happy vantage of a kneeling knee !
Yet am I sick for fear : speak it again ;
Twice saying pardon, doth not pardon twain,
But makes one pardon strong.
Boling. With all my heart
I pardon him.
Duch. A god on earth thou art.
Boling. But for our trusty brother-in-law, — and
the abbot.
With all the rest of that consorted crew, —
Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels. —
Good uncle help to order several powers
To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are :
They shall not live within this world, I swear.
But I will have them, if I once know where.
Uncle, farewell, — and cousin, too, adieu :
Your mother well hath pray'd, and prove you true.
Duch. Come, my old son ; — I pray heaven make
thee new. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Enter Exton a7id a Servant.
Exton. Didst thou not mark the king, what words
he spake ?
Have I no friend will rid me of this living fear 9
Was it not so ?
Sew. Those were his very words.
Exton. Have I no friend? quoth he: he spake ■
it twice, Jl
And urg'd it twice together ; did he not ?
Serv. He did.
Exton. And, speaking it, he wistfully look'd on me;
As who should say, — I would, thou wert the man
That would divorce this terror from my heart ;
Meaning, the king at Pomfret. Come, let's go ;
I am the king's friend, and will rid his foe. [Exeunt.
SCENE V. — Pomfret. The Castle.
Enter King Richard.
JC. Rich. I have been studying how I may compare
This prison, where I live, unto the world :
And, for because the world is populous.
And here is not a creature but myself,
I cannot do it ; — Yet I'll hammer it out.
My brain I'll prove the female to my soul ;
My soul, the father : and these two beget
A generation of still-breeding thoughts.
And these same thoughts people this little world ;
In humours, like the people of this world ;
For no thought is contented. The better sort, —
As thoughts of things divine, — are intermix'd
With scruples, and do set the word itself
Against the word :
Thoughts tending to ambition, they do plot
Unlikely wonders : how these vain weak nails
May tear a passage through the flinty ribs
Of this hard world, my ragged prison walls j
And, for they cannot, die in their own pride.
Thoughts tending to content, flatter themselves, —
That they are not the first of fortune's slaves.
Nor shall not be the last ; like silly beggars,
Who, sitting in the stocks, refuge their shame,
That many have, and others must sit there :
And in this thought they find a kind of ease,
Bearing their own misfortune on the back
Of such as have before endur'd the like.
Thus play I, in one person, many people,
And none contented : Sometimes am I king ;
Then treason makes me wish myself a beggar ;
And so I am : Then crushing penury
Persuades me I was better when a king ;
Then am I king'd again : and, by-and-by.
Think that I am unking'd by Bolingbroke,
And straight am nothing: — but whate'er I am,
Nor I, nor any man, but that but man is.
With nothing shall be pleas'd till he be eas'd
With being nothing. — Musick do I hear ? [Musick.
Ha, ha ! keep time : — How sour sweet musick isy
When time is broke, and no proportion kept !
So is it in the musick of men's lives.
And here have I the daintiness of ear.
To check time broke in a disorder'd string ;
But, for the concord of my state and time,
Had not an ear to hear my true time broke.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me.
For now hath time made me his numb'ring clock :
My thoughts are minutes ; and, with sighs, they jar
Their watches on unto mine eyes, the outward
watch,
I
Scene V.
KING RICHARD II.
375
)
Wliereto my finger, like a dial's point,
Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears.
Now, sir, the sounds that tell what hour it is,
Are clamorous groans, tliat strike upon my heart,
Which is the bell : So sighs, and tears, and groans,
Show minutes, times, and hours : — but my time
Runs posting on in Bolingbroke's proud joy.
This musick mads me, let it sound no more ;
For, though it have holpe madmen to their wits.
In me, it seems it will make wise men mad.
Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me !
For 'tis a sign of love ; and love to Richard
Is a strange brooch in this all-hating world.
Enter Groom.
Groom. Hail, royal prince !
K. Rich. Wlmt art thou ? and how comest thou
hither,
Where no man never comes, but that sad dog
That brings me food, to make misfortune live ?
Groom. I was a poor groom of thy stable, king,
When thou wert king ; who, travelling towards York,
With much ado, at length have gotten leave
To look upon my sometime master's face.
O, how it yeam'd my heart, when I beheld.
In London streets, that coronation day,
When liolingbroke rode on roan Barbary !
Tliat horse, that thou so often hast bestrid ;
That horse, that I so carefully have dress'd !
A". Bich. Rode he on Barbary ? Tell me, gentle
friend,
How went he under him ?
Groom . So proudly, as if he disdain'd the ground.
K. Rich. So proud that Bolingbroke was on his
back !
That jade hath cat bread from my royal hand ;
This hand hath made him proud with clapping him.
Would he not stumble ? Would he not fall down,
(Since pride must have a fall,) and break the neck
Of that proud man that did usurp his back ?
Forgiveness, horse ! why do I rail on thee,
Since thou, created to be aw'd by man,
Wast bom to bear ? I was not made a horse ;
And yet I bear a burden like an ass,
Spur-gall'd, and tir'd, by jauncing Bolingbroke.
Enter Keeper, with a Dish.
Keep. Fellow, give place ; here is no longer stay.
[To the Groom.
K. Rich. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert
away.
Groom. What my tongue dares not, that my heart
shall say. [^Exit.
Keep. My lord, will't please you to fall to ?
K. Rich. Taste of it first, as thou art wont to do.
Keep. My lord, I dare not ; sir Pierce of Exton,
who -.
Lately came from the king, commands the contrary.
K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and
thee!
Patience is stale, and I am weary of it.
[Beats the Keeper.
Keep. Help, help, help !
Enter Exton, and Servants armed.
K. Rich. How now ? what means death in this
rude assault?
Villain, thy own hand yields thy deatli's instru-
ment. [Snatching a weapon, and killing <me.
Go thou, and fill anoUier room in hell.
[He kills anothevt then Exton strikes him down.
That hand shall burn in never-quenching fire,
Tiiat staggers thus my person. — Exton, thy fierce
hand
Hath with the king's blood stain'd the king's own
land.
Mount, mount, my soul ! thy seat is up on high ;
Whilst my gross flesh sinks downwaid, here to die.
[Dies.
Exton. As fidl of valour, as of royal blood :
Both have I spilt ; O, would the deed were good !
For now the devil, that told me — I did well,
Says that this deed is chronicled in hell.
Tills dead king to the living king I'll bear ; —
Take hence the rest, and give them burial here.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI. — Windsor. A Room in the Castle.
Flourish. Enter Bolingbroke, and York, mth
Lords, and Attendants.
Holing. Kind uncle York, the latest news we hear
Is — that the rebels have consum'd with fire
Our town of Cicester in Glostershire ;
But whether they be ta'en, or slain, we hear not.
Enter Northumberland.
Welcome, my lord : What is the news ?
North. First, to thy sacred state wish I all hap-
piness.
The next news is, — I have to London sent
The heads of Salisliury, Spencer, Blunt, and Kent :
Tlie manner of their taking may appear
At large discoursed in tliis paper here.
[Presenting a paper.
Boling. We thank thee, gentle Percy, for thy
pains ;
And to thy worth will add right worthy gains.
Enter Fitzwater.
Fitz. My lord, I have from Oxford sent to London
The heads of Brocas, and sir Bennet Seely j
Two of the dangerous consorted traitors,
ITiat sought at Oxford thy dire overthrow.
Boling. Thy pains, Fitzwater, shall not be forgot ;
Right noble is thy merit, well I wot.
Enter Percy, with the Bishop op Carlisle.
Percy. 'ITie grand conspirator, abbot of West-
minster,
With clog of conscience, and sour melancholy.
Hath yielded up his body to the grave ;
But here is Carlisle living to abide
Thy kingly doom, and sentence of his pride.
Boling. Carlisle, this is your doom : —
Choose out some secret place, some reverend room,
More than thou hast, and with it joy tliy life;
So, as thou liv'st in peace, die free from strife :
For though mine enemy tliou hast ever been,
High sparks of honour in thee have I seen.
Enter Exton, with Attendants bearing a Cqffin.
Exton. Great king, within this coflSn I present
Thy buried fear : herein all breathless lies
The mightiest of thy greatest enemies,
Richard of Bourdeaux, by me hither brought.
Boling. Exton, I thank tliee not ; for tliou hast
wrought
A deed of slander, with thy fatal hand,
Upon my head, and all tliis famous land.
Bb 4
;76
KING RICHARD II.
Act V.
Exlon. From your own mouth, my lord, did I
this deed.
Holing. They love not poison tliat do poison need,
Nor do I thee ; though I did wish him dead,
I hate the murderer, love him murdered.
TJie guilt of conscience take thou for thy labour,
But neither my good word, nor princely favour :
With Cain go wander through the shade of night.
And never show thy head by day nor light.
Lords, I protest my soul is full of woe,
That blood should sprinkle me, to make me grow :
Come, mourn with me for what I do lament.
And put on sullen black incontinent ^ ;
I'll make a voyage to the Holy Land,
To wash this blood otF ft-om my guilty hand : —
March sadly after ; grace my mournings here,
In weeping after this untimely bier. [Exeuiit.
» Immediately.
1^
FIRST PART OF
KING HENRY IV.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
Friends to the Kins.
King Henry the Fourth.
Henry, Prince of Wales, "1 „ t ft IT
Prince John of Lancaster, J ^^* ^ * "'"'
Earl op Westmoreland, "1
Sir Walter Blunt, J
Thomas Percy, Earl of Worcester.
Henry Percv, Earl of Northumberland.
Henry Percy, sumamed Hotspur, his Son>
Edward Mortimer, Earl o/* March.
Scroop, Archbishop of Y«»rk.
Archibald, Earl of Pjuglas.
Owen Glendower.
Sir Richard Vernon.
Sir John Falstaff
Poins.
Gadshill.
Peto. Bardolph.
Lady Percy, Wife to Hotspur, and Sister to Mor-
timer.
Lady Mortimer, Daughter to Glendower, and
Wife to Mortimer.
Mrs. Quickly, Hostess of a Tavern in Eastcheap.
Lords, Officers, Sheriff", Vintner, Chamberlain,
Drawers, two Carriers, Travellers, and Attendants,
SCENE, England.
n
DOWN WITH 'JHITM ; lI/EtCB iUiM.
FIRST PART OP
KING HENRY IV.
PREFACE OF THE EDITOR TO THE TWO PARTS OF HENRY IV.
My late excellent friend, Mrs. Montagu, in her
Essay on the Writings and Genius of Shakspeare,
has paid particular attention to Henry the I Vth. In
this, as in every part of her work, good principles,
judicious argument, and refined taste, appear in all
her observations ; but I confine myself to the more
immediate objects of the present publication, —
purity, and decency of expression.
Every person must be sensible, that of all the
historical plays, the Two Parts of Henry the I Vth
are the most difficult to render fit for family reading.
To clear them of all indecent, and indelicate expres-
sions, without destroying the wit and spirit of Fal-
stafF, and without injuring the narrative, is indeed
an arduous undertaking ; but I hope I may remove
many objectionable passages, though I may not be
able to render the work perfect. " Est quadam pro-
dire tenus, St non datur ultra. " Feeling the difficulty
of the task, I take as a guide the following extract
from the just observations of my deceased friend : —
" There are delicacies of decorum in one j^e un-
known to another age : but whatever is immoral, is
equally blameable in all ages ; and every approach
to obscenity, is an olFence, for which wit cannot
atone, nor the barbarism or the corruption of the
times afford an excuse. Mine hostess Quickly is of
a species not extinct. It may be said, the author
there sinks from comedy to farce ; but she helps to
complete the character of FalstafT, and some of the
dialogues in which she is engaged are diverting.
Every scene in which Doll Tearsheet appears, is
indecent ; and therefore not only indefensible, but
inexcusable."
After the foregoing quotation, my readers will
not be surprised, if the name of the last-mentioned
person is not to be found in the following plays.
j I hope that all obscenity is equally banished from
! them. I wish it were in my power in like manner
to exclude every expression which approaches to
vulgarity or indelicacy ; but this I fear, cannot be
done, unless the whole of those scenes are oinitted
in which any of the comic characters appear. The
present publication may possibly be censured by
two classes of readers, of very different sentiments.
Those persons who are unwilling to be deprived of
any part of the wit of Falstaff (whatever may be the
expense of retaining it) will perhaps be displeased
at the omission of the evening scene between him
and Doll Tearsheet, a^d their followers. To them
I reply, that consistently with the design of the
present edition of Shakspeare, the omission was
unavoidable ; but I regret it the less, because, as was
suggested in my preface, those readers can gratify
their taste by having recourse to former editions of
the Second Part of Henry the I Vth.
Other persons may possibly complain that there
still remain in this work some expressions which
are not consistent with that perfect delicacy of
sentiment, with which it were desirable that every
publication should be conducted. To this objec-
tion I fear that I can give no answer that will be
quite satisfactory. I can only say, that I have
endeavoured to render tlie speeches of Falstaff and
his companions a? correct as they could be ren-
dered, without losing sight of their characters and
dispositions. Those persons who still object to
their language, cannot I Ixjlieve do better, than
confine their reading to tlie serious parts of the
three following plays, which possess such merit, as
can hardly be equalled in any other dramatic poi't,
and is seldom exceeded by our own inunortal bard.
378
FIRST PART OF
Act I.
ACT I.
SCENE I. — Londc
.4 Room in the Palace.
Enter King Henry, Westm^kkland, Siii Walter
Blunt, and others.
K. Hen. So shaken as we are, so wan with care,
Find we a time for frighted peace to pant,
And breathe short-winded accents of new broils
To be commenc'd in stronds' afar remote.
No more the thirsty Erinnys' of this soil
Shall daub her lips with her own children's blood ;
No more shall trenching war channel her fields.
Nor bruise her flowrets with the armed hoofs
Of hostile paces ; those opposed eyes,
Which, — like the meteors of a troubled heaven,
All of one nature, of one substance bred,
Did lately meet in the intestine shock
And furious close of civil butchery,
Shall now, in mutual, well-beseeming ranks,
March all one way ; and be no more oppos'd
Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies :
The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife.
No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends,
As far as to the sepulchre of Christ,
( Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross
We are impressed and engag'd to fight,)
Forthwith a power of English shall we levy ;
Whose arms were moulded in their mothers' womb
To chase these pagans, in those holy fields.
Over whose acres walk'd those blessed feet,
"Which, fourteen hundred years ago, were nail'd
For our advantage, on the bitter cross.
But this our purpose is a, twelvemonth old.
And bootless 'tis to tell you — we will go ;
Therefore we meet not now : — Then let me hear
Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland,
"What yesternight our council did decree
In forwarding this dear expedience. 3
West. My liege, this haste was hot in question,
And many limits ^ of the charge set down
But yesternight : when, all athwart, there came
A post from Wales, loaden with heavy news ;
Whose worst was, — that the noble Mortimer,
Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight
Against the irregular and wild Glendower,
Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken.
And a thousand of his people butchered.
iT. Hen. It seems, then, that the tidings of this
broil
Brake off our business for the Holy Land.
West. This, match'd with other, did, my gracious
lord;
For more uneven and unwelcome news
Came from the north, and thus it did import.
On Holy-rood day ^, the gallant Hotspur there.
Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald,
That ever-valiant and approved Scot,
At Holmedon met.
Where they did spend a sad and bloody hour ;
As by discharge of their artillery,
And shape of likelihood, the news was told ;
For he that brought them, in the very heat
And pride of their contention did take horse.
Uncertain of the issue any way.
' Strands, banks of the sea. 2 The furv of discord.
» Expedition. •♦ Estimates. •"* September U.
K. Hen. Here is a dear and true industrious friend,
Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse,
Stain'd with the variation of each soil
Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours ;
And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news.
The earl of Douglas is discomfited ;
Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty knights,
Balk'd 6 in their own blood, did sir Walter see
On Holmedon's plains : Of prisoners, Hotspur took
Mordake the earl of Fife, and eldest son
To beaten Douglas ; and the earls of Athol,
Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith.
And is not this an honourable spoil ?
A gallant prize? ha, cousin, is it not?
West. It is a conquest for a prince to boast of.
K. Hen. Yea, there thou mak'st me sad, and
mak'st me sin
In envy that my lord Northumberland
Should be the father of so blest a son ;
A son, who is the theme of honour's tongue ;
Amongst a grove, the very straightest plant ;
Who is sweet fortune's minion, and her pride :
Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him.
See riot and dishonour stain the brow
Of my young Harry. O, that it could be prov'd,
That some night-tripping fairy had exchang'd
In cradle-clothes our children where they lay.
And call'd mine — Percy, his — Plantagenet !
Then would I have his Harry, and he mine.
But let him from my thoughts : — What think you,
coz'.
Of this young Percy's pride ? the prisoners.
Which he in this adventure hath surpriz'd,
To his own use he keeps : and sends me word,
I shall have none but Mordake earl of Fife.
West. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Wor-
cester, (
Malevolent to you in all aspects ; 1
Which makes him prune 7 himself, and bristle up i
The crest of youth against your dignity.
JC. Hen. But I have sent for him to answer this ;
And, for this cause, a while we must neglect
Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.
Cousin, on Wednesday next our council we
Will hold at Windsor, so inform the lords :
But come yourself with speed to us again ;
For more is to be said, and to be done.
Than out of anger can be utter'd.
West. I will, my liege. {Exeunt,^
SCENE II Another Room in the Palace.
Enter Henrt Prince o/" Wales, and Falstaff.
F(d. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad ?
P. Hen. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of
old sack, and sleeping upon benches after noon,
that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which
thou wouldst truly know. What hast thou to do
with the time of the day ? unless hours were cups
of sack, and minutes capons, I see no reason, why
thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand the time
of the day.
Fal. Indeed, you come near me, now, Hal : for
6 Piled up in a heap.
' Trim, as birds clean their feathers.
fl
Scene II.
KING HENRY IV.
379
we that take purses, go by the moon and seven
stars ; and not by Phoebus, — he, that wandering
knight so fair* And, I pray thee, sweet wag, when
thou art king, — as, save thy grace, (majesty, I
should say j for grace thou wilt have none,)
P. Hen. What, none ?
Fal. No, by my troth ; not so much as will serve
to be prologue to an egg and butter.
P. Hen. Well, how tlien ? come, roundly,
roundly.
Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when tliou art
king, let not us, that are squires of the night's body,
be called thieves of tlie day's beauty ; let us be —
Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions
of the moon : And let men say, we be men of good
government : being governed as the sea is, by our
noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose
countenance we — steal.
P. Hen. Thou say'st well ; and it holds well too :
for the fortune of us, that are the moon's men,
doth ebb and flow like the sea ; being governed as
the sea is, by the moon. As, for proof, now : A
purse of gold most resolutely snatched on Monday
night, and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morn-
ing ; got with swearing — lay by 8 ; and spent with
crying — bring in 9 : now, in as low an ebb as the
foot of the ladder ; and, by and by, in as high a
flow as the ridge of the gallows.
Fal' Thou say'st true, lad. And is not my
hostess of the tavern a most sweet girl ?
P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of
the castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet
robe of durance ? '
Fal. How now, how now, mad wag ? what, in
thy quips, and thy quiddities? what have I to do
with a buff jerkin?
P. Hen. Why, what have I to do with my hostess
of the tavern ?
Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning,
many a time and oft.
P. Hen. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part?
Fal. No ; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid
all there.
P. Hen. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin
would stretch ; and, where it would not, I have used
my credit.
Fal. Yea, and so used it, that were it not here
apparent that thou art heir apparent, — But, I pr'y-
thee, sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in
England when thou art king ? and resolution thus
fobbed as it is, with the rusty curb of old father
antick the law ? Do not thou, when thou art king,
hang a thief.
p. Hen. No ; thou shalt.
Fed. Shall I ? O rare ! I'll be a brave judge,
P. Hen. Thou judgest false already ; I mean,
thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so
become a rare hangman.
Fal. Well, Hal, well ; and in some sort it jumps
with my humour, as well as waiting in the court, I
can tell you.
P. Hen. For obtaining of suits ?
Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits: whereof the
hangman hath no lean wardrobe. I am as melan-
choly as a lujTged bear.
P. Hen. Or an old lion ; or a lover's lute.
Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnsliire bag-
pipe.'
• SUnd «un.
» I1ie dress of sheri A' officer*.
» More wine.
* Croak of a frog.
P. Hen. What say est thou to a hare, or the
melancholy of Moor-ditch ?
Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes ; and
art, indeed, the most comparative, rascalliest, —
sweet young prince, — But, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble
me no more with vanity. I wish thou and I knew
where a commodity of good names were to be
bought : An old lord of the council rated me the
other day in the street about you, sir ; but I marked
him not : and yet he talked very wisely ; but 1 re-
garded him not : and yet he talked wisely, and in
the street too.
P. Hen. Thou didst well ; for wisdom cries out
in the streets, and no man regards it.
Fal. O thou art, indeed, able to corrupt a saint.
Thou hast do.ne much harm upon me, Hal, —
Heaven forgive thee for it! Before I knew thee,
Hal, I knew nothing ; and now am I, if a man
should speak truly, little better than one of the
wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give
it over ; an I do not, I am a villain.
P. He7i. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow.
Jack?
Fal. Where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one ; an I
do not, call me villain, and baffle ^'' me.
P. Hen. I see a good amendment of life in thee ;
from praying, to purse-taking.
Enter Poins, at a distance..
Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal ; 'tis no
sin for a man to labour in his vocation. Poins ! —
Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. *
This is the most omnipotent villain, that ever cried.
Stand, to a true man.
P. Hen. Good morrow, Ned.
Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal. — What says
monsieur Remorse ? What says sir John Sack-and-
Sugar ? — My lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by
four o'clock, early at Gadshill : There are pilgrims
going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders
riding to London with fat purses: I have visors
for you all, you have horses for yourselves : Gads-
hill lies to-night in Rochester : I have bespoke supper
to-morrow night in Eastcheap ; we may do it as
secure as sleep : If you will go, I will stuff your
purses full of crowns : if you will not, tarry at
home, and be hanged.
Fal. Hear me, Yedward ; if I tarry at home, and
go not, I'll hang you for going.
Poins. You will, chops?
Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one ?
P. Hen. Who, I rob ? I a thief? not I, by my faith.
Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good
fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of the blood
royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings. *
P. Hen. Well, then, once in my days I'll be a
madcap.
Fal. Why, that's well said.
P. Hen. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home.
Fal. I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king.
P. Hen. I care not.
Poins. Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the prince and
me alone ; I will lay him down such reasons for tliis
adventure, that he shall go.
Fal. Well, mayst thou have the spirit of persua-
sion, and he the ears of profiting, that what thou
speakest may move, and what he hears may be
believed, that the true prince may (for recreation
' Treat me with ignominy. < Made an apiwintment.
* The value of a coin called real or royal.
380
HRST PART OF
Act I.
sake) prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of
the time want countenance. Farewell : You shall
find me in Eastcheap.
P. Hen. Farewell, thou latter spring ! Farewell
All-hallown summer ! 6 {Exit Falstafp.
Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with
us to-morrow ; I have a jest to execute, that I can-
not manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and
Gadshill, shall rob those men that we have already
waylaid ; yourself, and I, wall not be there : and
when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob
them, cut this head from ray shoulders.
P. Hen> But how shall we part with them in
setting forth.
Poins- Why, we will set forth before or after
them, and appoint them a place of meeting, where-
in it is at our pleasure to fail ; and then will they
adventure upon the exploit tliemselves ; which they
shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon
them.
P. Hen, Ay, but, 'tis like, that they will know us,
by our horses, by our habits, and by every other
appointment, to be ourselves.
Poins. Tut ! our horses they shall not see, I'll tie
them in the wood ; our visors we will change, after
we leave them ; and, sirrah, I have cases of buck-
ram for the nonce 7, to immask our noted outward
garments.
P. Hen. But, I doubt, they will be too hard for
us.
Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be
as true-bred cowards as ever turned back ; and for
the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, I'll
forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the
incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will
tell us, when we meet at supper: how thirty, at least,
he fought with ; what wards, what blows, what ex-
tremities he endur'd ; and, in the reproof of this,
lies the jest.
P. Hen. Well, I'll go with thee ; provide us all
things necessary, and meet me to-morrow night in
Eastcheap ; there I'll sup. Farewell.
Poins. Farewell, my lord. [Exit PoiNs.
p. Hen. I know you all, and will a while uphold
The unyok'd humour of your idleness :
Yet herein will I imitate the sun ;
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds
To smother up his beauty from the world.
That, when he please again to be himself.
Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at,
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists
Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him.
If all the year were playing holidays.
To sport would be as tedious as to work ;
But, when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come.
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents,
So, when this loose behaviour I throw off,
And pay the debt I never promised,
By how much better than my word I am.
By so much shall I falsify men's hopes ;
And, like bright metal on a sullen ground.
My reformation, glittering o'er my fault.
Shall show more goodly, and attract more eyes,
Than that which hath no foil to set it off.
I'll so offend, to make offence a skill ;
Redeeming time, when men think least I will.
\_Exit.
<» Fine weather at All-hallown -tide, («. e. All-Saints, Nov.
1st,) is called an All-hallown summer.
' Occasion.
SCENE III. — Another Room in the Palace.
£7tfer King Henry,Northumberland, Worcester,
Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt, and others.
K. Hen. My blood hath been too cold and tem-
perate.
Unapt to stir at these indignities,
And you have found me ; for, accordingly.
You tread upon my patience ; but, be sure,
I will from henceforth rather be myself,
Mighty, and to be fear'd, than my condition s ;
Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down.
And therefore lost that title of respect,
Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud.
Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little de-
The scourge of greatness to be us'd on it ;
And that same greatness to which our own hands
Have holp to make so portly.
North. My lord,
K. Hen. Worcester, get thee gone, for I see danger
And disobedience in thine eye ; O, sir,
Your presence is too bold and peremptory
And majesty might never yet endure
The moody frontier of a servant brow.
You have good leave to leave us ; when we need
Your use and counsel, we shall send for you. —
l^Exit Worcester.
You were about to speak. [ To North.
North. Yea, my good lord.
Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded.
Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took.
Were, as he says, not with such strength denied
As is deliver'd to your majesty :
Either envy, therefore, or misprision,
Is guilty of this fault, and not my son.
Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners.
But, I remember, when the fight was done.
When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil,
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword.
Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd,
Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin, new reap'd,
Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home ;
He was perfumed like a milliner j
And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet-box 9, which ever and anon
He gave his nose, and took't away again ; —
Who, therewith angry, when it next came there.
Took it in snuff: — and still he smil'd and talk'd;
And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by.
He call'd them — untaught knaves, unmannerly.
To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse
Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
With many holiday and lady terms
He question'd me ; among the rest demanded
My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf.
I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold,
To be so pester 'd with a popinjay.
Out of my grief and my impatience,
Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what;
He should, or he should not ; — for he made me mad.
To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet.
And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman,
Of guns, and drums, and wounds, (God save the
mark!)
And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth
Was parmaceti, for an inward bruise ;
And that it was great pity, so it was,
8 Disposition. ' A small box for musk or other perfumet.
Scene III.
KING HENRY IV.
381
I
That villainous saltpetre should be digg'd
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall ' fellow had destroy 'd
So cowardly ; and, but for these vile guns.
He would himself have been a soldier.
This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord,
I answer'd indirectly, as I said ;
And, I beseech you, let not his report
Come current for an accusation,
Betwixt my love and your high majesty.
Blunt. The circumstance consider'd, good my lord.
Whatever Harry Percy then had said.
To such a person, and in such a place.
At such a time, with all the rest re-told,
May reasonably die, and never rise
To do him wrong, or any way impeach
What then he said, so he unsay it now.
K. Hen. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners ;
But with proviso, and exception, —
That we, at our own charge, shall ransome straight
His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer ;
Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd
The lives of those that he did lead to fight
Against the great magician, vile Glendower ;
Whose daughter, as we hear, the earl of March
Hath lately married. Shall our coffers then
Be emptied, to redeem a traitor home ?
Shall we buy treason ? and indent 2 with fears.
When they have lost and forfeited themselves ?
No, on the barren mountains let him starve ;
For I shall never hold that man my friend.
Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost
To ransome home revolted Mortimer.
Hot. Revolted Mortimer!
He never did fall off, my sovereign liege,
liut by the chance of war : — To prove that true,
Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds.
Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took.
When on tlie gentle Severn's sedgy bank,
In single opposition, hand to hand.
He did confound the best part of an hour
In changing hardiment with great Glendower :
Three times they breath'd, and three times did they
drink.
Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood ;
Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks.
Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds.
And hid his crisp ' head in the hollow bank
Blood-stained with these valiant combatants.
Never did bare and rotten policy
Colour her working with such deadly wounds ;
Nor never could the noble Mortimer
Receive so many, and all wilhngly:
Tlien let him not be slander'd with revolt.
K. Hen. Thou dost behe him, Percy, thou dost
belie him ;
He never did encounter with Glendower ;
I tell thee.
He durst as well have met the devil alone.
As Owen Glendower for an enemy.
Art not ashamed ? But, sirrah, henceforth
Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer :
Send me your prisoners with the speediest moans.
Or you shall hear in such a kind from me
As will displease you. — My lord Northumberland,
We license your departure with your son : —
Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it.
[Exeunt Kino Henry, Blunt, and Train.
' Brave,
s Curled.
> Sign an indenture.
Hot. And if the devil come and roar for them,
I will not send them : — I will after straight.
And tell him so : for I will ease my heart.
Although it be with hazard of my head.
North. What, drunk with choler ? stay, and pause
awhile ;
Here comes your uncle.
Re-enter Worcester.
Hot. Speak of Mortimer?
Yes, I will speak of him ; and let my soul
Want mercy, if I do not join with him :
Yea, on his part, I'll empty all these veins.
And shed my dear blood drop by drop i' the dust,
But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer
As high i' the air as this unthankful king.
As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke.
North. Brother, the king hath made your nephew
mad. [ To Worcester.
Wot. Who struck this heat up, after I was gone ?
Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners ;
And when I urg'd the ransome once again
Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale ;
And on my face he tum'd an eye of death.
Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.
IVor. I cannot blame him : Was he not proclaim'd.
By Richard that dead is, the next of blood ?
North. He was ; I heard the proclamation :
And then it was, when the unhappy king
(Whose wrongs in us God pardon !) did set forth
Upon his Irish expedition ;
From whence he, intercepted, did return
To be depos'd, and shortly, murdered.
IVor. And for whose death, we in the world's wide
mouth
Live scandaliz'd, and foully spoken of.
Hot. But, soft, I pray you ; Did king Richard
then
Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer
Heir to the crown ?
North. He did ; myself did hear it.
Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin
king,
That wish'd him on the barren mountains starv'd.
But shall it be, that you, — that set the crown
Upon the head of this forgetful man ;
And, for his sake, wear the detested blot
Of murd'rous subornation, — shall it be,
TTiat you a world of curses undergo ;
Being the agents, or base second means.
The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather? —
O, pardon me, that I descend so low.
To show the line, and the predicament.
Wherein you range under this subtle king. —
Shall it, for shame, be spoken in these days,
Or fill up chronicles in time to come.
That men of your nobility and power.
Did gage them botli in an unjust behalf, —
As both of you, God pardon it ! have done, —
To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose.
And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke?
And shall it in more shame, be further spoken.
That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook off
By him, for whom these shames ye underwent ?
No ; yet time serves, wherein you may redi'em
Your banish'd honours, and restore yourselves
Into tlie good thoughts of the world again :
Revenge the jeering, and disdain'd contempt.
Of this proud king ; who studies day and nigbt,
To answer all the debt he owes to you,
382
FIRST PART OF
Act I. Scene III.
Even with the bloody payment of your deaths.
Therefore, I say,
JVor. Peace, cousin, say no more :
And now I will unclasp a secret book,
And to your quick-conceiving discontents
I'll read you matter deep and dangerous ;
As full of peril, and advent'rous spirit,
As to o'er-walk a current, roaring loud.
On the unstcadfast footing of a spear.
Hot. If he fall in, good night : — or sink or swim:
Send danger from the east unto the west,
So honour cross it from the north to souths
And let them grapple ; — O ! the blood more stirs,
To rouse a lion, than to start a hare.
North. Imagination of some great exploit
Drives him beyond the bounds of patience.
Hot. By heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap,
To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon ;
Or dive into the bottom of the deep.
Where fathom-line could never touch the ground,
And pluck up drowned honour by the locks ;
So he, that doth redeem her thence, might wear,
Without corrival, all her dignities :
'But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship !
JFor. He apprehends a world of figures here.
But not the form of what he should attend
Good cousin, give me audience for a while.
Hot. I cry you mercy.
Jfor. Those same noble Scots,
That are your prisoners, •
Hot. I'll keep them all ;
By heaven, he shall not have a Scot of them :
No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not :
I'll keep them, by this hand.
IVor. You start away.
And lend no ear unto my purposes —
These prisoners you shall keep.
Hot. Nay, I will ; that's flat : —
He said, he would not ransome Mortimer j
Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer ;
But I will find him when he lies asleep.
And in his ear I'll holla — Mortimer !
Nay,
I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak
Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him.
To keep his anger still in motion.
JVor. Hear you,
Cousin ; a word.
Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy,
Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke :
And that same sword-and-buckler prince of Wales,—
But that I think his father loves him not.
And would be glad he met with some mischance,
I'd have him poison'd with a pot of ale.
War. Farewell, kinsman ! I will talk to you.
When you are better temper'd to attend.
North Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool
Art thou to break into this woman's mood ;
Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own !
Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourg'd
with rods.
Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear
Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke.
In Richard's time, — What do you call the place V —
A plague upon't ! — it is in Glostershire ; —
'Twas where the mad-cap duke his uncle kept ;
His uncle York ; — where I first bow'd my knee
Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke,
When you and he came back from Ravenspurg.
North. At Berkley castle.
Hot. You say true : — —
Why, what a candy deal of courtesy
This fawning greyhound then did proffer me !
Look, — when his infant fortune came to age.
And, — gentle Harry Percy, — and, hind cousin, —
The devil take such cozeners ! Heaven forgive
me !
Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done.
IVor. Nay, if you have not, to't again ;
We'll stay your leisure. '
Hot. I have done, i'faith.
Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners.
Deliver them up without their ransome straight,
And make the Douglas' son your only mean
For powers in Scotland ; which, — for divers reasons,
Which I shall send you written, — be assur'd.
Will easily be granted. — You my lord, —
[To Northumberland.
Your son in Scotland being thus employ'd, —
Shall secretly into the bosom creep
Of that same noble prelate, well belov'd
The archbishop.
Hot. Of York, is't not ?
Wor. True ; who bears hard
His brother's death at Bristol, the lord Scroop.
I speak not this in estimation.
As what I think might be, but what I know
Is ruminated, plotted, and set down ;
And only stays but to behold the face
Of that occasion that shall bring it on.
Hot. I smell it ; upon my life, it will do well.
North. Before the game's afoot, thou still let'st slip.
Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot: — •
And then the power of Scotland, and of York, —
To join with Mortimer, ha ?
Wor. And so they shall.
Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd.
Wor. And 'tis no little reason bids us speed.
To save our heads by raising of a head * :
For, bear ourselves as even as we can.
The king will always think him in our debt ;
And think we think ourselves unsatisfied.
Till he hath found a time to pay us home.
And see already, how he doth begin
To make us strangers to his looks of love.
Hot. He does, he does : we'll be reveng'd on him.
Wor. Cousin, farewell : — No further go in this.
Than I by letters shall direct your course.
When time is ripe, (which will be suddenly,)
I'll steal to Glendower and lord Mortimer ;
Where you and Douglas, and our powers at once,
(As I will fashion it,) shall happily meet.
To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms.
Which now we hold at much uncertainty.
North. Farewell, good brother : we shall thrive, 1
trust.
Hot. Uncle, adieu : — O, let the hours be short.
Till fields, and blows, and groans applaud our sport !
[Exeunt.
* A body of forces.
Act II. Scene I.
KING HENRY IV.
383
ACT 11,
SCENE I. — Rochester. An Inn Yard.
Enter a Carrier, with a Lantern in his hand.
1 Car. Heigh ho ! A n't be not four by the day,
ril be hanged : Charles' wain is over the new chim-
ney, and yet our horse not packed. What, ostler !
Ost. [ffithin.} Anon, anon.
1 Car. I pr'ythee, Tom, beat Cut's * saddle, put
a few flocks in tlie point ; the poor jade is wrung in
the withers out of all cess. 6
Enter another Carrier.
2 Car. Pease and beans are as dank here as a dog, and
that is the next way to give poor jades the bots : this
house is turned upside down, since Robin ostler died.
1 Car. Poor fellow ! never joyed since the price of
oats rose ; it was the death of him.
2 Car. I think this be the most villainous house in
all London road for fleas : I am stung like a tench. 7
1 Car. Like a tench ? by the mass, there is ne'er
a king in Christendom could be better bit tlian 1
have been since the first cock.
2 Car. What, ostler ! come away and be hanged,
come away. I have a gammon of bacon, and two
razes of ginger, to be delivered as far as Charing-
cross.
1 Car. The turkeys in my pannier are quite starved.
— What, ostler ! — A plague on thee ! hast thou
never an eye in thy head ? canst not hear? An
'twere not as good a deed as drink, to break the pate
of thee, I am a very villain. — Come, and be hanged:
— Hast no faith in thee ?
Enter Gadshill.
Gads. Good morrow, carriers. What's o'clock ?
1 Car. I think it be two o'clock.
Gads. I pr'ythee, lend me thy lantern, to see my
gelding in the stable.
1 Car. Nay, soft, I pray ye ; I know a trick worth
two of that.
Gads. I pr'ythee lend me thine.
2 Car. Ay, when ? canst tell ? — Lend me thy
lantern, quoth a ? — marry, I'll see thee hanged first.
Gads. Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to
come to London ?
2 Car. Time enough to go to bed with a candle,
I warrant thee. — Come, neighbour Mugs, we'll
call up the gentlemen ; they will along with com-
pany, for they have great charge. [Exeunt Carriers.
Gads. What, ho ! chamberlain !
Cham, [irithiti.] At hand, quoth pick-purse ^
Gads. That's even as fair as — at hand, quoth the
chamberlain : for thou variest no more from picking
of purses, than giving direction doth from labouring ;
thou lay'st the plot how.
Enter Chamberlain.
Cham. Goodmorrow, master Gadshill. It holds
current, that I told you yesternight : There's a
franklin 9 in the wild of Kent, hatli brought three
hundred marks with him in gold : 1 heard Jiim tell
it to one of his company, last night at supper ; a
kind of auditor ; one that hath abundance of charge
* Name of his horse. • Measure.
" SjKJttoil like a tench.
" A proverb, from Uie pick-purse being always ready.
* Freeholder.
too, heaven knows what. Tliey are up already, and
call for eggs and butter : They will away presently.
Gads. Sirrah, if they meet not with saint Nicho-
las' clerks ', I'll give thee this neck.
Cham. No, I'll none of it : I pr'ythee keep that
for the hangman ; for I know thou worship'st saint
Nicholas as truly as a man of falsehood may.
Gads. What talkest thou to me of the hangman ?
if I hang, I 11 make a fat pair of gallows : for, if I
hang, old sir Jolm hangs with me; and, thou knowest,
he's no starveling. Tut : there are other Trojans
that thou dreamest not of, the which, for sport sake,
are content to do the profession some grace ; that
would, if niattcrs should be looked into, for their
own credit sake, make all whole. I am joined with
no foot land-rakers'^, no long-staff, sixpenny strikers ;
none of these mad, mustachio, purple-hued malt-
worms ; but witli nobility, and tranquillity ; burgo-
masters, and great oneyers •'* ; such as can hold in ;
such as will strike sooner than speak, and speak
sooner than drink, and drink sooner than pray :
And yet I lie ; for they pray continually to their
saint, the commonwealth ; or, rather, not pray to
her, but prey on her ; for they ride up and down on
her, and make her tlieir boots. "^
Cham. What, the commonwealth their boots ? will
she hold out water in wet weather ?
Gads. Slie will, she will ; justice hath liquored
her.^ We steal as in a castle, cock-sure; we have
the receipt of fern-seed, we walk invisible.
Cha?n Nay, by my faith! I think you are more
beholden to the night than to fern-seed, for your
walking invisible.
Gads. Give me tliy hand : thou shalt have a share
in our purchase, as 1 am a true man.
Cham. Nay, rather let me have it as you are a
false thief.
Gads. Go to ; Homo is a common name to all
men. Bid the ostler bring my gelding out of the
stable. Farewell, you muddy knave. [Exeunt.
SCENE IL — The Road by Gadshill.
Enter Pkince Henry and Poins; Bardolph and
Peto, at some distance.
Poins. Come, shelter, shelter; I have removed
Falstaff's horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet.
P. Hen. Stand close.
Enter Falstaff.
Fal. Poins ! Poins ! and be hanged ! Poins !
P. Hen. Peace, ye fat-kidney'd rascal ; what a
brawling dost thou keep !
Fal. Where's Poins, Hal?
P. Hen. He is walked up to the top of tJie hill ;
I'll go seek him. [Pretends to seek PoiNs.
Fal. I am accursed to rob in that tliief 's company :
the rascal hath removed my horse, and tied him I
know not where. If I travel but four foot by the
squire ^ further afoot, I shall break my wind. Well,
1 doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I
'scape hanging for killing that rogue. I have for-
sworn his company hourly any time these two-and-
twenty years, and yet I am bewitched with tlie
' Caiit term for a highwayman. « Footpads.
' Tublic accomitanls. * Booty.
* Uiled, smoothed her over. « Square, rule.
384
FIRST PART OF
Act II.
rogue's company. If the rascal liave not given me
medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged; it
could not be else ; I have drunk medicines. — Poins!
— Hal ! — a plague upon you both ! — Bardolph ! —
Peto ! — 1*11 starve ere I'll rob a foot further. An
'twere not as good a deed as drink, to turn true man,
and leave these rogues, I am the veriest varlet that
ever chewed with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven
ground is threescore and ten miles afoot with me ;
and tJie stony-hearted villains know it well enough :
A plague upon't, when thieves cannot be true to one
another ! [ They whistle. ] Whew ! — A plague upon
you all ! Give me my horse, you rogues ; give me
my horse, and be hanged.
P. Hen. Peace, lie down ; lay thine ear close to
the ground, and list if thou canst hear the tread of
travellers.
Fal. Have you any levers to lift me up again,
being down ? I'll not bear mine own flesh so far afoot
again, for all the coin in thy father's exchequer.
What a plague mean ye to colt 7 me thus ?
P. Hen. Thou liest, thou art not colted, thou art
uncolted.
Fal. I pr'ythee, good prince Hal, help me to my
horse : good king's son.
P. Hen. Out, you rogue ! shall I be your ostler !
FaL Go, hang thyself in thy own heir-apparent
garters ! If I be ta'en, I'll peach for this. An I have
not ballads made on you all, let a cup of sack be my
poison : When a jest is so forward, and afoot too —
I hate it.
Enter Gadshill.
Gads. Stand.
Fal. So I do, against my will.
Poins. O, 'tis our setter : I know his voice.
Enter Bardolph.
Bard. What news ?
Gads. Case ye, case ye : on with your visors :
there's money of the king's coming down the hill j
'tis going to the king's exchequer.
Fal. You lie, you rogue ; 'tis going to the king's
tavern.
Gads. There's enough to make us all —
Fal. To be hanged.
P. Hen. Sirs, you four shall front them in the nar-
row lane ; Ned Poins, and I will walk lower : if they
'scape from your encounter, then they light on us.
Peto. How many be there of them ?
Gads. Some eight, or ten.
Fal. Will they not rob us ?
P. Hen. What, a coward. Sir John Paunch ?
Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your
grandfather ; but yet no coward, Hal.
p. Hen. Well, we leave that to the proof.
Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the
hedge ; when thou needest him, there thou shall find
him. Farewell, and stand fast.
Fal. Now cannot I strike him, if I should be
hanged.
P. Hen. Ned, where are our disguises ?
Poins. Here, hard by ; stand close.
[Exeunt P. Henry and Poins.
Fal. Now, my masters, happy man be his dole,
say I ; every man to his business.
Enter Travellers.
1 Trav. Come, neighbour; tlie boy shall lead our
horses down the hill : we'll walk afoot awhile, and
ease our legs.
7 Make a youngster of me.
Thieves. Stand.
Trav. Heaven bless us !
Fal. Strike ; down with them ; cut the villains*
throats : Ah ! caterpillars ! bacon-fed knaves ! they
hate us youth : down with them ; fleece them.
1 Trav. O, we are undone, both we and ours,
for ever.
Fal. Hang ye, knaves ; Are ye undone ? No, ye
fat chufis 8 ; 1 would, your store were here ! On, ^^
bacons, on ! What, ye knaves ? young men must ^H
live ; You are grand-jurors are ye ? We'll jure ye, ^^|
i'faith. [Exeunt Fals. ^c. driving the Travellers out.
Re-enter Prince; Henry and Poins.
P. Hen. The thieves have bound the true men :
Now, could thou and I rob the thieves, and go mer-
rily to London, it would be argument for a week,
laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever.
Poins. Stand close, I hear them coming.
Re-enter Thieves.
Fal. Come, my masters, let us share, and then
to horse before day. An the prince and Poins be
not two arrant cowards, there's no equity stirring :
there's no more valour in that Poins, than in a wild
duck.
P. Hen. Your money. [Rushing out upon them.
Poins. Villains.
[As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins
set upon them. Falstaff, after a blow or
two, and the rest, run away, leaving their
booty behind them.
P. Hen. Got with much ease. Now merrily to
horse :
The thieves are scatter'd, and possess'd with fear
So strongly, that they dare not meet each other ;
Each takes his fellow for an officer.
Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death.
And lards the lean earth as he walks along :
Wer't not for laughing, I should pity him.
Poins. How the rogue roar'd ! [Exeunt.
SCENE III. — Warkworth. A Room in the Castle.
Enter Hotspur, readiyig a Letter.
But, for mine own part, my lord, I could
be well contented to be there, in respect of the love I
bear your house. — He could be contented, — Why
is he not then ? In respect of the love he bears our
house — he shows in this, he loves his own barn
better than he loves our house. Let me see some
more. The purpose you undertake is dangerous ; —
Why, that's certain ; 'tis dangerous to take a cold,
to sleep, to drink : but I tell you, my lord fool, out
of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety.
The purpose you undertake is dangerous ; the friends
you have named, uncertain s the time itself nnsorted ;
and your whole plot too Ught, for the counterpoise of
so great an opposition. — Say you so, say you so ? I
say unto you again, you are a shallow, cowardly
hind, and you lie. What a lack-brain is this?
Our plot is a good plot as ever was laid; our
friends true and constant : a good plot, good friends,
and full of expectation : an excellent plot, very good
friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is this?
Why, my lord of York commends the plot, and the
general course of the action. By this hand, an I
were now by this rascal, I could brain him with his
lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and
myself? lord Edmund Mortimer, my lord of York,
8 Clowns.
Scene III.
KING HENRY IV.
S85
and Owen Glendower ? Is there not, besides, the
Douglas ? Have I not all their letters, to meet me
in arms by the ninth of the next month ? and are
they not, some of them, set forward already ?
What a pagan rascal is tliis? an infidel? Ha ! you
shall see now, in very sincerity of fear and cold
heart, will he to the king, and lay open all our pro-
ceedings. O, I could divide myself, and go to
buifets, for moving such a dish of skimmed milk
with so honourable an action ! Hang him ! let him
tell the king : We are prepared : I will set forward
to-night
Enter Lady Percy.
How now, Kate ? I must leave you within these
two hours.
Lady. O my good lord, why are you thus alone ?
For what offence have I, this fortnight, been
A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed ?
Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee
Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep ?
Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth ;
And start so often when thou sitt'st alone ?
Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks ;
And given my treasures, and my rights of thee.
To thick-ey'd musing, and curs'd melancholy ?
In thy faint slumbers, I by thee have watch'd.
And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars :
Speak terms of manage to thy bounduig steed ;
Cry, Courage ! — to tlie field ! And thou hast talk'd
Of sallies, and retires ; of trenches, tents.
Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets ;
Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin ;
Of prisoners' ransome, and of soldiers slain.
And all the 'currents of a heady fight.
Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war.
And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep,
That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow.
Like bubbles in a late disturbed stream :
And in thy face strange motions have appear'd,
Such as we see when men restrain their breath
On some great sudden haste. O, what portents are
these?
Some heavy business hath my lord in hand.
And I must know it, else he loves me not.
Hot. What, ho ? is Gilliams with the packet gone ?
Enter Servant.
Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago.
Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the
sheriff'?
Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even now.
Hot. What horse ? a roan, a crop-ear, is it not ?
Serv. It is, my lord.
Hoti That roan shall be my throne.
Well, I will back him straight : O esperance ! 9 —
Bid Butler lead him forth into the park.
{Exit Servant.
Lady. But hear you, my lord.
HiA. What say'st, my lady ?
iMdy. What is it carries you away ?
Hot. My horse.
My love, my horse.
Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape !
A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen.
As you are toss'd with. In faith,
I'll know your business, Harry, that I will.
I fear, my brother Mortimer doth stir
Alwut his title ; and hath sent for you.
To line ' his enterprize : But if you go
» Motto of the Percy family. > Strengthen
Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love.
Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me
Directly to this question that I ask.
In faith, I'll break thy little finger, Harry,
An if thou wilt not tell me all things true.
Hot, Away,
Away, you trifler ! — Love ! — I love thee not,
I care not for thee, Kate : this is no world
To play with mammets % and to tilt with lips :
We must have bloody noses, and crack'd crowns,
And pass them current too. — My horse, my horse ! —
What say'st thou, Kate ? what wouldst thou have
with me?
Lady. Do you not love me ? do you not, indeed ?
Well, do not then; for, since you love me not,
I will not love myself. Do you not love me?
Nay, tell me, if you speak in jest or no.
Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride ?
And when I am o'horseback, I will swear
I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate ;
I must not have you henceforth question me
Whither I go, nor reason whereabout :
Whither I must, I must ; and, to conclude.
This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate.
I know you wise ; but yet no farther wise.
Than Harry Percy's wife : constant you are";
But yet a woman : and for secrecy.
No lady closer ; for I well believe,
Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know ;
And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate !
Lady. How ! so far ?
Hot. Not an inch farther. But hark you, Kate !
Whither I go, thither shall you go too ;
To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you
Will this content you, Kate ?
Lady. It must, of force. [Exeunt.
SCENEIV. — Eastcheap. J Room in the Boar's
Head Tavern.
Enter Prince Henry and Poins.
P. Hen. Ned, pr'ythee come out of that fat room,
and lend me thy hand to laugh a little.
Poins. Where hast been, Hal ?
P. Hen. With three or four loggerheads, amongst
three or four score hogsheads. I have sounded the
very base string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn
brother to a leash of drawers ; and can call them all
by their Christian names, as — Tom, Dick, and
Francis. They take it already upon their salvation,
that, though I be but prince of Wales, yet I am
the king of courtesy ; and tell me flatly 1 am no
proud Jack, like Falstaff"; but a lad cf mettle, a
good boy, so they call me ; and when I am king of
England, I shall command all the good lads in
Eastcheap. — To conclude, I am so good a pro-
ficient in one quarter of an hour, that I can drink
with any tinker in his own language during my
life. I tell thee, Ned, thou hast lost much honour,
that thou wert not with me in this action. But,
sweet Ned, — to sweeten which name of Ned, I
give thee this pennyworth of sugar, clapped even
now in my hand by an under-skinker 3 ; one that
never spake other English in his life, than — Ei^ht
shillings and sixjtence, and — You are welcome ; with
this shrill addition, — Anon, anon., sir ! Score a pint
of bastard in the Half-moon, or so. But, Ned, to
drive away the time till Falstaff* come, I pr'ythee,
do thou stand in some by- room, while I question my
> Puppets. 3 Taptter.
Cc
386
FIRST PART OF
Act II.
puny drawer, to what end he gave me the sugar ;
and do thou never leave calling — Francis, that his
tale to me may be nothing but — anon. Step aside,
and I'll show thee a precedent.
Poms. Francis !
P. Hen. Thou art perfect.
Pains. Francis ! [Exit Poins.
Enter Francis.
Fran. Anon, anon, sir. — Look down into the
Pomegranate, Ralph.
P. Hen. Come hither, Francis.
Fran. My lord.
P. He7i. How long hast thou to serve, Francis ?
Fran. Forsooth, five year, and as much as to —
Poins. llVithin.] Francis!
Fran. Anon, anon, sir.
P. Hen. Five years ! by'r lady, a long lease for
the clinking of pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be
so valiant, as to play the coward with thy indenture,
and to show it a fair pair of heels, and run from it?
Fran. O, sir ! I'll be sworn upon all the books
in England, I could find it in my heart —
Poins. [IVithiii.] Francis!
Fran. Anon, anon, sir.
P. Hen. How old art thou, Francis ?
Fran. Let me see, — About Michaelmas next I
sliall be —
Poins. [JFithin.l Francis!
Fran. Anon, sir. — Pray you, stay a little, my lord.
P. Hen. Nay, but hark you, Francis : For the su-
gar thou gavest me, — 'twas a pennyworth, was't not ?
Fran. O, sir ! I would it had been two.
P. Hen. I will give thee for it a thousand pound:
ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it.
Poins. [JVit/ii7i.] Francis!
Fran. Anon, anon.
P. Hen. Anon, Francis ? No, Francis : but to-
morrow, Francis ; or Francis, on Thursday ; or,
indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis, —
Fran. My lord ?
P. Hen. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin,
crystal-button, nott-pated, agate-ring, caddis-garter,
smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch, —
Fran. O sir, who do you mean ?
P. Hen. Why then, your brown bastard * is your
only drink : for, look you, Francis, your white can-
vass doublet will sully : in Barbary, sir, it cannot
come to so much.
Fran. What, sir ?
Poins. [Within.'\ Francis!
P. Hen. Away, you rogue ; Dost thou not hear
them call ?
[Here they hath call him ; the Drawer stands
amazed, not knowing which way to go.
Enter Vintner.
Vint. What ! stand'st thou still, and hear'st such
a calling ? Look to the guests within. [Eodt Fran.]
My lord, old Sir John, with half a dozen more, are
at the door ; Shall I let them in ?
P. Hen. Let them alone awhile, and then open
the door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins !
Re-enter Poins.
Poins. Anon, anon, sir.
P. Hen. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves
are at the door ; Shall we be merry ?
Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark
ye ; What cunning match have you made with this
jest of the drawer ? come, what's the issue ?
* A sweet wine.
P. Hen. I am now of all humours, that have
show'd themselves humours, since the old days of
goodman Adam, to the pupil age of this present
twelve o'clock at midnight. [Re-enter Francis,
ivith ivine.] What's o'clock, Francis?
Fra7i. Anon, anon, sir.
P. Hen. That ever this fellow should have fewer
words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman ! —
His industry is — up stairs, and down stairs; his
eloquence, the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet
of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the north ; he that
kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a
breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, —
Fye upon this quiet life ! I want tvork. 0 my sweet
Harry, says she, how many hast thou killed to-day ?
Give my roan horse a drench, says he ; and answers.
Some fourteen, an hour after ; a trifle, a trifle. I
pr'ythee, call in Falstaflf; I'll play Percy, and he
shall play dame Mortimer his wife. Call in ribs,
call in tallow.
Entar Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto.
Poins. Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been ?
Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a ven-
geance too ! marry, and amen ! — Give me a cup
of sack, boy. — Ere I lead this life long, I'll sew
nether-stocks ^, and mend them, and foot them too.
A plague of all cowards ! — Give me a cup of sack,
rogue. — Is there no virtue extant ? [He drinJcs.
P. Hen. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish
of butter ? pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the
sweet tale of the son ! if thou didst, then behold
that compound.
Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too :
There is nothing but roguery to be found in villain-
ous man : Yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack
with lime in it; a villainous coward Go thy ways,
old Jack ; die when thou wilt, if manhood, good
manhood, be not forgotten upon the face of the
earth, then am I a shotten herring. There live not
three good men unhanged in England ; and one of
them is fat, and grows old : Heaven help the while !
a bad world, I say ! I would, I were a weaver ; I
could sing psalms or any thing : A plague of all
cowards, I say still.
P. Hen. How now, wool-sack? what mutter you?
Fal. A king's son ! If I do not beat thee out of
thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all
thy subjects afore thee like a flock of wild geese,
I'll never wear hair on my face more. You prince
of Wales !
P. Hen. Why, you round man ! what's the matter?
Fal. Are you not a coward ? answer me to that ;
and Poins there ?
Pobis. Ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, I'll
stab thee.
Fal. I call thee coward ! I'll see thee hang'd ere
I call thee coward : but I would give a thousand
pound I could run as fast as thou canst. You are
straight enough in the shoulders, you care not who
sees your back : Call you that backing of your
friends ? A plague upon such backing ! give me
them that will face me. — Give me a cup of sack :
— I am a rogue, if I drunk to-day.
P. Hen. O villain ! thy lips are scarce wiped
since thou drunk'st last.
Fal. All's one for that. A plague of all cowards,
still say I. [He drinki.
P. Hen. What's the matter?
^ Stockings.
Scene IV.
KING HENRY IV.
387
Fal. What's the matter ? there be four of us here
have ta'en a thousand pound this morning.
P. Hen. Where is it, Jack ? where is it ?
Fal. Where is it ? taken from us it is : a hundred
upon poor four of us.
P. Hen. What, a hundred, man ?
Fed. I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword
with a dozen of them two hours together. I have
'scap'd by miracle. I am eight times thrust through
the doublet ; four through the hose ; my buckler
cut through and through ; my sword hacked like a
hand-saw, ecce signum. I never dealt better since I
was a man ; all would not do. A plague of all cow-
ards ! — Let them speak : if tliey speak more or less
than truth, they are villains, and the sons of darkness.
P. Hen. Speak, sirs ; how was it ?
Gads. We four set upon some dozen, — —
Fal, Sixteen, at least, my lord.
Gads. And bound them.
Peto. No, no, they were not bound.
Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man of
them ; or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew.
Gads. As we were sharing, some six or seven
fresh men set upon us,
Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come in
the other.
P. Hen. What, fought ye with them all ?
Fal. All? 1 know not what ye call, all ; but if I
fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of ra-
dish : if there were not two or three and fifty upon
poor old Jack, then I am no two-legged creature.
Poins. Pray heaven you have-not murdered some
of them.
Fal. Nay, that's past praying for : for I have
peppered two of them : two, 1 am sure, I have
paid ; two rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee
what, Hal, — if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face,
call me horse. Thou knowest my old ward ; —
here I lay, and thus I bore my point. Four rogues
in buckram let drive at me,
P. /fe«. What, four? thou saidst but two, even now.
Fal. Four, Hal ; I told thee four.
Poins. Ay, ay, he said four.
Fal. These four came all a-front, and mainly
thrust at me. I made me no more ado, but took
all their seven points in my target, thus.
P. He7i. Seven? why, there were but four, even now.
Fal. In buckram.
Poins. Ay, four, in buckram suits.
Fal. Seven by these hilts, or I am a villain else.
P. Hen. Pr'ythee, let him alone ; we shall have
more anon.
Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal ?
P. Hetu Ay, and mark thee too. Jack.
Fal. Do so, for it is worth the listening to.
These nine in buckram, that I told thee of,
P. Hen. So, two more already.
Fal. Their points being broken, ■
Poins. Down fell their hose.
Fal. Began to give me ground : But I followed
me close, came in foot and hand ; and with a
thought, seven of the eleven I paid.
P. Hen. O monstrous ! eleven buckram men
grown out of two !
Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three mis-
begotten knaves, in Kendal ^ green, came at my
back, and let drive at me ; — for it was so dark,
Hal, that thdu couldst not see thy hand.
P. Hen. These lies are like the father that begets
< A town in WettmoreUnd famous for making cloth.
them ; gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why
thou knotty-pated fool.
Fal. Wha^ art thou mad? art thou mad? is not
the truth, the truth ?
P. Hen. Why, how couldst thou know these men
in Kendal green, when it was so dark thou couldst
not see thy hand ? come tell us your reason ; Wliat
sayest thou to this?
Poins. Come, your reason. Jack, your reason.
Fal. What, upon compulsion ? No ; were I at
the strappado, or all the racks in the world, I would
not tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on
compulsion ! if reasons were as plenty as black-
berries, I would give no man a reason upon com-
pulsion, I.
P. Hen. I'll be no longer guilty of this sin ; this
sanguine coward, this horse-back-breaker, this huge
hill of flesh ;
Fal. Away, you starveling, you elf- skin, you
dried neat's tongue, you stock-fish, — O, for brealli
to utter what is like thee ? — you tailor's yard, you
sheath, you bow-case !
P. Hen. Well, breathe awhile, and then to it
again : and when thou hast tired thyself in base
comparisons, hear me speak but this.
Poins. Mark, Jack.
P. Hen. We two saw you four set on four ; you
bound them, and were masters of tlieir wealth.
Mark now, how a plain tale shall put you down. —
Then did we two set on you four : and, with a
word, out-faced you from your prize, and have it ;
yesL, and can show it you here in the house : — and
FalstafF, you ran away as nimbly, with as quick
dexterity, and roared for mercy, and still ran and
roared, as ever I heard a bull-calf. What a slave
art thou, to hack thy sword as thou hast done ; and
then say, it was in fight? What trick, what device,
what starting-hole, canst thou now find out, to hide
thee from this open and apparent sliame ?
Poins. Come, let's hear, Jack ; What trick hast
thou now?
Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye, as well as he that
made ye. Why, hear ye, my masters : Was it for
me to kill the heir apparent? Should I turn upon
the true prince ? Why, thou knowest, I am as
valiant as Hercules : but beware instinct ; tlie lion
will not touch the true prince. Instinct is a great
matter ; I was a coward on instinct I shall tliink
the better of myself and thee, during my life. I
for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince. But,
lads, I am glad you have the money. Hostess,
clap to the doors ; watch to-night, pray to-morrow.
— Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles
of good fellowship come to you ! What, shall we
be merry ? shall we have a play extempore ?
P. Hen. Content; — and the argument shall be
thy running away.
Fal. Ah ! no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me.
Enter Hostess.
Host. My lord, the prince,
P. Hen. How now, my lady the hostess ? what
sayst thou to me ?
Host. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of
the court at door, would speak with you : he says,
he comes from your father.
P. Hen. Give him as much as will make him a
royal man, and send him back again to my mother.
Fal. What manner of man is he ?
Ho^. An old man.
C c 2
388
FIRST PART OF
Act II.
Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at mid-
night ? — Shall I give him his answer.
P. Hen. Pr'ythee, do, Jack.
Fal. 'Faith, and I'll send him packing. [Exit.
P. Hen. Now, sirs ; by'r lady, you fought fair ;
— so did you, Peto ; so did you, Bardolph : you are
lions too, you ran away upon instinct, you will not
touch the true prince ; no, — fye !
Bard. ' Faith, I ran when I saw others run.
p. Hen. Tell me now in earnest, how came Fal-
stafF's sword so hacked ?
Peto. Why, he hacked it with his dagger ; and
said, he would swear truth out of England, but he
would make you believe it was done in fight ; and
persuaded us to do the like.
Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear-
grass to make them bleed : and then to beslubber
our garments with it, and to swear it was the blood
of true men. I did that I did not this seven year
before, I blushed to hear his monstrous devices.
P. Hen. O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack
eighteen years ago, and wert taken with the man-
ner 7, and ever since thou hast blushed extempore :
Thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou
ran'st away ; What instinct hast thou for it?
Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors? do
you behold these exhalations ?
P. Hen. I do.
Bard. What think you they portend ?
P. Hen. Hot livers and cold purses. 8
Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken.
P. Hen. No, if rightly taken, halter.
Re-enter Falstaff.
Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. How
now, my sweet creature of bombast ? 9 How long
is't ago. Jack, since thou sawest thine own knee ?
Fal. My own knee? when I was about thy
years, Hal, I was not an eagle's talon in the waist ;
I could have crept into any alderman's thumb-ring :
A plague of sighing and grief ! it blows a man up
like a bladder. There's villainous news abroad :
here was sir John Bracy from your father ; you
must to the court in the morning. That same mad
fellow of the north, Percy ; and he of Wales, that
gave Amaimon ' the bastinado, — What, a plague,
call you him ?
Poins. O, Glen dower.
Fal. Owen, Owen ; the same ; — and his son-in-
law, Mortimer ; and old Northumberland ; and that
sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs o'horse-
back up a hill perpendicular.
P. Hen. He that rides at high speed, and with
his pistol kills a sparrow flying.
Fal. You have hit it.
P. Hen. So did he never the sparrow.
Fal. Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him ;
he will not run.
P. Hen. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to
praise him so for running ?
Fal. O'horseback, ye cuckoo ? but afoot, he will
not budge a foot.
P. Hen. Yes, Jack, upon instinct.
Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there
too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps 2
more : Worcester is stolen away to-night ; thy fa-
" In the fact. 8 Drunkenness and poverty.
9 Bombast is the stuffing of clothes.
' A daemon ; who is described as one of the four kings, who
rule over all the daemons in the world.
2 Scotsmen in blue bonnets.
ther's beard is turned white with tlie news ; you
may buy land now as cheap as stinking mackarel. —
But tell me, Hal, art thou not horribly afeard? thou
being heir-apparent, could the world pick thee out
three such enemies again, as that fiend Douglas,
that spirit Percy, and that devil Glendower? Art
thou not horribly afraid ? doth not thy blood thrill
at it ?
P. Hen. Not a whit, i'faith ; I lack some of thy
instinct.
Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow,
when thou comest to thy father : if thou love me,
practise an answer.
P. Hen. Do thou stand for my father, and ex-
amine me upon the particulars of my life.
Fal. Shall I ? content : — This chair shall be
my state, this dagger my scepter, and this cushion
my crown.
P. Hen. Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy
golden scepter for a leaden dagger, and thy precious
rich crown, for a pitiful bald crown.
Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out
of thee, now shalt thou be moved. — Give me a cup
of sack, to make mine eyes look red, that it may be
thought I have wept ; for I must speak in passion,
and I will do it in king Cambyses' 3 vein.
P. Hen. Well, here is my leg. ^
Fal. And here is my speech : — Stand aside, nobility.
Host. This is excellent sport, i'faith.
Fal. Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears
are vain.
Host. O, the father, how he holds his countenance !
Fal. For heaven's sake, lords, convey my tristful
queen.
For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes.
Host. O rare ! he doth it as like one of these har-
lotry players, as I ever see.
Fal. Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle-
brain. 5 — Harry, I do not only marvel where thou
spendest thy time, but also how thou art accom-
panied : for though the camomile, the more it is
trodden on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the more
it is wasted, the sooner it wears. That thou art my
son, I have partly thy mother's word, partly my own
opinion ; but chiefly, a villainous trick of thine eye,
and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip, that doth
warrant me. If then thou be son to me, here lies
the point ; — Why, being son to me, art thou so
pointed at ? Shall the blessed sun of heaven prove
a micher 6, and eat blackberries ? a question not to
be asked. Shall the son of England prove a thief,
and take purses? a question to be asked. There
is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of,
and it is known to many in our land by the name
of pitch : this pitch, as ancient writers do report,
doth defile ; so doth the company thou keep'st : Ml ^
for, Harry, now, I do not speak to thee in drink, ^B
but in tears ; not in pleasure, but in passion ; not ^
in words only, but in woes also : — And yet there
is a virtuous man, whom I have often noted in thy
company, but I know not his name.
P. Hen. What manner of man, an it like your
majesty ?
Fal. A good portly man, and a corpulent ; of
a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble
carriage ; and, as I think, his age some fifty, or,
by'r-lady, inclining to threescore ; and now I re-
member me, his name is FalstafF: if that man
3 A character in a Tragedy by T. Preston, 1570.
^ Obeisance. * Name of a strong liquor. *> A truant bov.
^1
Scene IV.
KING HENRY IV.
389
should be wantonly given, he deceiveth me ; for,
Harry, I see virtue in his looks. If then the tree
may be known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree,
then, peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in that
Falstaff : him keep with, the rest banish. And tell
me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me, where hast
thou been this month ?
P. Hen. Dost thou speak like a king : Do thou
stand for me, and I'll play my father.
Fill. Depose me? if thou dost it half so gravely, so
majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up
by the heels for a rabbet-sucker, or a poulter's hare.
P. Hen. Well, here I am set.
Fal, And here I stand : — judge, my masters.
P. Hen. Now, Harry? whence come you?
FcU. My noble lord, from Eastcheap.
P. Hen. The complaints I hear of thee are grievous.
Fed. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false : — nay, I'll
tickle ye for a young prince, i'faith.
P. Hen. Swearest tliou, imgracious boy ? hence-
forth ne'er look on me. Tliou art violently carried
away from giace : there is a devil haunts thee, in
the likeness of a fat old man : a tun of man is thy
companion. Why dost thou converse with that
trunk of humours, that huge bombard? of sack,
tliat roasted Manningtree 8 ox, that reverend vice,
that grey iniquity, tliat father ruffian, that vanity in
years ? Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and
drink it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a
capon and eat it ? wherein cunning, but in craft ?
wherein crafty, but in villainy ? wherein villainous,
but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing?
Fal. I would, your grace would take me with
you ; whom means your grace ?
P. Hen. That villainous abominable misleader of
youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan.
Fal. My lord, the man I know.
P. Hen. I know, thou dost.
Fal. But to say, I know more harm in him than
in myself, were to say more than I know. That he
is old, (tlie more the pity,) his white hairs do wit-
ness it: but that he is villainous, that I utterly
deny. If sack and sugar be a fault, God help the
wicked ! If to be old and meiry be a sin, then
many an old host that I know, is lost : if to be fat
be to be hated, then Pharaoh's lean kine are to be
loved. No, my good lord ; banish Peto, banish
Bardolph, banish Poins : but for sweet Jack Fal-
staff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant
Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being as
he is, old Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's
company ; banish plump Jack, and banish all the
world.
P. Hen. I do, I will. [A knocking heard.
{Exeunt Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph.
Re-enter Bardolph, running.
Bard. O, my lord, my lord ; the sheriff, with a
most monstrous watch, is at the door.
Fal. Out, you rogue ! play out the play : I have
much to say in the behalf of that FalstaffT
Re-enter Hostess, hastily.
Host. O, my lord, my lord !
Fal. Heigh ! heigh ! the devil rides upon a fiddle-
stick : What's the matter ?
Hoa. The sheriff and all the watch are at tlie
7 A leather black-jack to hold beer.
* In EMex, where a Urge ox waa roasted whoI&
door : they are come to search the house ? Shall I
let them in ?
Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal ? never call a true
piece of gold, a counterfeit : thou art essentially
mad, without seeming so.
P. Hen. And thou a natural coward, without
instinct.
Fal. I deny your major : if you will deny the
sheriff, so ; if not, let him enter : if I become not a
cart as well as another man, a plague on my bring,
ing up ! I hope, I shall as soon be strangled with a
halter, as another.
P. Hen. Go, hide thee behind the arras ; — the
rest walk up above. Now, my masters, for a true
face, and good conscience.
Fal. Both which I have had : but their date is
out, and therefore I'll hide me.
{Exeunt all but the Prince and Poins.
P. Hen. Call in the Sheriff.
Enter Sheriff and Carrier.
Now, master sheriff; what's your will with me ?
Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry
Hath follow'd certain men unto tliis house.
P. He7i. What men ?
Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious lord,
A gross fat man.
Car. As fat as butter.
P. Hen. The man, I do assure you, is not here ;
For I myself at this time have employ'd him.
And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee,
That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time,
Send him to answer thee, or any man,
For any thing he shall be charg'd withal :
And so let me entreat you leave the house.
Sher. I will, my lord : There are two gentlemen
Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks.
P. Hen. It may be so : if he have robb'd these men,
He shall be answerable ; and so, farewell.
Sher. Good night, my noble lord.
P. Hen. I think it is good morrow ; Is it not ?
Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock.
{Exeunt Sheriff on^i Carrier.
P. Hen. This oily rascal is known as well as
Paul's. Go, call him forth.
Poins. Falstaff ! — fast asleep behind the arras,
and snorting like a horse.
P. Hen. Hark, how hard he fetches breath :
Search his pockets. [Poins searches.'^ What hast
thou found ?
Poins. Nothing but papers, my lord.
P. Hen. Let's see what tliey be : read them.
Poins. Item, A capon, 2s. 2d.
Item, Sauce, 4d.
Item, Sack, two gallons, 5s. 8d.
Item, Anchovies, and sack after" supper, 2s. 6d.
Item, Bread, a half-penny.
P. Hen. O monstrous ! but one half-pennyworth
of bread to this intolerable deal of sack ! — What
there is else, keep close ; we'll read it at more
advantage : there let him sleep till day. I'll to tlie
court in the morning : we must all to the wars, and
thy place shall be honourable. I'll procure tliis
fat rogue a charge of foot ; and, I know, his death
will be a march of twelve-score. The money
shall t>e paid back again with advantage. Be
with me betimes in the morning ; and so good
morrow, Poins.
Poins. Good morrow, good my lord. [ExeuiU.
C c 3
390
FIRST PART OF
Act III.
ACT III.
SCENE I. — Bangor. A Room in the Archdea-
con's House.
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Mortimer, and
Glendowkr.
M(yrt. These promises are fair, the parties sure,
And our induction full of prosperous hope.
Hot. Lord Mortimer — and cousin Glendower —
Will you sit down ?
And, uncle Worcester : — A plague upon it !
I have forgot the map.
Glend. No, here it is.
Sit, cousin Percy ; sit, good cousin Hotspur :
For by that name as oft as Lancaster
Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale ; and, with
A rising sigh, he wisheth you in heaven.
Hot. And you in hell, as often as he hears
Owen Glendower spoke of.
Glend. I cannot blame him : at my nativity
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,
Of burning cressets 8 : and at my birth,
The frame and huge foundation of the earth
Shak'd like a coward.
Hot. Why, so it would have done
At the same season, if your mother's cat had
But kitten'd, though yourself had ne'er been born.
Glend. I say, the earth did shake when I was born.
Hot. And I say, the earth was not of my mind,
If you suppose, as fearing you it shook.
Glend. The heavens were all on fire, the earth
did tremble.
Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the heavens
on fire,
And not in fear of your nativity.
Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth
In strange eruptions : oft the teeming earth
Is with a kind of colick pinch'd and vex'd
By the imprisoning of unruly wind
Within her womb ; which, for enlargement striving,
Shakes the old beldame earth, and topples 9 down
Steeples, and moss-grown towers. At your birth,
Our grandam earth, having this distemperature,
In passion shook.
Glend. Cousin, of many men
I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave
To tell you once again, — that at my birth,
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes ;
The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds
Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields.
These signs have mark'd me extraordinary ;
And all the courses of my life do show,
I am not in the roll of common men.
Where is he living, — clipp'd in with the sea
That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales,—
Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me ?
And bring him out, that is but woman's son,
Can trace me in the tedious ways of art,
And hold me pace in deep experiments.
Hot. I think there is no man speaks better
Welsh :
I will to dinner.
Mort. Peace, cousin Percy ; you will make him
mad.
Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep.
8 Lights set cross-ways upon beacons, and also upon poles,
which were used in processions, &c. ^ Tumbles.
Hot. Why, so can I ; or so can any man :
But will they come, when you do call for them ?
Glend. Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command
The devil.
Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to sliame the
devil.
By telling truth ; Tell truth, and shame the devil. —
If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither,
And I'll be sworn, I have power to shame him hence.
O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the devil.
Mort. Come, come.
No more of this unprofitable chat.
Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke
made head
Against my power : thrice from the banks of Wye,
And sandy-bottom'd Severn, have I sent him.
Bootless home, and weather-beaten back.
Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather too !
How 'scapes he agues, in the devil's name ?
Glend. Come, here's the map ; Shall we divide
our right.
According to our three-fold order ta'en ?
Mort. The archdeacon hath divided it
Into three limits, very equally :
England, from Trent and Severn hitherto.
By south and east, is to my part assign'd :
All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore,
And all the fertile land within that bound.
To Owen 'Glendower : — and, dear coz, to you
The remnant northward, lying off from Trent.
And our indentures tripartite are drawn :
Which being sealed interchangeably,
(A business that this night may execute,)
To-morrow, cousin Percy, you, and I,
And my good lord of Worcester, will set forth,
To meet your father, and the Scottish power,
As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury.
My father Glendower is not ready yet,
Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days : —
Within that space, [To Glend.] you may have
drawn together
Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen.
Glend. A shorter time shall send me to you,
lords,
And in my conduct shall your ladies come :
From whom you now must steal, and take no leave ;
For there will be a world of water shed,
Upon the parting of your wives and you.
Hot. Methinks, my moiety, north from Burton
here,
In quantity equals not one of yours :
See, how this river comes me cranking in.
And cuts me, from the best of all my land,
A huge half moon, a monstrous cantle i out.
I'll have the current in this place damm'd up ;
And here .the smug and silver Trent shall run,
In a new channel, fair and evenly :
It shall not wind with such a deep indent,
To rob me of so rich a bottom here.
Glend. Not wind ? it shall, it must ; you see, it
doth.
Mart. Yea,
But mark, how he bears his course, and runs me up
With like advantage on the other side ;
1 Comer
Scene I.
KING HENRY IV.
S91
Robbing the opposed continent as much,
As on the other side it takes from you.
fVor. Yea, but a little charge will trench him
here.
And on this north side win this cape of land ;
And then he runs straight and even.
Hot. I'll have it so ; a little charge will do it.
Glend. I will not have it alter'd.
Hot. Will not you ?
Glend. No, nor you shall not.
Hot. Who shall say me nay ?
Glend. Why that will I.
Hot. Let me not understand you then,
Speak it in Welsh.
Glend. I can speak English, lord, as well as you;
For I was train'd up in the English court :
Where, being but young, I framed to the harp
Many an English ditty, lovely well.
And gave the tongue a helpful ornament ;
A virtue that was never seen in you.
Hot. Marry, and I'm glad of it with all my heart :
I had rather be a kitten, and cry — mew,
Tlian one of these same metre ballad-mongers :
I had rather hear a brazen canstick'- tum'd,
Or a dry wheel grate on an axle-tree ;
And that would set my teeth nothing on edge,
Nothing so much as mincing poetry ;
'Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag.
Glend. Come, you shall have Trent tum'd.
Hot. I do not care : I'll give thrice so much land
To any well-deserving friend ;
But, in the way of bargain, mark ye me,
I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair.
Are the indentures drawn ? shall we be gone ?
Glend. The moon shines fair, you may away by
night:
I'll haste tlie writer, and, withal.
Break 3 with your wives of your departure hence :
I am afraid, my daughter will run mad.
So much she doteth on her Mortimer. [Exit.
Mart. Fye, cousin Percy ! how you cross my
father !
Hot. I cannot choose : sometimes he angers me,
With telling me of the moldwarp ^ and the ant,
Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies ;
And of a dragon and a finless fish,
A clip-wing'd griffin, and a moulten raven,
A couching lion, and a ramping cat.
And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff
As puts me from my faith. I tell you what, —
He held me, but last night, at least nine hours.
In reckoning up the severtd devils' names.
That were his lacqueys: I cried, humph, — and well,
— go to, ■—
But mark'd him not a word. O, he's as tedious
As is a tired horse, a railing wife ;
Worse than a smoky house : — I had rather live
With cheese and garlick, in a windmill, far,
Than feed on cates, and have liim talk to me.
In any summer-house in Christendom.
Mori. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman ;
Exceedingly well read, and profited
In strange concealments ; valiant as a lion.
And wondrous affable : and as bountiful
As mines of India. Sliall I tell you, cousin ?
He holds your temper in a high respect.
And curbs himself even of his natural scope,
When you do cross his humour ; faith, he does :
I warrant you, that man is not alive,
3 CuMUcsUck. 3 Break the matter. * Mole.
Might so have tempted him as you have done.
Without the taste of danger and reproof;
But do not use it oft, let me entreat you.
Wor. In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame ;
And since your coming hither have done enough
To put him quite beside his patience.
You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault :
Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, blood,
(And that's the dearest grace it renders you,)
Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage,
Defect of manners, want of government.
Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain :
The least of which, haunting a nobleman,
Loseth men's hearts ; and leaves behind a stain
Upon the beauty of all parts besides.
Beguiling them of commendation.
Hot. Well, I am schooVd ; good manners be your
speed !
Here come our wives, and let us take our leave.
Re-enter Glendower, rdlh the I^adies.
Mart. Tliis is the deadly spite that angers me, —
My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.
Glend. My daughter weeps; she will not part
with you.
She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars.
Mort. Good father, tell her, — that she, and my
aunt Percy,
Shall follow in your conduct speedily.
[Glendower s])eaks to his daughter in Welsli,
and she ansivers him in the same.
Glend. She's desperate here; a peevish self-will'd
harlotry,
One no persuasion can do good upon.
[Lady M. speaks to Mortimer in Welsh.
Mort. I understand thy looks ; that pretty Wel.sh
Which thou pourest down from these swelling
heavens,
I am too perfect in ; and, but for shame.
In such a parley would I answer thee.
[Lady Mortimer speaks
I understand thy kisses, and thou mine.
And that's a feeling disputation :
But I will never be a truant, love.
Till I have learn'd thy language ; for thy tongue
Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd.
Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower.
With ravishing division, to her lute.*
Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad.
[Lady Mortimer speaks again.
Mort. O, I am ignorance itself in this.
Glend. She bids you
Upon the wanton rushes lay you down,
And rest your gentle head upon her lap.
And she will sing the song that pleasetli you.
And on your eye-lids crown the god of sleep.
Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness j
Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep.
As is the difference betwixt day and night.
The hour before the heavenly hamess'd team
Begins his golden progress in the east.
Mort. With all my heart I'll sit, and hear her
sing:
By that time will our book, I think, be drawn.
Glend. Do so ;
And those musicians that shall play to you,
Hsmg in the air a thousand leagues from hence ;
Yet straight they shall be here : sit, and attend.
■ A compliment to queen Elixabeth.
Cc 4
392
FIRST PART OF
Act III.
Glendowkr speaks some Welsh words, and then the
Mustek plays.
Hot. Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh;
And 'tis no marvel, he's so humorous.
By'r lady, he's a good musician.
Lady P. Then should you be nothing but mu-
sical ; for you are altogether governed by humours.
Lie still, ye thief, and hear tlie lady sing in Welsh.
Hot. I had rather hear Lady, my brach % howl
in Irish.
Lady P. Wouldst thou have thy head broken?
Hot. No.
Lady P. Then l)e still.
Hot. Peace ! she sings.
u4 Welsh SONG, sung by Lady Mortimer.
Hot. Come, Kate, I'll have your song too.
Lady P. Not mine, in good sooth.
Hot. Not yours, in good sooth! 'Heart, you swear
Like a comfit-maker's wife ! Not you, in good sooth ;
And, As true as I live ; and. As sure as day :
And giv'st such sarcenet surety for thy oaths.
As if thou never walk'dst further than Finsbury.7
Swear me, Kate, like a lady, as thou art,
A good mouth-filling oath ; and leave in sooth,
And such protest of pepper-gingerbread.
To velvet guards 8, and Sunday citizens.
Come, sing.
Lady P. I will not sing.
Hot. 'Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be red-
breast teacher. An the indentures be drawn, I'll
away within these two hours ; and so come in when
ye will. [£:xit.
Glend. Come, come, lord Mortimer ; you are as
slow.
As hot lord Percy is on fire to go
By this our book's drawn ; we'll but seal, and then
To horse immediately.
Mort. With all my heart. \_Exeunt.
SCENE II. — London. A Room in the Palace,
Enter King Henry, Prince of Wales, and Lords.
K. Hen. Lords, give us leave ; the prince of
Wales, and I,
Must have some conference : But be near at hand.
For we shall presently liave need of you. —
[Exeunt Lords.
I know not whether heaven will have it so,
For some displeasing service I have done,
That in his secret doom out of my blood
He'll breed revengement and a scourge for me ;
But thou dost, in thy passages of life.
Make me believe, — that thou art only mark'd
For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven,
To punish my mis-treadings. Tell me else.
Could such inordinate, and low desires.
Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts,
Such barren pleasures, rude society,
As thou art match'd withal, and grafted to.
Accompany the greatness of thy blood.
And hold their level with thy princely heart ?
P. Hen. So please your majesty, I would, I could
Quit all offences with such clear excuse.
As well as, I am doubtless, I can purge
Myself of many I am charg'd withal :
Yet such extenuation let me beg.
As, in reproof of many tales devis'd, —
6 Hound. 7 In Moorfields.
8 Laced velvet, the finery of cockneys.
Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear.
By smiling pick-thanks 9 and base newsmongers,
I may, for some things true, wherein my youth
Hath faulty wander'd and irregular.
Find pardon on my true submission
JC- Hen. God pardon thee ! — yet let me wonder,
Harry,
At thy affections, which do hold a wing
Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors.
Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost,
Which by thy younger brother is supplied ;
And art almost an alien to the hearts
Of all the court and princes of my blood :
The hope and expectation of thy time
Is ruin'd; and the soul of « very man
Prophetically does fore-think thy fall.
Had I so lavish of my presence been.
So common-hackney'd in the eyes of men.
So stale and cheap to vulgar company ;
Opinion, that did help me to the crown.
Had still kept loyal to possession j
And left me in reputeless banishment,
A fellow of no mark, nor likelihood.
By being seldom seen, I could not stir,
But, like a comet, I was wondered at :
That men would tell their children. This is he :
Others would say, — Where? which is Bolingbrokef
And then I stole all courtesy from heaven.
And dress'd myself in such humility.
That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts.
Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths.
Even in the presence of the crowned king.
Thus did I keep my person fresh and new ;
My presence, like a robe pontifical.
Ne'er seen, but wonder'd at : and so my state.
Seldom, but sumptuous, showed like a feast ;
And won, by rareness, such solemnity.
The skipping king, he ambled up and down
With shallow jesters, and rash bavin ' wits.
Soon kindled, and soon burn'd : carded his state j
Mingled his royalty with capering fools ;
Had his great name profaned with their scorns ;
And gave his countenance, against his name,
To laugh at gibing boys, and stand the push
Of every beardless vain comparative : —
Grew a companion to the common streets,
Enfeoff''d himself to popularity :
That being daily swallow'd by men's eyes.
They surfeited with honey ; and began
To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little
More than a little is by much too much.
So, when he had occasion to be seen,
He was but as the cuckoo is in June,
Heard, not regarded ; seen, but with such eyes.
As, sick and blunted with community.
Afford no extraordinaiy gaze.
Such as is bent on sun-like majesty
When it shines seldom in admiring eyes :
But rather drowz'd, and hung their eyelids down.
Slept in his face, and rendered such aspect
As cloudy men use to their adversaries ;
Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and full.
And in that very line, Harry, stand'st thou :
For thou hast lost thy princely privilege.
With vile participation ; not an eye
But is a-Aveary of thy common sight.
Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more;
Which now doth that I would not have it do.
Make blind itself with foolish tenderness.
s Officious parasites. • ' Brushwood.
Scene II.
KING HENRY IV.
393
P. Hen. I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord.
Be more myself.
JiT. Hen. For all the world,
As thou art to this hour, was Richard then
When I from France set foot at Ravenspurg ;
And even as I was then, is Percy now.
Now by my sceptre, and my soul to boot.
He liath more worthy interest to the state.
Than thou, the shadow of succession :
For, of no right, nor colour like to right.
He doth fill fields with harness* in the realm ;
Turns head against the lion's armed jaws ;
And, being no more in debt to years than thou,
Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on,
To bloody battles, and to bruising arms.
What never-dying honour hatli he got
Against renowned Douglas ; whose high deeds,
Whose hot incursions, and great name in arms,
Holds, from all soldiers chief majority.
And mihtary title capital.
Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ?
Thrice hath this Hotspur Mars in swathing clothes.
This infant warrior in his enterprizes
Discomfited great Douglas : ta'en him once,
Enlarged him, and made a friend of him.
To fill the mouth of deep defiance up.
And sliake the peace and safety of our throne.
And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland,
The archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer,
Capitulate 3 against us, and are up.
But wherefore do I tell these news to thee ?
Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes.
Which art my near'st and dearesf* enemy ?
Thou that art like enough, — tlu-ough vassal fear,
Base inclination, and the start of spleen, —
To fight against me under Percy's pay.
To dog his heels, and court'sy at his frowns,
To show how much thou art degenerate.
P. Hen. Do not think so, you shall not find it so ;
And heaven forgive them, that have so much sway'd
Your majesty's good thoughts away from me !
I will redeem all this on Percy's head.
And in the closing of some glorious day,
Be bold to tell you that I am you son ;
When I will wear a garment all of blood,
And stain my favours in a bloody mask.
Which wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it
And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights.
That this same child of honour and renown.
This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight.
And your unthought-of Harry, chance to meet :
For every honour sitting on his helm,
* Would they were multitudes ; and on my head
My shames redoubled ! for the time will come.
That I shall make this northern youth exchange
His glorious deeds for my indignities.
Percy is but my factor, good my lord.
To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf;
And I will call him to so strict account,
Tliat he shall render every glory up.
Yea, even tlie slightest worship of his time.
Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart.
This, in the name of God, I promise here :
The which if he be pleas'd I shall perform,
I do beseech your majesty, may salve
Tlie long-grown wounds of my intemperance':
If not the end of life cancels a\\ bands ;
And I will die a hundred thousand deaths,
Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow.
" Armour, 3 Combine, ♦ Most fatal
K. Hen. A hundred thousand rebels die in this : —
Thou shalt have charge, and sovereign trust, herein.
Enter Blunt.
How now, good Blunt ? thy looks are full of speed.
Blunt. So hath the business that I come to speak of.
Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word,
That Douglas, and tlie English rebels, met
The eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury :
A mighty and a fearful head they are.
If promises be kept on every hand.
As ever ofl[er'd foul play in a state.
K. Hen. Theearlof Westmorelandsetforthto-day;
With him my son, lord John of Lancaster ;
For this advertisement is five days old : —
On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set
Forward \ on Thursday, we ourselves will march :
Our meeting is Bridgnorth : and, Harry, you.
Shall march through Glostershire; by which account.
Our business valued, some twelve days hence
Our general forces at Bridgnorth shall meet.
Our hands are full of business : let's away ;
Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III Eastcheap. A room in the Boot's
Head Tavern.
Enter Falstaff and Bakdolph.
Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since
this last action ? do I not bate ? do I not dwindle ?
Why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady's
loose gown ; I am witlier'd like an old apple-John.
WeH, I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in
some liking ^ ; J shall be out of heart shortly, and
then I shall have no strength to repent. An I have
not forgotten what the inside of a church is made
of, I am a pepper-corn, a brewer's horse : the inside
of a church ! Company, villainous company, hath
been the spoil of me.
Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot
live long.
Fal. Why, there is it : — come, sing me a song ;
make me merry. I was as virtuously given, as a
gentleman need to be ; virtuous enough ; swore
little ; diced, not above seven times a week ; paid
money that I borrowed, three or four times ; lived
well, and in good compass : and now I live out of
all order, out of all compass.
Bard. Why, you are so fat, sir John, that you
must needs be out of all compass ; out of all reason-
able compass, sir John.
Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my
life : Thou art our admiral <>, thou bearest the lantern
in the poop, — but 'tis in the nose of thee ; thou art
the knight of the burning lamp.
Bard. Why, sir John, my face does you no harm.
Fal. No, I'll be sworn ; I make good use of it.
W^hen thou ran'st up Gads-hill in the night to catch
my horse, if I did not tliink thou hadst been an
ignis fatuiis, or a ball of wildfire, there's no pur-
chase in money. O, thou art ^ perpetual triumph,
an everlasting bonfire-light ! Thou hast saved me
a thousand mai'ks in links and torches, walking with
thee in tlie night betwixt tavern and tavern : but the
sack that thou hastdnmk me, would have bought me
lights as good cheap, at the dearest chandler's in
Europe. I have maintained that salamander of
yours with fire, any time this two-and-thirty years j
Heaven reward me for it !
Have tome flesh.
* Admiral'! ship.
894
FIRST PART OF
Act III. Scene III.
Enter Hostess.
How now dame Partlet the hen? 7 have you inquired
yet, wh<f picked my pocket ?
Host. Wljy, sir John ! what do you think, sir
John ? do you think I keep thieves in my house?
I have searclied, I have inquired, so has my hus-
band, man by man, boy by boy, servant by servant :
the tithe of a hair was never lost in my house before.
/a/. You lie, hostess ; Bardolph was shaved and
lost many a hair : and I'll be sworn, my pocket was
picked : Go to, you are a woman, go.
Hoit. Who I ? I defy thee : I was never called
so in mine own house before.
Fal. Go to, I know you well enough.
Host. No, sir John ; you do not know me, sir
John : I know you, sir John : you owe me money,
sir John, and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me
of it ; I bought you a dozen of shirts to your back.
Fal. Dowlas, dowlas : I have given them away to
bakers' wives, and they have made bolters of them.
Host. Now, as I am a true woman, holland of
eight sliillings an ell. You owe money here besides,
sir John, for your diet, and by-drinkings, and money
lent you, four-and-twenty pound.
Fal. He had his part of it ; let him pay.
Host. He ? alas, he is poor ; he hath nothing.
Fal. How! poor? look upon his face ; What call
you rich ? let them coin his nose, let them coin his
cheeks ; I'll not pay a denier. What will you
make a younker of me ? shall I not take mine ease
in mine inn, but I shall have my pocket picked ?
I have lost a seal-ring of my grandfather's worth
forty mark.
Host. O ! I have heard the prince tell him, I
know not liow oft, that that ring was copper.
Fal. How ! the prince is a Jacks, a sneak-cup ;
and, if he were here, I would cudgel liim like a dog
if he would say so.
Enter Prince Henry and Poins, marching. Fal-
STAFF meets the Prince, playing on his truncheon
like ajife.
Fal. How now, lad ? is the wind in that door,
must we all march ?
Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate-fashion.
Host. My lord, I pray you, hear me.
P. Hen. What sayest thou, mistress Quickly?
How does thy husband ? I love him well, he is an
honest man.
Host. Good my lord hear me.
Fal, Pr'ythee, let her alone, and list to me.
P. Hen. What say'st thou, Jack ?
Fal. The other night I fell asleep here behind the
arras, and had my pocket picked.
P. Hen. What did'st thou lose, Jack ?
Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal ? three or four
bjonds of forty pound a-piece, and a seal-ring of
my grandfather's.
P. Hen. A trifle, some eight-penny matter.
Host. So I told him, my lord ; and I said, I heard
your grace say so : And my lord, he speaks most
vilely of you, like a foul-mouthed man as he is j and
said, he would cudgel you.
P. Hen. What ! he did not.
Host. There's neither faith, truth, nor woman-
hood in me else.
Fal. There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed
prime ; nor no more truth in thee, than in a drawn
7 In the story-book of Reynard the Fox.
* A term of contempt frequently nsed by Shakspcare.
fox ; and for womanhood, maid Marian 9 may be
the deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you
thing, go.
Host. Say, what thing? what thing? I am an
honest man's wife : and, setting thy knighthood aside,
thou art a knave to call me so.
Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a
beast to say otherwise.
Host. Say, wliat beast, thou knave, thou ?
Fal. What beast ? why an otter.
P. Hen. An otter, sir John ! why an otter ?
Fal. Why ? she's neither fish, nor flesh.
Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so.
P. Hen. Thou sayest true, hostess; and he
slanders thee most grossly.
Host. So he doth you, my lord ; and said this
other day, you ought him a thousand pound.
P. Hen. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?
Fal. A thousand pound, Hal ? a million : thy
love is worth a million ; thou owest me thy love.
Host. Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and
said, he would cudgel you.
Fol. Did I, Bardolph ?
Bard. Indeed, sir John, you said so.
Fal. Yea ; if he said, my ring was copper.
P. Hen. I say, 'tis copper : Darest thou be as
good as thy word now ?
Fal. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but
man, I dare : but, as thou art prince, I fear thee,
as I fear the roaring of the lion's whelp.
P. Hen. And why not, as the lion ?
Fal. The king himself is to be feared as the lion :
Dost thou think, I'll fear thee as I fear thy fatlier ?
P. Hen. O, sirrah, there's no room for faith,
truth, nor honesty, in this bosom of thine. Charge
an honest woman with picking thy pocket ! Why,
thou impudent rascal, if there were any thing in
thy pocket but tavern-reckonings, and one poor
penny-worth of sugar-candy to make thee long
winded ; if thy pocket were enriched with any othei
injuries but these, I am a villain. And yet you
will stand to it ; you will not pocket up wrong :
Art thou not ashamed ?
Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal ? thou knowest, in the
state of innocency, Adam fell ; and what should
poor Jack Falstaff do, in the days of villainy?
Thou seest, I have more flesh than another man ;
and therefore more frailty. You confess then,
you picked my pocket ?
P. Hen. It appears so by the story.
Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee : Go, make ready
breakfast ; love thy husband, look to thy servants,
cherish thy guests : thou shalt flnd me tractable to
any honest reason : thou seest, I am pacified. —
Still ? — Nay, pr'ythee, be gone. [Exit Hostess.]
Now, Hal, to the news at court : for the robbery,
lad, — How is that answered ?
P. Hen. O, my sweet beef, I must still be good
angel to thee : — The money is paid back again.
Fal. O, I do not like that paying back, 'tis a
double labour.
P. Hen. I am good friends with my father, and
may do any thing.
Fal. Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou
doest, and do it with unwashed hands too.
Bard. Do, my lord.
P. Hen. I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of
foot.
9 A female character, who attends morris-dancers ; gene-
rally a man dressed like a woman.
I
Act IV. Scene I.
KING HENRY IV.
395
Fal. I would, it had been of horse. Where shall
I find one that can ste^ well ? O for a fine thief,
of the age of two-and-twenty, or thereabouts ! I am
heinously unprovided. Well, Heaven be tlianked
for these rebels, tliey offend none but the virtuous ;
I laud them, I praise them.
P. Hen. Bardolph
Bard. My lord.
P. Hen. Go bear this letter to lord John of Lan-
caster,
My brother John ; this to my lord of Westmore-
land, —
Go, Poins, to horse, to horse ; for thou, and I,
Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time.
Jack,
Meet me to-morrow i' the Temple-hall
At two o'clock i'the afternoon :
There shalt thou know thy charge; and there receive
Money, and order for their furniture.
The land is burning ; Percy stands on high ;
And either they, or we, must lower lie.
[Exeunt Prince, Poins, and Bardolph.
Fal. Rare words ! brave world ! Hostess, my
breakfast ; come : —
O, 1 could wish, this tavern were my drum.
[Exit.
ACT IV.
SCENE I. — The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury.
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, and Douglas.
Hot. Well said, my noble Scot: If speaking
truth.
In this fine age, were not thought flattery.
Such attribution should the Douglas > have,
As not a soldier of this season's stamp
Should go so general current through the world.
By heaven, I cannot flatter ; I defy
The tongues of soothers ; but a braver place
In my heart's love, hath no man than yourself:
Nay, task me to the word ; approve me, lord.
Doug. Thou art the king of honour :
No man so potent breathes upon the ground,
But I will beard him.
Hot. Do so, and 'tis well : —
Enter a Messenger, with Letters.
What letters hast thou there ? — I can but thank
you.
Mess. These letters come from your father, —
Hot. Letters from him ! why comes he not himself ?
Mess. He cannot come, my lord j he's grievous
sick.
Hot. O how has he the leisure to be sick,
In such a jostling time? Who leads his power?
Under whose government come they along ?
Mess. His letters bear his mind, not I, my lord.
Wor. I pr'ythee, tell me, doth he keep his bed ?
Mess. He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth ;
And at the time of my departure thence.
He was much fear'd by his physicians.
Wor. I would, the state of time had first been
whole,
Ere he by sickness had been visited ;
His health was never better worth than now.
Hot. Sick now ! droop now ! this sickness doth
infect
The very life-blood of our enterprize ;
*Tis catching hither, even to our camp. —
He writes me here, — that inward sickness —
And that his friends by deputation could not
So soon be drawn ; nor did he think it meet,
To lay so dangerous and dear a trust
On any soul remov'd, but on his own.
Yet doth he give us bold advertisement, —
That with our small conjunction, we should on.
To see how fortune is dispos'd to us :
' This expression is applied by way of pre-eminence to the
head of the Douglas family-
For, as he writes, there is no quailing ^ now y
Because the king is certainly possess'd
Of all our purposes. What say you to it ?
Wor. Your father's sickness is a maim to us.
Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd off: —r
And yet, in faith, 'tis not : his present want
Seems more than we shall find it : — Were it good.
To set the exact wealth of all our states
All at one cast ? to set so rich a main ^
On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour ?
It were not good : for therein should we read
The very bottom and the soul of hope ;
The very list 3, the very utmost bound
Of all our fortunes.
Doug. Faith, and so we should ;
Where now remains a sweet reversion :
We may boldly spend upon the hope of what '
Is to come in :
A comfort of retirement lives in this.
Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto.,
Wor. But yet, I would your father had been here.
The quality and hair * of our attempt
Brooks no division : It will be thought
By some, that know not why he is away
That wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike
Of our proceedings, kept the earl from hence ;
And think, how such an apprehension
May turn the tide of fearful faction.
And breed a kind of question in our cause :
For well you know, we of the offering side
Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement
And stop all sight-holes, every loop, from whence
The eye of reason may pry in upon us :
This absence of your father's draws a curtain.
That shows the ignorant a kind of fear
Before not dreamt of.
Hot. You strain too far.
I, rather, of his absence make tliis use ; —
It lends a lustre, and more great opinion,
A larger dare to our great enterprize.
Than if the earl were here : for men must think, ,
If we, without his help, can make a head
To push against tlie kingdom ; with his help.
We shall o'erturn it, topsy-turvy down. —
Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole.
Doug. As heart can think : there is not such a
word
Spoke of in Scotland, as this term of fear.
* Languishing.
* The comi^exion, the character.
Limit, boundary.
396
FIRST PART OF
Act IV.
Enter Sir Richard Vernon.
Hot. My cousin Vernon ! welcome, by my soul.
Ver. Pray Heaven, my news be worth a welcome,
lord.
The carl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong.
Is marching hithcrwards ; with him, prince John.
Hot. No harm : What more ?
Ver. And further, I have learn 'd —
The king himself in person is set forth,
Or hitherwards intended speedily.
With strong and mighty preparation.
Hot. He shall be welcome, too. Where is his son,
The nimble-footed madcap prince of Wales,
And his comrades that daff'd * the world aside.
And bid it pass?
Ver. All furnish'd, all in arms,
All plum'd like estridges ^ that wing the wind ;
Bated 7 like eagles having lately bath'd ;
Gh'ttering in golden coats, like images ;
As full of spirit as the month of May,
And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer ;
Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.
I saw young Harry, — with his beaver on.
His cuisses ^ on his thighs, gallantly arm'd, —
Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury,
And vaulted with such ease into his seat.
As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds.
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus,
And witch the world with noble horsemanship.
Hot. No more, no more ; worse than the sun in
March,
This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come ;
They come like sacrifices in their trim,
And to the fire-eyed maid of smoky war.
All hot, and bleeding, will we offer them :
The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit.
Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire,
To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh.
And yet not ours : — Come, let me take my horse.
Who is to bear me like a thunderbolt.
Against the bosom of the prince of Wales :
Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse,
Meet, and ne'er part, till one drop down a corse. —
O, that Glendower were come !
Ver. There is more news :
I learn'd in Worcester as I rode along.
He cannot draw his power this fourteen days.
Dong. That's the worst tidings that I hear of yet.
Wor. Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound.
Hot. What may the king's whole battle reach
unto?
Ver. To thirty thousand.
Hot. Forty let it be ;
My father and Glendower being both away,
Tlie powers of us may serve so great a day.
Come, let us make a muster speedily ;
Doomsday is near ; die all, die merrily.
Doug. Talk not of dying ; 1 am out of fear
Of death, or death's hand, for this one half year.
lExeunt.
SCENE II. — ^public Road near Coventry.
Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.
Fal- Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry ; fill
me a bottle of sack : our soldiers shall march
through ; we'll to Sutton- Colfield to-night.
JSard. Will you give me money, captain ?
' Threw contemptuously. ^ Ostriches.
' Fresh. 8 Armour for the thighs.
Fal. Lay out, lay out.
Bard. This bottle makes an angel.
Fal. An if it do, take it for thy labour ; and if it
make twenty, take them all, I'll answer the coinage.
Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at the town's end.
Bard. I will, captain : farewell. [Exit.
Fal. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am
a souced gurnet. I have misused the king's press
vilely. I have got in exchange of a hundred and
fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press
me none but good householders, yeoman's sons :
inquire me out contracted bachelors, such as had
been asked twice on the bans ; such a commodity
of warm slaves, as had as lief hear the devil as a
drum ; such as fear the report of a caliver ^ worse
than a struck fowl, or a hurt wild-duck. I pressed
me none but such toasts and butter, with hearts no
bigger than pins' heads, and they have bought out
their services ; and now my whole charge consists
of ancients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of
companies, slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the
painted cloth, and such as, indeed, were never
soldiers, but discarded, unjust serving-men, younger
sons to younger brothers, revolted tapsters, and
ostlers trade-fallen ; the cankers of a calm world,
and a long peace ; ten times more dishonourably
ragged than an old faced ancient • : and such have I
to fill up the rooms of them that have bought out
their services. A mad fellow met me on the way,
and told me I had unloaded all the gibbets, and
pressed the dead bodies. No eye hath seen such
scare-crows. I'll not march through Coventry with
them, that's flat : — Nay, and the villains march
wide betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves '2 on;
for, indeed, I had the most of them out of prison.
There's but a shirt and a half in all my company :
and the half shirt is two napkins tacked together,
and thrown over the shoulders like a herald's coat
without sleeves; and the shirt, to say the truth,
stolen from my host at Saint Alban's, or the red-
nose inn-keeper of Daintry. 3 But that's all one ;
they'll find linen enough on every hedge.
Enter Prince Henry and Westmoreland
P. He7i. How now, blown Jack? how now, quilt?
Fal. What, Hal ? How now, mad wag ? what a
devil dost thou in Warwickshire? — My good lord
of Westmoreland, I cry you mercy ; I thought your
honour had already been at Shrewsbury.
fFest. 'Faith, sir John, 'tis more than time that
I were there, and you too ; but my powers are there
already : The king, I can tell you, looks for us all ;
we must away all night.
Fal. Tut, never fear me ; I am as vigilant as a
cat to steal cream.
p. Hen. I think to steal cream, indeed ; for thy
theft hath already made thee butter. But, tell me,
Jack ; Whose fellows are these that come after ?
Fal. Mine, Hal, mine.
p. Hen. I did never see such pitiful rascals.
Fal. Tut, tut ; good enough to toss ; food for
powder, food for powder ; they'll fill a pit, as well
as better : tu^h, man, mortal men, mortal men.
West. Ay, but sir John, methinks.they are ex-
ceeding poor and bare ; too beggarly.
Fal. 'Faith, for their poverty, — I know not
where they had that : and for their bareness, — I
am sure they never learned that of me.
9 Musket ' Standard.
2 Fetters 3 Daventry, pronounced Daintrv.
I
J
Scene III.
KING HENRY IV.
P. Hen. No, I'll bp sworn; unless you call three
fingers on the ribs bare. But, sirrah, make haste ;
Percy is already in the field.
Ful. What, is the king encamped ?
West. He is, sir John ; I fear we shall stay too
long.
Fal. Well,
To the latter end of a fray, and the beginning of a
feast,
Fits a dull fighter, and a keen guest. \^Exeunt.
397
SCENE III. —The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury.
Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Douglas, and
Vernon.
ITot. We'll fight with him to-night.
^^^^- It may not be.
J)(nig. You give him then advantage.
^"-'r- Not a whit.
Hor. Why say you so? looks he not for supply ?
Ver. So do we.
^^ot. His is certain, ours is doubtful.
Wor. Good cousin, be advis'd ; stir not to-night.
Ver. Do not, my lord.
Doug. You do not counsel well ;
X ou speak it out of fear and cold heart.
Fer. Do me no slander, Douglas : by my life,
(And I dare well maintain it with my life,)
If well respected honour bid me on,
I hold as little counsel with weak fear,
As you, my lord, or any Scot that lives :
Let it be seen to-morrow in the battle.
Which of us fears.
Dong. Yea, or to night.
^'^' Content.
Hot. To-night say I.
^'^' Come, come, it may not be.
I wonder much, being men of such great leading 4,
That you foresee not what impediments
Drag back our expedition : Certain horse
Of my cousin Vernon's are not yet come up :
Your uncle Worcester's horse came but to-day ;
And now their pride and mettle is asleep.
Their courage with hard labour tame and dull,
That not a horse is half the half himself.
Hot. So are the horses of the enemy.
In general journey-bated and brought low j
The better part of ours is full of rest.
U'or. The number of the king exceedeth ours :
For heaven's sake, cousin, stay till all come in.
[ The Trumj)et sounds a parley.
Enter Sir Walter Blunt.
Blunt. I come with gracious oflTers from the king.
If you vouchsafe me hearing, and respect.
Hot. Welcome, sir Walter Blunt ; And 'would
to heaven.
You were of our determination !
Some of us love you well : and even those some
l^nvy your great deserving, and good name ;
Because you are not of our quality %
But stand against us like an enemy.
Blunt. And God defend, butstill I shouldstandso,
So long as, out of limit, and true rule.
You stand against anointed majesty !
But to my charge The king hath sent to know
1 he nature of your griefs <5 ; and whereupon
You conjure from the breast of civil peace
* Conduct, experience. » Fellowship. « Grievances.
Such bold hostility, teaching this duteous land
A udacious cruelty : If that the king '
Have any way your good deserts forgot, —
Which he confesseth to be manifold, —
He bids you name your griefs ; and, with all speed.
You shall have your desires, witli interest ;
And pardon absolute for yourself, and these.
Herein misled by your suggestion.
Hot. The king is kind ; and, well we know, the
king
Knows at wliat time to promise, when to pay.
My father, and my uncle, and myself,
Did give him that same royalty he wears :
And, — when he was not six and twenty strong.
Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low,
A poor unminded outlaw sneaking home,
My father gave him welcome to the shore :
And, — when he heard him swear, and vow to God,
He came but to be duke of Lancaster,
To sue liis livery 7, and beg his peace ;
With tears of innocency, and terms of zeal,
My father, in kind heart and pity mov'd.
Swore him assistance, and perform'd it too.
Now, when the lords and barons of the realm
Perceiv'd Northumberland did lean to him.
The more and less 8 came in with cap and knee ;
Met him in boroughs, cities, villages ;
Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes.
Laid gifts before him, proffer'd him their oaths.
Gave him their heirs ; as pages followed him.
Even at the heels, in golden multitudes.
He presently, — as greatness knows itself, —
Steps me a little higher than his vow
Made to my father, while his blood was poor,
Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurg ;
And now, forsooth, takes on him to reform
Some certain edicts, and some strait decrees.
That lie too heavy on the commonwealth :
Cries out upon aljuses, seems to weep
Over his country's wrongs ; and, by this face.
This seeming brow of justice, did he win
The hearts of all that he did angle for.
Proceeded further; cut me oflT the heads
Of all the favourites, that the absent king
In deputation left behind him here.
When be was personal in the Irish war.
BluiU. I came not to hear this.
^'*^' Then, to the point.
In short time after, he depos'd the king ;
Soon after that, depriv'd him of his life ;
And, in the neck of that, task'd the whole state :
To make that worse, suflTer'd his kinsman March
(Who is, if every owner were well plac'd.
Indeed his king,) to be incag'd in Wales,
There without ransome to lie forfeited :
Disgrac'd me in my happy victories ;
Sought to entrap me by*intelligence ;
Rated my uncle from the council-board;
In rage dismiss'd my father from the court;
Broke oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong :
And, in conclusion, drove us to seek out
This head of safety ; and, withal, to pry
Into his title, the which we find
Too indirect for long continuance.
Blunt* Shall I return this answer to the king ?
Hot. Not so, sir Walter ; we'll withdraw awhile.
Go to the king ; and let there be impawn'd
Some surety for a safe return again,
' The deUvery of hit Und*. « The greater and the le«
FIRST PART OF
Act V,
And in the morning early shall mine uncle
Bring him our purposes : and so farewell.
Blunt. I would, you would accept of grace and
love.
Hot, And, may be, so we shall.
Blunt. 'Pray heaven, you do !
\^Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — York. A Room in the Archbishop's
House.
Enter llie Archbishop of York, and a Gentleman.
Arch. Hie, good sir Michael ? bear this sealed
briefs,
With winged haste, to the lord mareshal ;
This to my cousin Scroop ; and all the rest
To whom they are directed r if you knew
How much they do import, you would make haste.
Geni. My good lord,
I guess their tenor.
Arch. Like enough you do.
To-morrow, good sir Michael, is a day.
Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men
Must 'bide the touch : P^or, sir, at Shrewsbury,
As I am truly given to understand,
The king, with mighty and quick-raised power.
Meets with lord Harry: and I fear, sire Michael, —
What with the sickness of Northumberland,
(Whose power was in the first proportion,)
And what with Owen Glendower's absence thence,
(Who with them was a rated sinew too ',
And comes not in, o'er-rul'd by prophecies,)
I fear the power of Percy is too weak
To wage an instant trial with the king.
Gent. Why, good my lord, you need not fear ;
there's Douglas,
And Mortimer.
Arch. No, Mortimer's not there.
Gent, But there is Mordake, Vernon, lord Harry
Percy,
And there's my lord of Worcester; and a head
Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen.
Arch. And so there is: but yet the king
drawn
The special head of all the land together : —
The prince of Wales, lord John of Lancaster,
The noble Westmoreland, and warlike Blunt ;
And many more corrivals, and dear men
Of estimation and command in arms.
Gent. Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well op-
pos'd.
Arch. I hope no less, yet needful 'tis to fear ;
And, to prevent the worst, sir Michael, speed :
For, if lord Percy thrive not, ere the king
Dismiss his power, he means to visit us, —
For he hath heard of our confederacy.
And 'tis but wisdom to make strong against him ;
Therefore, make haste : I must go write again
To other friends ; and so farewell, sir Michael.
[^Exeunt severally.
hatlkJH
ACT V.
SCENE I. — The King's Camp near Shi-ewsbury.
Enter Kino Henry, Prince Henry, Prince
John of Lancaster, Sir Walter Blunt, and Sir
John Falstaff.
IT. Hen. How bloodily the sun begins to peer
Above yon busky ^ hill ! the day looks pale
At his distemperature.
p. Hen. The southern wind
Doth play the trumpet to his purposes ;
And, by his hollow whistling in the leaves,
Foretells a tempest, and a blustering day.
JT. Hen. Then with the losers let it sympathize ;
For nothing can seem foul to those that win. —
Trumpet. Enter Worcester and Vernon.
How now, my lord of Worcester ? 'tis not well,
That you and I should meet upon such terms
As now we meet : You have deceiv'd our trust ;
And made us doff 3 our easy robes of peace.
To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel :
This is not well, my lord, this is not well.
What say you to't ? will you again unknit
This churlish knot of all-abhorred war ?
And move in that obedient orb again,
Where you did give a fair and natural light ,
And be no more an exhal'd meteor,
A prodigy of fear, and a portent
Of broached mischief to the unborn times ?
fVor. Hear me, my liege :
For mine own part, I could be well content
To entertain the lag-end of my life
8 Letter. i A strength on which they reckoned.
» Woody. 3 Put off:
With quiet hours ; for, I do protest,
I have not sought the day of this dislike.
jr. Hen. You have not sought for it ! how comes
it then ?
Eal. Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it.
P. Hen. Peace, chewet \ peace.
Wor. It pleas'd your majesty, to turn your looks
Of favour, from myself, and all our house ;
And yet I must remember you, my lord.
We were the first and dearest of your friends.
For you, my staff of office did I break
In Richard's time ; and posted day and night
To meet you on the way, and kiss your hand.
When yet you were in place and in account
Nothing so strong and fortunate as I.
It was myself, my brother, and his son,
That brought you home, and boldly did outdare
The dangers of the time : You swore to us, —
And you did swear that oath at Doncaster, —
That you did nothing purpose 'gainst the state ;
Nor claim no further than your new-fall'n right,
The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster :
To this we swore our aid. But, in short space.
It rain'd down fortune showering on your head ;
And such a flood of greatness fell on you, —
What with our help ; what with the absent king ;
What with the injuries of a wanton time ;
The seeming sufferances that you had borne ;
And the contrarious winds, that held the king
So long in his unlucky Irish wars.
That all in England did repute him dead, —
And, from this swarm of fair advantages,
You took occasion to be quickly woo'd
* A chattering bird, a pie.
I
SCKNE I.
KING HENRY IV.
399
To gripe the general sway into your hand ;
Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster ;
And, being fed by us, you us'd us so
As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird,
Useth the sparrow ; did oppress our nest ;
Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk,
That even our love durst not come near your sight,
For fear of swallowing ; but with nimble wing
We were enforc'd for safety sake, to fly
Out of your sight, and raise this present head :
Whereby we stand opposed by such means
As you yourself have forg'd against yourself ;
By unkind usage, dangerous countenance,
And violation of all faitli and troth
Sworn to us in your younger enterprise.
K. Hen. These things, indeed, you have articu-
lated 5,
Proclaim'd at market-crosses, read in churches ;
To face the garment of rebellion
With some fine colour, that may please the eye
Of fickle changelings, and poor discontents.
Which gape, and rub the elbow, at the news
Of hurlyburly innovation :
And never yet did insurrection want
Such water-colours, to impaint his cause ;
Nor moody beggars, starving for a time
Of pellmell havock and confusion.
P. Hen. In both our armies, there is many a soul.
Shall pay full dearly for this encounter.
If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew,
The prince of Wales doth join with all the world
In praise of Henry Percy ; By my hopes, —
lliis present enterprize set off his head, —
I do not think, a braver gentleman,
More active-valiant, or more valiant-young,
More daring, or more bold, is now alive,
To grace his latter age with noble deeds.
For my part, I may speak it to my shame,
I have a truant been to chivalry ;
And so, I hear, he doth account me too :
Yet this btfore my father's majesty, —
I am content, that he shall take the odds
Of his great name and estimation ;
And will, to save the blood on either side.
Try fortune with him in a single fighl.
K. Hen. And, prince of Wales, so dare we venture
thee.
Albeit, considerations infinite
Do make against it : — No, good Worcester, no,
We love our people well ; even those we love.
That are misled upon your cousin's part :
And, will they take the offer of our grace,
Both he, and they, and you, yea, every man
Shall be my friend again, and I'll be his :
So tell your cousin, and bring me word
What he will do : — But if he will not yield.
Rebuke and dread correction wait on us,
And they shall do their office. So, be gone ;
We will not now be troubled with reply :
We offer fair, take it advisedly.
{Exeunt Worcester and Vernon.
P. Hen. It will not be accepted on my life :
rhe Douglas and the Hotspur both together
Are confident against the world in arms.
JC. Hen. Hence, therefore, every leader to his
charge ;
For, on their answer, will we set on them :
And God befriend us, as our cause is just !
[Exeunt Kino, Blunt, and Paiyci John.
* Exhibited in articles.
F(il. Hal, if thou see me down in the battle, and
bestride me, so ; 'tis a point of friendship.
P. Hen. Nothing but a colossus can do thee that
friendship. Say thy prayers, and farewell.
Fal. I would it were bed-time, Hal, and all well.
P. Hen. Why, thou owest heaven a death.
[ExU.
Fal. 'Tis not due yet ; I would be loath to pay
before the day. What need I be so forward with
him that calls not on me ? Well, 'tis no matter ;
Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour
prick me off when I come on ? how then ? Can
honour set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No.
Or take away the grief of a wound ? No. Honour
hath no skill in surgery then ? No. What is honour?
A word. What is in that word, honour ? What is
that honour? Air. A trim reckoning! — Who
hath it ? He that died o' Wednesday. Doth he
feel it ? No. Doth he hear it ? No. Is it insen-
sible then ? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live
with the living ? No. Why? Detraction will not
suffer it : — therefore I'll none of it : Honour is a
mere scutcheon, and so ends my catechism. [Ei-U.
SCENE II. — Tlie Rebel Camp.
Enter Worcester and Vernon.
Wor. O, no, my nephew must not know, sir
Richard,
The liberal kind offer of the king.
Fer. 'Twere best he did.
Jf'or. Then are we all undone.
It is not possible, it cannot be.
The king should keep his word in loving us ;
He will suspect us still, and find a time
To punish this offence in other faults :
Suspicion shall be all stuck full of eyes :
For treason is but trusted like the fox ;
Who, ne'er so tame, so cherish'd, and lock'd up,
Will have a wild trick of his ancestors.
Look how we can, or sad, or merrily.
Interpretation will misquote our looks ;
And we shall feed like oxen at a stall,
The better cherish'd, still the nearer death
My nephew's trespass may be well forgot.
It hath the excuse of youth, and heat of blood ;
And an adopted name of privilege, —
A hare-brain'd Hotspur, govern'd by a spleen :
All his offences live upon my head.
And on his father's ; — we did train him on ;
And, his corruption being ta'en from us.
We, as the spring of all, shall pay for all.
Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know.
In any case, the offer of the king.
Ver. Deliver what you will, I'll say, 'tis so.
Here comes your cousin.
Enter Hotspur and Douglas; and Officers and
Soldiers, behind.
Hot. My uncle is return 'd : — Deliver up
My lord of Westmoreland Uncle, what news?
If^or. The king will bid you battle presently.
Doug. Defy him by the lord of Westmoreland.
Hot. Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so.
JDoun. Marry, and shall, and very willingly.
^ [ErU,
Wor. There is no seeming mercy in the king.
H<^. Did you beg any ? God forbid !
Wor. I told him gently of our grievances.
Of his oath-breaking ; which he mended thus, —
400
FIRST PART OF
Act V.
By now forswearing that he is forsworn :
He calls us rebels, traitors ; and will scourge
With haughty arms this hateful name in us.
Re-enter Douglas.
Doug. Arm, gentlemen ; to arms ! for I have
thrown
A brave defiance in king Henry's teeth,
And Westmoreland, tliat was engag'd, did bear it ;
Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on.
Wor. The prince of Wales stepp'd forth before
the king,
And, nephew, challeng'd you to single fight.
Hot. O, 'would the quarrel lay upon our heads ;
And that no man might draw short breath to-day,
But I, and Harry Monmouth ! Tell me, tell me,
How show'd his talking ? seem'd it in contempt ?
Ver. No, by my soul ; I never in my life
Did hear a challenge urg'd more modestly,
Unless a brother should a brother dare
To gentle exercise and proof of arms.
He gave you all the duties of a man ;
Trimm'd up your praises with a princely tongue ;
Spoke your deservings like a chronicle ;
Making you ever better than his praise.
By still dispraising praise, valued with you :
And, which became him like a prince indeed,
He made a blushing cital ^ of himself ;
And chid his truant youth with such a grace.
As if he master'd there a double spirit,
Of teaching, and of learning, instantly.
There did he pause : But let me tell the world, —
If he outlive the envy of this day,
England did never owe 7 so sweet a hope,
So much misconstrued in his wantonness.
Hot. Cousin, I think, thou art enamoured
Upon his follies ; never did I hear
Of any prince, so wild, at liberty : —
But, be he as he will, yet once ere night
I will embrace him with a soldier's arm,
That he shall shrink under my courtesy.
Arm, arm, with speed : And, fellows, soldiers,
friends.
Better consider what you have to do.
Than I, that have not well the gift of tongue,
Can lift your blood Up with persuasion.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My lord, here are letters for you.
Hot. I cannot read them now. —
O gentlemen, the time of life is short ;
To spend that shortness basely, were too long.
If life did ride upon a dial's point.
Still ending at the arrival of an hour.
An if we live, we live to tread on kings ;
If die, brave death, when princes die with us !
Now for our conscience, — the arms are fair,
When the intent of bearing them is just.
Enter another Messenger.
Mess. My lord, prepare ; the king comes on apace.
Hot. I thank him, that he cuts me from my tale,
For I profess not talking ; Only this —
Let each man do his best : and here draw I
A sword, whose temper I intend to stain
With the best blood that I can meet withal
In the adventure of this perilous day.
Now, — Esperance / ^ — Percy ! — and set on. —
Sound all the lofty instruments of war,
6 Recital. 7 Own.
^ 8 The motto of the Percy family.
And by that musick let us all embrace :
For, heaven to earth, some of us never shall
A second time do such a courtesy.
[ The Trumpets sound. They embrace, and exeunt.
SCENE III Plain near Shrewsbury.
Excursions, and Parties ^fighting. Alarum to the
Battle. Then enter Douglas and Blunt, meeting.
Blunt. What is thy name, that in the battle thus
Thou crossest me ? what honour dost thou seek
Upon my head ?
Doug. Know then, my name is Douglas ;
And I do haunt thee in the battle thus.
Because some tell me that thou art a king.
Blunt. They tell thee true.
Doug. The lord of Stafford dear to-day hath
bought
Thy likeness ; for, instead of thee king Harry,
This sword hath ended him : so shall it thee.
Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner.
Blunt. 1 was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot:
And thou shalt find a king that will revenge
Lord Stafford's death.
\_TheyJtght, and Blunt is slain.
Enter Hotspur.
Hot. O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon
thus,
I never had triumph'd upon a Scot.
Doug. All's done, all's won ; here breathless lies
the king.
Hot. Where?
Doug. Here ?
Hot. This, Douglas? no, I know this face full
well :
A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt ;
Semblably furnish'd like the king himself.
Doug. A fool go with thy soul, whither it goes,
A borrow'd title hast thou bought too dear.
Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king ?
Hot. The king hath many marching in his coats
Doug. Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats j
I'll murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece.
Until I meet the king.
Hot. Up, and away ;
Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. [Exeunt.
Other Alarums. Enter Falstaff.
Fal. Though I could 'scape shot-free at London,
I fear the shot here ; here's no scoring, but upon
the pate. — Soft ! who art thou? Sir Walter Blunt ;
— there's honour for you : Here's no vanity ! — I
am as hot as molten lead, and as heavy too ; heaven
keep lead out of me ! I need no more weight than
mine own bowels. — I have led my raggamuffins
where they are peppered : there's but three of my
hundred and fifty left alive ; and they are for the
town's end, to beg during life. But who comes
here !
Enter Prince Henry.
P. Hen. What, stand'st thou idle here ? lend me
thy sword :
Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff
Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies.
Whose deaths are unreveng'd : Pr'ythee, lend thy
sword.
Fal. O Hal, I pr'ythee, give me leave to breathe
a while. — Turk Gregory never did such deeds in
d
Scene IV.
KING HENRY IV.
401
arms, as I have done this day. I have paid Percy,
I have made him sure.
P. Hen. He is, indeed ; and living to kill thee.
Lend me thy sword, 1 pr'ythee.
Fal. Nay, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou get'st not
my sword ; but take my pistol, if thou wilt.
P. Hen. Give it me : What, is it in the case ?
Fal. Ay, Hal ; 'tis hot, 'tis hot ! there's that will
sack a city. {The Prince draws out a bottle of sack.
p. Hen. What, is't a time to jest and dally now?
[Throws it at him, and exit.
Fal. Well, if Percy be alive, I'll pierce him. If
he do come in my way, so : if he do not, if I come
in his, willingly, let him make a carbonado 9 of me.
I like not such grinning honour, as sir Walter hath:
Give me life : which if I can save, so ; if not,
honour comes unlook'd for, and there's an end.
[Exit.
SCENE IV. — Another Part of the Field.
Alarums. Excursions. Enter the King, Prince
Henrt, Prince John, and Westmoreland.
K. Hen. I pr'ythee,
Harry, withdraw thyself; thou bleed'st too much : —
Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him.
P. John. Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too.
p. Hen. I do beseech your majesty, make up.
Lest your retirement do amaze your friends.
K. Hen. I will do so : —
My lord of Westmoreland, lead him to his tent.
IFest. Come, my lord, I will lead you to your tent.
P. Hen. Lead me, my lord ? I do not need your
help :
And heaven forbid, a shallow scratch should drive
The prince of Wales from such a field as this ;
W^here stain'd nobility lies trodden on.
And rebels* arms triumph in massacres !
P. John. We breathe too long : — Come, cousin
Westmoreland,
Our duty this way lies ; for heaven's sake, come.
[Exeiint Prince John and Westmoreland.
P. Hen. By heaven, thou hast deceiv'd me, Lan-
caster,
I did not think thee lord of such a spirit :
Before, I lov'd thee as a brother, John ;
But now, I do respect thee as my soul.
K. Hen. I saw him hold lord Percy at the point.
With lustier maintenance than I did look for
Of such an ungrown warrior.
P. Hen. O, this boy
Lends mettle to us all ! Exit.
Alarums. Enter Douglas.
Dong. Anotlierking! they grow like Hydra's heads:
I am the Douglas, fatal to all those
That wear those colours on them. — What art thou,
Tliat counterfeit'st the person of a king ?
K. Hen. The king himself j who, Douglas, grieves
at heart.
So many of his shadows thou hast met.
And not the very king. I have two boys
Seek Percy and tliyself, about the field :
But, seeing thou fall'st on me so luckily,
I will assay thee ; so defend thyself.
Doug. I fear, thou art another counterfeit ;
And yet, in faith, thou bear'st thee like a king :
But mine, I am sure, thou art, whoe'er tliou be,
And thus I win thee.
[Thei/fght; the Kino beirtg in danger,
enter Prince Henry.
• A piece of meat cut croMwUe for the gridiron.
P. Hen. Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art
like
Never to hold it up again ! the spirits
or Sliirley, Stafford, Blunt, are in my arms :
It is the prince of Wales, that threatens thee ;
Who never promiseth, but he means to pay. —
[They fight; Douglas fies.
Cheerly, my lord ; how fares your grace ? —
Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent.
And so hath Clifton ; I'll to Clifton straight.
A". Hen. Stay, and breathe a while : —
Tliou hast redeem'd thy lost opinion ;
And show'd thou mak'st some tender of my life.
In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me.
P. Hen. O, heaven! they did me too much injury,
That ever said, I hearken'd for your death.
If it were so, I might have let alone
The insulting hand of Douglas over you ;
Which would have been as speedy in your end.
As all the poisonous potions in the world.
And sav'd the treacherous labour of your son.
IT. Hen. Make up to Clifton, I'll to sir Nicholas
Gawsey. [Exit King Henry.
E7iter Hotspur.
Hot. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmoutii.
P. Hen. Thou speak'st as if I would deny my
name.
Hot. My name is Harry Percy.
P. Hen. Why, then I see
A very valiant rebel of the name.
I am the prince of Wales ; and think not, Percy
To share with me in glory any more :
Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere ;
Nor can one England brook a double reign.
Of Harry Percy, and the prince of Wales.
Hot. Nor shall it, Harry, for the hour is come
To end the one of us ; And 'would to God,
Thy name in arms were now as great as mine !
P. Hen. I'll make it greater, ere I part from thee ;
And all the budding honours on thy crest
I'll crop to make a garland for my head.
Hot. I can no longer brook thy vanities.
[Thei/ fght.
Enter Falstaff.
Fal. Well said, Hal ! to it, Hal ! — Nay, you shall
find no boy's play here, I can tell you.
Enter Douglas ; he fights with Falstaff, who falls
down as if he were dead, and exit Douglas.
Hotspur is tvounded, and falls.
Hot. O, Hany, thou hast robb'd me of my youth ;
I better brook the loss of brittle life.
Than those proud titles thou hast won of me ;
They wound my thoughts, worse than thy sword my
flesh :
But thought's the slave of life, and life time's fool ;
And time, that takes survey of all the world.
Must have a stop. O, I could prophesy.
But that tlie earthy and cold hand of death
Lies on my tongue : — No, Percy, thou art dust,
A nd food for [ Dies.
P. Hen. For worms, brave Percy ; Fare thee well,
great heart ! —
Ill-weav'd ambition, how much art thou shrunk !
W^hen that this body did contain a spirit,
A kingdom for it was too small a l)ound i
But now, two paces of the vilest eartli
Is room enough. — Tins earth that bears thee dead,
Bears not alive so stout a gentleman.
Dd
4.02
FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV.
Act V.
If thou wert sensible of courtesy,
I should not make so dear a show of zeal ; —
But let my favours > hide thy mangled face ;
And, even in thy behalf, I'll thank myself
For doing these fair rites of tenderness.
Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven !
Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave,
But not remember'd in thy epitaph !
[He sees Falstaff on the ground.
What ! old acquaintance ! could not all tliis flesh
Keep in a little life ? Poor Jack, farewell !
I could have better spar'd a better man.
O, I should have a heavy miss of thee,
If I were much in love with vanity.
Death hath not struck so fat a deer to-day,
Though many dearer, in this bloody fray : —
Embowell'd will I see thee by and by ;
Till then, in blood by noble Percy lie. [Exit.
Fal. [Rising slowly. '\ Embowelled! if thou em-
bowel me to-day, I'll give you leave to powder ^
me, and eat me too, to-morrow. 'Twas time to
counterfeit, or that hot termagant Scot had paid me
scot and lot too. Counterfeit? I lie, I am no
counterfeit : To die, is to be a counterfeit ; for he
is but the counterfeit of a man, who hath not the life
of a man : but to counterfeit dying, when a man
thereby liveth, is to be no counterfeit, but the true
and perfect image of life indeed. The better part
of valour is — discretion; in the which better part,
I have saved my life. I am afraid of this gunpowder
Percy, though he be dead : How, if he should
counterfeit too, and rise ? I am afraid, he would
prove the better counterfeit. Therefore I'll make
him sure : yea, and I'll swear I killed him. Why
may not he rise, as well as I ? Nothing confutes me
but eyes, and nobody seees me. Therefore, sirrah,
[Stabbing him.l with a new wound in your thigh,
come you along with me.
[Takes Hotspur on his back.
Re-enter Prince Henry and Prince John.
P. Hen. Come, brother John, full bravely hast
thou flesh'd
Thy maiden sword.
P. John. But, soft ! whom have we here ?
Did you not tell me, this fat man was dead ?
P. Hen. I did ; I saw him dead, breathless and
bleeding
Upon the ground.
Art thou alive? or is it phantasy
That plays upon our eyesight ? I pr'ythee, speak ;
We will not trust our eyes, without our ears : —
Thou art not what thou seem'st.
Fal. No, that's certain ; I am not a double man :
but if I be not Jack Falstaff, then am I a Jack.
There is Percy : [Throwing the body down.] if your
father will do me any honour, so ; if not, let him
kill the next Percy himself. I look to be either
earl, or duke, I can assure you.
P. Hen. Why, Percy I killed myself, and saw
thee dead.
Fal. Didst thou ? — Lord, lord, how this world
is given to lying ! — I grant you, I was down, and
out of breath ; and so was he : but we rose both at
an instant, and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury
clock. If I may be believed, so ; if not, let them,
that should reward valour, bear the sin upon their
own heads. I'll take it upon my death, I gave him
this wound in the thigh : if the man were alive, and
' Scarf, with which he covers Percy's face. ^ Salt.
would deny it, I would make him eat a piece of my
sword.
P. John. This is the strangest tale that e'er I heard.
P. Hen. This is the strangest fellow, brother
John. — —
Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back :
For my part, if a lie may do thee grace,
I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have.
[j4 Retreat is sounded.
The trumpet sounds retreat, the day is ours.
Come, brother, let's to the highest of the field,
To see what friends are living, who are dead.
[Exeunt Prince Henry and Prince John.
Fal. I'll follow, as they say, for reward. He that
rewards me, heaven reward him ! If I do grow great,
I'll grow less ; for I'll purge, and leave sack, and
live as a nobleman should do.
[Eddt, bearing off the body.
SCENE V. —Another Part of the Field.
The Trumpets sound. Enter King Henry, Prince
Henry, Prince John, Westmoreland, and
others ; with Worcester and Vernon, Prisoners.
K. Hen. Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke. —
Ill-spirited Worcester ! did we not send grace
Pardon, and terms of love to all of you ?
And wouldst thou turn our offers contrary?
Misuse the tenor of thy kinsman's trust ?
Three knights upon our party slain to-day,
A noble earl, and many a creature else,
Had been alive this hour.
If, like a Christian, thou hadst truly borne
Betwixt our armies true intelligence.
Wor. What I have done, my safety urg'd me to ;
And I embrace this fortune patiently,
Since not to be avoided it falls on me.
K. Hen. Bear Worcester to the death, and Vernon
too:
Other offenders we will pause upon. —
[Exeunt Worcester arid Vernon, guarded.
How goes the field ?
P. Hen. The noble Scot, lord Douglas, when he saw
The fortune of the day quite tum'd from him,
The noble Percy slain, and all his men
Upon the foot of fear, — fled with the rest ;
And, falling from a lull, he was so bruis'd.
That the pursuers took him. At my tent
The Douglas is ; and I beseech your grace,
I may dispose of him.
JC. Hen. With all my heart.
P. Hen. Then, brother John of Lancaster, to you.
This honourable bounty shall belong :
Go to the Douglas, and deliver him
Up to his pleasure, ransomeless and free :
His valour shown upon our crests to-day.
Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds,
Even in the bosom of our adversaries.
JT. Hen. Then this remains, — that we divide our
power. —
You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland,
Towards York shall bend you, with your dearest speed.
To meet Northumberland, and the prelate Scroop,
Who, as we hear, are busily in arms :
Myself, — and you, son Harry, — will towards Wales,
To fight with Glendower, and the earl of March.
Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway.
Meeting the check of such another day :
And since this business so fair is done.
Let us not leave till all our own be won. [Exeunt.
I
J'
V
SECOND PART OF
KING HENRY IV.
1
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
King Henry the Fourth.
Henry, Prince of Wales, afterwards'
King Henry V. ;
Thomas, Duke of Clarence ;
Prince John of Lancaster, afterwards
(2 Henry V. ) Duke of Bedford ;
Prince Humphrey of Gloster, after-
wards (2 Henry V.) Duke of
Gloster ;
Earl of Warwick ; "]
Earl of Westmoreland ;
GOWER ;
Harcourt ; J
Lord Chief Justice of the Kings Bench.
A Gentleman attending on the Chief Justice.
Earl of Northumberland
Scroop, Archbishop of York
Lord Mowbray ;
Lord Hastings;
Lord Bardolph ;
Sir John Colevile;
his Sons.
of the King's Parti/.
Enemies to the
King.
Travers and Morton, Domestics of Northumber-
land.
Falstaff, Bardolph, Pistol, and Page.
PoiNs and Peto, Attendants on Prince Henry.
Shallow and Silence, Country Justices.
Davy, Servant to Shallow.
Mouldy, Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and Bull-calf,
Recruits.
Fang and Snare, Sheriff's Officers.
Rumour.
A Porter.
A Dancer, Speaker of the Epilogue.
Lady Northumberland.
Lady Percy.
Hostess Quickly.
Lords and other Attendants ; Officers, Soldiers,
Messengers, Draxoers, Grooms, <^c.
SCENE, —England.
^
^
ACT lu see
THOO HAST OrOIAH THAT. WHICH, AFTKR 80ME FBW HOORa.
WKRB THINK WriHODT OFKKNCF.
SECOND PART OF
KING HENRY IV.
INDUCTION.
Warkworth. Before Northumberland's Castle.
Enter Rumour, painPid full of Tongues.
Rum. Open your ears ; For which of you will
stop
Tlie vent of hearing, when loud Rumour speaks ?
I, from the orient to the drooping west,
Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold
The acts commenced on this ball of earth :
Upon my tongues continual slanders ride ;
The which in every language I pronounce,
Stuffing the ears of men with false reports.
I speak of peace, while covert enmity.
Under the smile of safety, wounds the world :
And who hut Rumour, who but only I,
Make fearful musters, and prepar'd defence ;
Whilst the big year, swol'n with some other grief.
Is thought witli child by the stern tyrant war.
And no such matter ? Rumour is a pipe
Blown by suniiises, jealousies, conjectures ;
And of so easy and so plain a stop.
That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,
llie still-discordant wavering multitude.
Can play upon it. But what need I thus
My well-known body to anatomize
Among my household ? Why is Rumour here ?
I run before King Harry's victory.
Who, in a bloody field by Shrewsbury,
Hath beaten down young Hotspur, and his troops,
Quenching the flame of bold rebellion
Even with the rebel's blood. But what mean I
To speak so true at first ? my office is
To noise abroad, — that Harry Monmouth fell
Under the wrath of noble Hotspur's sword ;
And that the king before the Douglas' rage
Stoop'd his anointed head as low as death.
This have I rumour'd through the peasant towns
Between that royal field of Shrewsbury
And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone,
Where Hotspur's father, old Northumberland,
Lies crafty-sick : the posts come tiring on,
And not a man of them brings other news
Than they have leani'd of me ; From Rumour's
tongues
They bring smooth comforts false, worse tiian true
wrongs. [Exit.
404
SECOND PART OF
Act 1.
ACT I.
SCENE I. — Warkworth. Ihfore Northumber-
land's Cuslle.
The Vorter before the Gate ; Enter Lord Bardolph.
L. Hard. Who keeps the gate liere, ho ? — Where
is the earl ?
Port. What shall I say you are ?
L. Bard. Tell thou the earl,
That the lord Bardolph doth attend him here.
Port. His lordship is walk'd forth into the or-
chard ;
Please it your honour, knock but at the gate,
And he himself will answer.
Enter Northumberland.
L. Bard. Here comes the earl.
North. What news, lord Bardolph ? every minute
now
Should be the father of some stratagem ' :
The times are wild ; contention, like a horse
Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose,
And bears down all before him.
L. Bard. Noble earl,
I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury.
North. Good, an heaven will !
L. Bard. As good as heart can wish : —
The king is almost wounded to the death ;
And, in the fortune of my lord your son.
Prince Harry slain outright ; and both the Blunts
Kill'd by the hand of Douglas : young prince John,
And Westmoreland, and Stafford, fled the field;
And Harry Monmouth's brawn, the hulk sir John,
Is prisoner to your son : O, such a day.
So fought, so follow'd, and so fairly won.
Came not till now, to dignify the times.
Since Caesar's fortunes !
North. How is this deriv'd ?
Saw you the field? came you from Shrewsbury?
L. Bard. I spake with one, my lord, that came
from thence ;
A gentleman well bred, and of good name.
That freely render'd me these news for true.
North. Here comes my servant, Travers, whom I
sent
On Tuesday last to listen after news.
L. Bard. My lord, I over-rode him on the way ;
And he is furnish'd with no certainties,
Mbre than he haply may retail from me.
Enter Travers.
North. Now, Travers, what good tidings come
with you ?
Tra. My lord, sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back
With joyful tidings ; and, being better hors'd.
Out-rode me. After him, came, spurring hard,
A gentleman almost forspent with speed.
That stopp'd by me to breathe his bloodied horse :
He ask'd the way to Chester ; and of him
I did demand, what news from Shrewsbury.
He told me, that rebellion had bad luck,
And that young Harry Percy's spur was cold :
With that he gave his able horse the head.
And, bending forward, struck his armed heels
Against the panting sides of his poor jade
Up to the rowel head ; and, starting so,
' Important or dreadful event.
He seem'd in running to devour the way.
Staying no longer question.
North. Ha! Again.
Said he, young Harry Percy's spur was cold ?
Of Hotspur, coldspur ? that rebellion
Had met ill luck !
L. Bard. My lord, I'll tell you what ; —
If my young lord your son have not the day.
Upon mine honour, for a silken point '^
I'll give my barony : never talk of it.
North. Why should the gentleman, that rode by
Travers,
Give then such instances of loss ?
L. Bard. Who, he ?
He was some hilding 3 fellow, that had stol'n
The horse he rode on ; and, upon my life.
Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news.
Enter Morton.
North. Yea, this man's brow, like to a title-leaf,
Foretells the nature of a tragick volume :
So looks the strond, whereon the imperious flood
Hath left a witness'd usurpation.
Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury ?
Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord ;
Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask.
To fright our party.
North. How doth my son, and brother?
Thou tremblest ; and the whiteness in thy cheek
Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand.
Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless.
So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone.
Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night,
And would have told him, half his Troy was burn'd:
But Priam found the fire, ere he his tongue,
And I my Percy's death, ere thou report'st it.
This thou wouldst say, — Your son did thus, and
thus;
Your brother, thus ; so fought the noble Douglas ;
Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds :
But in the end, to stop mine ear indeed,
Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise.
Ending with — brother, son, and all are dead.
Mor. Douglas is living, and your brother, yet :
But, for my lord, your son,
North. Why, he is dead,
See, what a ready tongue suspicion hath !
He, that but fears the thing he would not know.
Hath, by instinct, knowledge from others' eyes.
That what he fear'd is chanced. Yet speak, Morton ;
Tell thou thy earl, his divination lies ;
And I will take it as a sweet disgrace.
And make thee rich for doing me such wrong.
Mor. You are too great to be by me gainsaid
Your spirit is too true, your fears too ceitain.
North. Yet, for all this, say not that Percy's deadj
I see a strange confession in thine eye :
Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear, or sin
To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so :
The tongue offends not, that reports his death :
And he doth sin, that doth belie the dead :
Not he, which says the dead is not alive.
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
Hath but a losing office ; and his tongue
I
Lace tagged.
Hilderling, base, cowardly.
Scene I.
KING HENRY IV.
405
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,
Ilemember'd knolling a departing friend.
L.Bard. I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead.
Mor. I am sorry, I should force you to believe
That which I would to heaven I had not seen :
But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state,
Rend'ring faint quittance ■*, wearied and outbreath'd.
To Harry Monmouth : whose swift wrath beat down
The never daunted Percy to the earth.
From whence with life he never more sprung up.
In few, his death (whose spirit lent a fire
Even to the dullest peasant in his camp,)
Being bruited ^ once, took fire and heat away
From the best-temper'd courage in his troops :
For from his metal was his party steel'd ;
Which once in him abated, all the rest
Turn'd on themselves, like dull and heavy lead.
And as tlie thing that's heavy in itself.
Upon enforcement, flies with greater speed ;
So did our men, heavy in Hotspur's loss,
Lend to tliis weight such lightness with their fear,
That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim,
Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety.
Fly from the field : Then was that noble Worcester
Too soon ta'en prisoner : and that furious Scot,
The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword
Had tliree times slain the appearance of the king,
'Gan vail ^ his stomach, and did grace the shame,
Of those that turn'd their backs ; and in his flight,
Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all
Is, — that the king hath won ; and hath sent out
A speedy power, to encounter you, my lord,
Under the conduct of young Lancaster,
And Westmoreland : this is Ihe news at full.
Xorth. For this I shall have time enough to mourn.
In i)oison there is physick ; and these news.
Having been well, that would have made me sick,
Being sick, have in some measure made me well :
And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken'd joints, ■
Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life,
Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire
Out of his keepers' arms ; even so my limbs,
Weaken'd with grief, being now enrag'd with grief.
Are thrice themselves: hence, therefore, thou nice'
crutch ;
A scaly gauntlet now, with joints of steel,
Must glove this hand : and hence, thou sickly quoif 8,
TIiou art a guard too wanton for the head.
Which princes, flesh'd with conquest, aim to hit.
Now bind my brows with iron ; And approach
The ragged'st hour that time and spite dare bring,
To frown upon the enrag'd Northumberland !
Let heaven kiss earth ! Now let not nature's hand
Keep the wild flood confin'd ! let order die !
And let this world no longer be a stage,
To feed contention in a lingering act ;
But let one spirit of the first-born Cain
Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set
On l)loody courses, the rude scene may end.
And darkness be the burier of the dead !
Tra. This strained passion doth you wrong, my
lord.
L. Bard. Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from
your honour.
Mor. The lives of all your loving complices
Loan on your health ; the which if you give o'er
To stormy passion, must perforce decay.
You cast the event of war, my noble lord,
* Return of blows.
0 Let fall
Trifling.
* Reported.
» Cap.
And summ'd the account of chance, before you
said, —
Let us make head. It was your presurmise.
That in the dole 9 of blows your son might drop :
You knew, he walk'd o'er perils, on an edge.
More likely to fall in, than to get o'er :
You were advis'd, his flesh was capable
Of wounds, and scars ; and that his forward spirits
Would lift him where most trade of danger rang'd ;
Yet did you say, — Go forth ; and none of this,
Though strongly apprehended, could restrain
The stiff-borne action : Wliat hath then befallen,
Or what hath this bold enterprize brought forth.
More than that being which was like to be ?
L. Bard. We all, that are engaged to this loss.
Knew that we ventur'd on such dangerous seas.
That, if we wrought out life, 'twas ten to one :
And yet we ventur'd, for the gain propos'd
Chok'd the respect of likely peril fear'd ;
And since we are o'erset, venture again.
Come, we will all put forth ; body, and goods.
Mor. 'Tis more than time : And, my most noble
lord,
I hear for certain and do speak the truth,
The gentle archbishop of York is up.
With well-appointed powers ; he is a man.
Who with a double surety binds his followers.
My lord your son had only but the corps.
But shadows, and the shows of men to fight :
For that same word, rebellion, did divide
The action of their bodies from their souls :
And they did fight with quea.siness ', constrain'd.
As men drink potions ; that their weapons only
Seem'd on our side, but for their spirits and souls.
This word, rebellion, it hath froze them up,
As fish are in a pond ; But now the bishop
Turns insurrection to religion :
Suppos'd sincere and holy in his thoughts,
He's follow'd both with body and with mind ;
And doth enlarge his rising with the blood
Of fair king Richard, scrap'd from Pomfret stones.
Derives from heaven his quarrel, and his cause ;
Tells them he doth bestride a bleeding land.
Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke ;
And more % and less, do flock to follow him.
A^rth. I knew of this before ; but, to speak truth.
This present grief had wip'd it from my mind.
Go in with me ; and counsel every man
The aptest way for safety, and revenge :
Get posts, and letters, and make friends with speed ;
Never so few, and never yet more need. [ Exeuiit.
SCENE I L — London. A Street.
Enter Sir John Falstaff, with his Page bearing
his Sword and Buckler.
Fal. The brain of this foolish-compounded clay,
man, is not able to invent any thing that tends to
laughter, more than I invent, or is invented on me ;
I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that
wit is in other men. I do here walk before thee,
like a sow, that hath overwhelmed all her litter but
one. If the prince put thee into my service for any
other reason than to set me off, why then I have no
judgment. I was never manned with an agate ' till
now : but I will set you neither in gold nor silver,
but in vile apparel, and send you back again to
9 Distribution. * Against their stom.tchs.
' Greater. ' Alluding to little figures cut in agate.
Dd 3
406
SECOND PART OF
Act I.
your master, for a jewel ; the juvenal, the prince
your master, whose chin is not yet fledged. I will
sooner have a beard grow in the palm of my hand,
than he shall get one on his cheek ; and yet he
will not stick to say his face is a face-royal : nature
may finish it when she will, it is not a hair amiss
yet : ho may keep it still as a face-royal, for a
barber shall never earn sixpence out of it ; and yet
he will be crowing as if he had writ man ever since
his father was a bachelor. He may keep his own
grace, but he is almost out of mine, I can assure
him. What said master Dumbleton about the
satin for my short cloak, and slops ?
Page. He said, sir, you should procure him better
assurance than Bardolph : he would not take liis
bond and yours ; he liked not the security.
Fal. A rascally yea-forsooth knave ! to bear a
gentleman in hand, and then stand upon security !
— The smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high
shoes, and bunches of keys at their girdles ; and if
a man is thorough ^ with them in honest taking up,
then they must stand upon — security. I had as
lief they would put ratsbane in my mouth, as offer
to stop it with security. I looked he should have
sent me two-and-twenty yards of satin, as I am a
true knight, and he sends me security. Well, —
Where's Bardolph ?
Page. He's gone into Smithfield, to buy your
worship a horse.
Fal. I bought him in Paul's, and he'll buy me a
horse in Smithfield : an I could get me but a wife
in the stews, I were manned, horsed, and wived. ^
Enter the Lord Chief Justice, and an Attendant.
Page. Sir, here comes the nobleman that com-
mitted the prince for striking him about Bardolph.
Fal. Wait close, I will not see him.
Ch. Just. What's he that goes there ?
Atten. Falstaff, an't please your lordship.
Ch. Just. He that was in question for the rob-
bery?
Atten. He, my lord : but he hath since done
good service at Shrewsbury ; and, as I hear, is now
going with some charge to the lord John of Lan-
caster.
Ch. Just. What, to York ? Call him back again.
Atten. Sir John Falstaff !
Fal. Boy, tell him, I am deaf.
Page. You must speak louder, my master is deaf.
Ch. Just. I am sure, he is, to the hearing of any
thing good Go, pluck him by the elbow ; I must
speak with him.
Atten. Sir John, —
Fal. What ! a young knave, and beg ! Is there
not wars ? is there not employment ? Doth not the
king lack subjects? do not the rebels need soldiers?
Though it be a shame to be on any side but one, it
is worse shame to beg than to be on the worse side,
were it worse than the name of rebellion can tell
how to make it.
Atten. You mistake me, sir.
Fal. Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man ?
setting my knighthood and my soldiership aside, I
had lied in my throat if I had said so.
Atten. I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood
and your soldiership aside ; and give me leave to
tell you, you lie in your throat, if you say I am any
other than an honest man.
Fal. I give thee leave to tell me so ! I lay aside
* In their debt. » Alluding to an old proverb,
that which grows to me ! If thou get'st any leave of
me, hang me ; if thou takest leave, thou wert better
be hanged : You hunt-counter 6, hence ! avaunt !
Atten. Sir, my lord would speak with you.
Ch. Just. Sir John Falstaff, a word with you.
Fal. My good lord ! give your lordship good
time of day. I am glad to see your lordship abroad :
I heard say, your lordship was sick : I hope, your
lordship goes abroad by advice. Your lordship,
though not clean past your youth, hath yet some
smack of age in you, some relish of the saltness of
time J and I most humby beseech your lordship, to
have a reverend care of your health
Ch. Just. Sir John, I sent for you before your
expedition to Shrewsbury.
Fal. An't please your lordship, I hear his majesty
is returned with some discomfort from Wales.
Ch. Just. I talk not of his majesty: — You would
not come when I sent for you.
Fal. And I hear moreover, his highness is fallen
into this same apoplexy.
Ch. Just. Well, heaven mend him ! I pray, let
me speak with you.
Fal. This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of
lethargy, an't please your lordship ; a kind of sleep-
ing in the blood, a tingling.
Ch. Just. What tell you me of it? be it as it is.
Fal. It hath its original from much grief; from
study, and perturbation of the brain : I have read
the cause of his effects in Galen; it is a kind of
deafness.
Ch. Just' I think, you are fallen into the dis-
ease ; for you hear not what I say to you.
Fal. Very well, my "lord, very well : rather, an't
please you, it is the disease of not listening, the
malady of not marking, that I am troubled withal.
Ch. Just. To punish you by the heels, would
amend the attention of your ears ; and I care not,
if I do become your physician.
Fal. I am as poor as Job, my lord ; but not so
patient ; your lordship may minister the potion of
imprisonment to me, in respect of poverty ; but
how I should be your patient to follow your pre-
scriptions, the wise may make some dram of a scru-
ple, or, indeed, a scruple itself.
Ch. Just. I sent for you, when there were matters
against you for your life, to come speak with me.
Fal. As I was then advised by my learned counsel
in the laws of this land-service, I did not come.
Ch. Just. Well, the truth is, sir John, you hve in
great infamy.
Fal. He that buckles him in my belt, cannot live
in less.
Ch. Just. Your means are very slender, and your
waste is great.
Fal. I would it were otherwise ; I would my
means were greater, and my waist slenderer.
Ch. Just. You have misled the youthful prince.
Fal. The young prince hath misled me: I am
the fellow with the great belly, and he my dog.
Ch. Just. Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed
wound : your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a
little gilded over your night's exploit on Gads-hill :
you may thank the unquiet time for your quiet o'er-
posting that action.
Fal. My lord?
Ch. Just. But since all is well, keep it so : wake
not a sleeping wolf.
Fal. To wake a wolf is as bad as to smell a fox.
6 A catch.pole or bailiff
Scene II.
KING HENRY IV.
407
t
Ch. Just. What ! you are as a caudle, the better
part burnt out.
Fal. A wassel candle', my lord : all tallow ; if I
did say of wax, my growth would approve the truth.
Ch. Just. There is not a white hair on your face,
but should have his effect of gravity.
I^al. His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy,
Ch. Just. You follow tlie young prince up and
down, like his ill angel.
Fal. Not so, ray lord ; your ill angel 8 is light ;
but, I hope, he that looks upon me, will take me
without weighing : and yet, in some respects, I
grant, I cannot go, I cannot tell 9-. Virtue is of so
little regard in these coster-monger times, that true
valour is turned bear-herd : Pregnancy ' is made a
tapster, and hath his quick wit wasted in giving
reckonings : all the other gifts appertinent to man,
as the malice of this age shapes them, are not worth
a gooseberry. You, that are old, consider not the
capacities of us that are young : you measure the
heat of our livers with the bitterness of your galls;
and we that are in the vaward'^ of our youth, I must
confess, are wags too.
Ch. Just. Do you set down your name in the
scroll of youth, that are written down old with all
the characters of age ? Have you not a moist eye ?
a dry hand ? a yellow cheek ? a white beard ? a
decreasing leg ? an increasing body ? Is not your
voice broken ? your wind short ? your chin double ?
your wit single ? and every part about you blasted
with antiquity? and will you yet call yourself
young ? Fye, fye, fye, sir John !
Fal. My lord, I was born about three of the clock
in the afternoon, with a white head, and something
a round belly. For my voice, — I have lost it with
hollaing, and singing of anthems. To approve my
youth further, I will not : the truth is, I am only
old in judgment and understanding; and he that
will cajjer with me for a thousand marks, let him
lend me the money, and have at him. For the box
o'the ear that the prince gave you, — he gave it
like a rude prince, and you took it like a sensible
lord. I have checked him for it ; and the young
lion repents : marry, not in ashes, and sack-cloth ;
but in new silk, and old sack.
Ch. Just. Well, heaven send the prince a better
companion !
Fal. Heaven send the companion a better prince !
I cannot rid my hands of him.
Ch. Just. Well, the king hath severed you and
prince Harry : I hear you are going with lord John
of Lancaster, against the archbishop, and the earl of
Northumberland.
Fal. Yea ; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it.
But look you pray, all you that kiss my lady peace
at home, that our armies join not in a hot day ! for,
I take but two shirts out with me, and I mean not
to sweat extraordinarily : if it be a hot day, an I
brandish any thing but my bottle, I would I might
never spit white again. There is not a dangerous
action can peep out his head, but I am thrust upon
it : ^yell, I cannot last ever ; But it was always yet
the trick of our English nation, if they have a good
thing, to make it too common. If you will needs
say, I am an old man, you should give me rest. I
would to heaven, my name were not so terrible to
the enemy as it is. I were better to be eaten to
[ A large candle for a fcnit. • The coin called an anccl.
• Paat current « ReadineMi « Joreiwrt
death with rust, than to be scoured to nothing with
perpetual motion.
Ch. Just. Well, be honest, be honest ; And hea-
ven bless your expedition !
Fal. Will your lordship lend me a thousand
pound, to furnish me forth ?
Ch. Just. Not a penny, not a penny ; you are too
impatient to bear crosses. Fare you well : Com-
mend me to my cousin Westmoreland.
[Exeunt Chief Justice and Attendant.
Fal. If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle. 3 —
Boy!
Page. Sir?
Fal. What money is in my purse ?
Page- Seven groats and two-pence.
Fal. I can get no remedy against this consump-
tion of the purse : borrowing only lingers and lingers
it out, but the disease is incurable. — Go bear this
letter to my lord of Lancaster ; this to the prince ;
this to the earl of Westmoreland ; and this to old
mistress Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry
since I perceived the first white hair on my cliin :
About it ; you know where to find me. [Erii Page.]
This gout plays the rogue with my great toe. It is
no matter if I do halt ; I have the wars for my colour,
and my pension shall seem the more reasonable :
A good wit will make use of any tiling ; I will turn
diseases to commodity. "1 [Exit.
SCENE III. — York. A Room in the Archbishop'*
Palace.
Enter the Archbishop of York, the Lords Hastings,
Mowbray, and Bardolph.
Arch. Thus have you heard our cause, and known
our means ;
And, my most noble friends, I pray you all.
Speak plainly your opinions of our hopes : —
And first, lord marshal, what say you to it?
Mowb. I well allow the occasion of oiu: arms ;
But gladly would be better satisfied.
How, in our means, we should advance ourselves
To look with forehead bold and big enough
Upon the power and puissance of the king.
Hast. Our present musters grow upon the file
To five-and-twenty thousand men of choice ;
And our supplies live largely in the hope
Of great Nortliumberland, whose bosom burns
With an incensed fire of injuries.
L. Bard. The question then, lord Hastings, stand-
eth thus ; —
Whether our present five-and-twenty thousand
May hold up head without Northumberland.
Hast. With him, we may.
jL. Jiard. Ay, marry, there's the point :
But if without him we be thought too feeble.
My judgment is, we should not step too far
Till we had his assistance by tlie hand ;
For, in a theme so bloody-fac'd as this,
Conjecture, expectation, and surmise
Of aids uncertain, should not be admitted
Arch. *Tis very true, lord Bardolph ; for, indeed.
It was young Hotspur's case at Shrewsbury.
L. Bard. It was, my lord; who lined Iiimsclf with
hope.
Eating the air on promise of supply,
Flattering himself with project of a power
Much smaller tlian the smallest of his thoughts :
3 A large wooden hammer, »o heavy as to require three men
to wield it « Profit
Dd 4
4.08
SECOND PART OF
Act II.
And so with great imagination,
Proper to madmen, led his powers to death,
And, winking, leap'd into destruction.
Hast. But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt
To lay down likelihoods, and forms of hope.
L. Bard. Yes, in this present quality of war; —
Indeed the instant action, (a cause on foot,)
Lives so in hope, as in an early spring
We see the appearing buds ; which, to prove fruit,
Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair.
That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build.
We first survey the plot, then draw the model.
And when we see the figure of the house.
Then must we rate the cost of the erection ;
Which if we find outweighs ability.
What do we then, but draw anew the model
In fewer offices ; or, at least, desist
To build at all ? Much more, in tliis great work,
(Wliich is, almost to pluck a kingdom down,
And set another up,) should we survey
The plot of situation, and the model ;
Consent* upon a sure foundation ;
Question surveyors ; know our own estate.
How able such a work to undergo.
To weigh against his opposite ; or else,
We fortify in paper, and in figures.
Using the names of men, instead of men :
Like one, that draws the model of a house
Beyond his power to build it ; who, half through,
Gives o'er, and leaves his part-created cost
A naked subject to the weeping clouds.
And waste for churlish winter's tyranny.
Hast. Grant, that our hopes (yet likely of fair birth)
Should be still-born, and that we now possess'd
The utmost man of expectation ;
I think, we are a body strong enough.
Even as we are, to equal with the king,
L. Bard. What ! is the king but five and twenty
thousand ?
Hast. To us, no more ; nay, not so much, lord
Bardolph.
For his divisions, as the times do brawl,
Are in three heads: one power against the French,
And one against Glendower ; perforce a third
Must take up us : So is the unfirm king
In three divided ; and his coffers sound
With hollow poverty and emptiness.
^rch. That he should draw his several strengths
together.
And come against us in full puissance,
Need not be dreaded.
Hast. If he should do so.
He leaves his back unarm'd, the French and Welsh
Baying him at the heels : never fear that.
L. Bard. Who, is it like, should lead his forces
hither ?
Hast. The duke of Lancaster and Westmoreland :
Against the Welsh, himself, and Harry Monmouth :
But who is substituted 'gainst the French,
I have no certain notice.
Arch. Let us on ;
And publish the occasion of our arms.
The commonwealth is sick of their own choice,
Their over-greedy love hath surfeited : —
An habitation giddy and unsure
Hath he, that buildeth on the vulgar heart.
O thou fond many ! ^ with what loud applause
Didst thou beat heaven with blessing Bolingbroke,
Before he was what thou wouldst have him be ?
And being now trimm'd 9 in thine own desires.
They that, when Richard Uv'd, would have him die.
Are now become enamour'd on his grave :
Thou, that threw'st dust upon his goodly head.
When through proud London he came sighing en
After the admired heels of Bolingbroke,
Cry'st now, 0 earth, yield us that king again.
And take thou this I O thoughts of men accurst
Past, and to come, seem best ; things present, worst.
Mowb. Shall we go di'aw our numbers, and set on ?
Hast. We are time's subjects, and time bids be
gone. [Exeu7it.
I
ACT 11.
SCENE I. ~- London. A Street.
Enter Hostess ^ Fang, and his Boy, with her; and
SsAREjbllowing.
Host. Master Fang, have you entered the action ?
Fang. It is entered.
Host. Where is your yeoman ?6 Is it a lusty yeo-
man ? will a' stand to't ?
Fa7ig. Sirrah, where's Snare?
^05^ O, good master Snare.
Snare. Here, here.
JFang. Snare, we must arrest sir John Falstaff".
Host. Yea, good master Snare ; I have entered
him and all.
Snare. It may chance cost some of us our lives,
for he will stab.
Host. Alas the day ! take heed of him ; in good
faith, a' cares not what mischief he doth, if his
weapon be out : he will foin ^ like any devil ; he
will spare neither man, woman, nor child.
Agree.
6 Follower.
JFang. If I can close with him, I care not for his
thrust.
Host. I'll be at your elbow.
Fang. An I but fist him once ; an a' come but
within my vice. ^
Host. I am undone by his going ; I warrant you,
he's an infinite thing upon my score : — Good mas-
ter Fang, hold him sure ; — good master Snare, let
him not escape. He comes continually to Pie-
corner, and he's indited to dinner to the Lubbar's
Head in Lumbert-street, to master Smooth's the
silkman : I pray ye, since my exion is entered, and
my case so openly known to the world, let him be
brought in to his answer. A hundi'ed mark is a long
loan for a poor lone woman to bear : and I have
borne, and borne, and borne ; and have been fub-
bed off", and fubbed off", and fubbed off*, from this
day to that day, that it is a shame to be thought on.
There is no honesty in such deahng ; unless a wo-
man should be made an ass, and a beast, to bear
every knave's wrong. ■
f Foolish multitude. Dress. ' Grasp.
I
Scene I.
KING HENRY IV.
409
Enter Sir Joh-n Falstaff, Page, and Bahdolph.
Yonder he comes ; and that arrant malmsey-nose
knave, Bardolph, with him. Do your offices, do
your offices, master Fang, and master Snare; do
me, do me, do me your offices.
Fal. How now ? whose mare's dead ? what's tlie
matter ?
Fang. Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of mis-
tress Quickly.
Fal. Away, varlets ! — Draw, Bardolph ; cut me
off the villain's head; throw the quean in thf channel.
Host. Tlirow me in the channel ? I'll throw tliee
in the channel. Wilt thou ? wilt thou ? tliou rogue !
— • Murder, murder ! O thou honeysuckle '^ villain!
wilt thou kill the king's officers ? O thou honey-
seeds rogue! tliou art a honey -seed ; a man-queller,
and a woman-queller.
Fal. Keep them off, Bardolph.
Fang. A rescue ! a rescue !
Host. Good people, bring a rescue or two. —
Thou wo't, wo't thou ? thou wo't, wo't thou ? do,
do, thou rogue ! do, thou hemp-seed !
Fal. Away, you scullion ! you rampallian ! you
fustilarian !
Enter the Lord Chief Justice, attended.
Ch. Just. What's the matter? keep the peace
here, ho !
Host. Good my lord, be good to me ! I beseech you !
Ch. Just. How now, sir John? what, are you
brawling here ?
Doth this become your place, your time, and business ?
You should have been well on your way to York
Stand from him, fellow ; Wherefore hang'st thou
on him?
Host. O my most worshipful lord, an't please
your grace, I am a poor widow of Eastcheap, and
he is arrested at my suit.
Ch. Just. For what sum ?
Host. It is more than for some, my lord ; it is
for all, all I have : he hath eaten me out of house
and home : he hath put all my substance into that
fat belly of his.
Ch. Just. How comes this, sir John ? Fye ! what
man of good temper would endure this tempest of
exclamation? Are you not ashamed to enforce a
poor widow to so rough a course to come by her own?
Fal. What is the gross sum that I owe thee ?
Host. Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thy-
self, and the money too. Thou didst swear to me
upon a parcel-gilt * goblet, sitting in my Dolphin-
chamber, at tlie round table, by a sea-coal fire,
upon Wednesday in Whitsun-week, when the prince
broke thy head for liking his father to a singing-
man of Windsor : thou didst swear to me then, as
I was washing thy wound, to marry me, and make
me my lady thy wife. Canst thou deny it ? ])id
not goodwife Keech, the butcher's wife, come in
tJien, and call me gossip Quickly ? coming in to
borrow a mess of vinegar ; telling us, she had a
good dish of prawns ; whereby thou didst desire to
eat some ; whereby I told thee, they were ill for a
green wound? And didst thou not, when she was
gone down stairs, desire me to be no more so fami-
liarity with such poor people ; saying, tliat ere long
they should call me madam? And didst thou not
kiss mc, and bid me fetch thee thirty sliillings ? 1 put
thee now to thy book-oath ; deny it, if thou canst.
' HomicidAl » Homicide. * Party gilt.
Fal. My lord, this is a poor mad soul ; and she
says, up and down the town, that her eldest son is
like you : she hath been in good case, and, the
truth is, poverty hath distracted her. But for these
foolish officers, I beseech you, I may have redress
against them.
Ch. Just. Sir John, sir John, I am well acquainted
with your manner of wrenching the true cause the
false way. It is not a confident brow, nor the
throng of words that come with such more than
impudent sauciness from you, can thrust me from a
level consideration ; you have, as it appears to me,
practised upon the easy-yielding spirit of this wo-
man, and made her serve your uses both in purse
and person.
Host. Yea, in troth, my lord.
Ch. Just. Pr'ythee, peace : — Pay her the debt
you owe her, and unpay the villainy you have done
with her ; the one you may do with sterling money,
and the other with current repentance.
Fal. My lord, I will not undergo this sneap *
without reply. You call honourable boldness, im-
pudent sauciness : if a man will make court'sy, and
say nothing, he is virtuous : No, my lord, my hum-
ble duty remembered, I will not be your suitor ; I
say to you, I do desire deliverance from these
oflScers, being upon hasty employment in the king's
affairs.
Ch. Just. You speak as having power to do
wrong: but answer in the effect of your reputa-
tion 6, and satisfy the poor woman.
Fal. Come hither, hostess. [Taking her aside.
Enter Gower.
Ch. Just. Now, master Gower ; What news ?
Gow. The king, my lord, and Harry prince of
Wales
Are near at hand : the rest the paper tells.
Fal. As I am a gentleman ;
Host. Nay, you said so before.
Fal. As I am a gentleman ; Come, no more
words of it.
Host. By this heavenly ground I tread on, I must
be fain to pawn both my plate, and the tapestry of
my dining-chambers.
Fal. Glasses, glasses, is the only drinking : and
for thy walls, — a pretty slight drollery, or the story
of the prodigal, or the German hunting in water-
work, is worth a thousand of these bed-hangings,
and these fly-bitten tapestries. Let it be ten pound,
if thou canst. Come, an it were not for thy hu-
mours, there is not a better wench in England.
Go, wash thy face, and draw 7 thy action : Come,
thou must not be in this humour with me ; dost no
know me ? Come, come, I know thou wast set on
to this.
Host. Pray thee, sir John, let it be but twenty
nobles ; i'faith I am loatli to pawn my plate, in
good earnest, la.
Fal. Let it alone ; I'll make other shift ; you'll
be a fool still.
Host. Well, you shall have it, though I pawn my
gown. I hope you'll come to supper : you'll pay
me all together ?
Fal. Will I live? — Go, with her, with her;
[7*0 Bardolph.] hook on, hook on.
[Exeunt Hostess, Bardolph, Officers,
and Page.
» .Snub, check. « Suitably to your character.
? Withdraw.
-I-IO
SECOND PART OF
Act II.
Ch. Jvat. I have heard better news.
Fal. What's the news, my good lord ?
Ch. Just. Where lay the king last night ?
Gow. At Basingstoke, my lord.
Fed. I hope, my lord, all's well: What's the
news, my lord ?
Ch. Just. Come all his forces back ?
Gow. No ; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred
horse,
Are march'd up to my lord of Lancaster,
Against Northumberland, and the archbishop.
Fal. Comes the king back from Wales, my noble
lord ?
Ch. Just. You shall have letters of me presently :
Come, go along with me, good master Gower.
Fal. My lord!
Ch. Just. What's the matter ?
Fal. Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me
to dinner?
Gow. I must wait upon my good lord here : I
thank you, good sir John.
Ch. Just. Sir John, you loiter here too long, being
you are to take soldiers up in counties as you go.
Fal. Will you sup with me, master Gower ?
Ch. Just. What foolish master taught you these
manners, sir John ?
Fal. Master Gower, if they become me not, he
was a fool that taught them me. — This is the right
fencing grace, my lord ; tap for tap, and so part fair.
Ch. Just. Now heaven lighten thee ! thou art a
great fool. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. — Another Street.
Enter Prince Henrt and Poins.
P. Hen. Trust me, I am exceeding weary.
Poins. Is it come to that ? I had thought weari-
ness durst not have attached one of so high blood.
P. Hen. 'Faith, it does me; though it discolours
the complexion of my greatness to acknowledge it.
Doth it not show vilely in me, to desire small beer ?
Poifis. Why, a prince should not be so loosely
studied, as to remember so weak a composition.
P. Hen. Belike then, my appetite was not
princely got ; for, by my troth, I do now remember
the poor creature, small beer. But, indeed, these
humble considerations make me out of love with my
greatness. What a disgrace is it to me, to remem-
ber thy name ? or to know thy face to-morrow ? or
to take note how many pair of silk stockings thou
hast ; viz. these, and those that were the peach-
coloured ones ?
Pains. How ill it follows, after you have laboured
so hard, you should talk so idly? Tell me, how
many good young princes would do so, their fathers
being so sick as yours at this time is ?
P. Hen. Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins ?
Poins. Yes ; and let it be an excellent good thing.
P. Hen. It shall serve among wits of no higher
breeding than thine.
Poins. Go to ; I stand the pusn of your one thing
that you will tell.
P. Hen. Why, I tell thee, — it is not meet that
I should be sad, now my father is sick : albeit I
could tell to thee, (as to one it pleases me, for fault
of a better, to call my friend,) I could be sad, and
sad indeed too.
Poins. Very hardly, upon such a subject.
P. Hen. By this hand, thou think'st me as far in
the devil's book, as thou and Falstaff, for obduracy
and persistency : Let the end try the man. But I
tell thee, — my heart bleeds inwardly, that my
father is so sick : and keeping such vile company
as thou art, hath in reason taken from me all osten-
tation of sorrow.
Poins. The reason ?
P. Hen. What wouldst thou think of me, if I
should weep ?
Poins. I would think thee a most princely hypo-
crite.
p. Hen. It would be every man's thought : and
thou art a blessed fellow, to think as every man
thinks ; never a man's thought in the world keeps
the road-way better than thine : every man would
think me an hypocrite indeed. And what accites
your most worshipful thought, to think so ?
Poins. Why, because you have been so much
engrafFed to Falstaff.
P. Hen. And to thee.
Points. By this light, I am well spoken of, I can
hear it with my own ears : the worst that they can
say of me is, that I am a second brother, and that
I am a proper fellow of my hands ; and those two
things, I confess, I cannot help. By the mass, here
comes Bardolph.
P. Hen. And the boy that I gave Falstaff : he
had him from me Christian ; and look, if the fat
villain have not transformed him ape.
Enter Bardolph and Page.
Bard. 'Save your grace.
P. Hen. And yours, most noble Bardolph.
Bard. Come, you virtuous ass, [To the Page.]
you bashful fool, must you be blushing ? wherefore
blush you now ?
Page. He called me even now, my lord, through
a red lattice, and I could discern no part of his face
from the window : at last, I spied his eyes.
P. Hen. Hath not the boy profited ?
Pard. Away, you upright rabbit, away !
Page. Away, you rascally Althea's dream, away !
P. Hen. Instruct us, boy : What dream, boy ?
Page. Marry, my lord, Althea dreamed she was
delivered of a fire-brand ; and therefore I call him
her dream.
P. Hen. A crown's worth of good interpretation.
— There it is, boy. [Gives him money.
Poins. O, that this good blossom could be kept
from cankers ! — Well, there is sixpence to pieserve
thee.
Bard. An you do not make him be hanged among
you, the gallows shall have wrong.
P. Hen. And how doth thy master, Bardolph ?
Bard. Well, my lord. He heard of your grace's
coming to town ; there's a letter for you.
Poins. Delivered with good respect. — And how
doth the martJemas?, your master?
Bard. In bodily health, sir.
Poins. Marry, the immortal part needs a phy-
sician ; but that moves not him ; though that be
sick, it dies not.
P. Hen. I do allow this wen to be as familiar
with me as my dog :. and he holds his place ; for,
look you, how he writes.
Poins. [Reads-I John Falstaff, knight, Every
man m.ust know that, as oft as he has occasion to
name himself. Even like those that are kin to the
king ; for they never prick their finger, but they
say. There is some of the king's blood spilt : How
'' Martinmas ; St Martin's day is Nov. 11.
Scene II.
KING HENRY IV.
411
comes that f says he, that takes upon him not to
conceive : the answer is as ready as a borrower's
cap ; I am the king^s poor covsin, sir.
P. Hen. Nay, tliey will be kin to us, or they will
fetch it from Japhet. But the letter : —
Poins. Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of the
king, nearest his father, Harry prince of Wales,
grcetiiig. — Why, this is a certificate.
p. Hen. Peace !
Poins. / will imitate the honourable Roman in
brevity : — he sure means brevity in breath ; short-
winded. — I commend me to thee, I commend thee,
and I leave thee. Be not too familiar ivith Poins ;
for he misuses thy favours so much, that he swears,
thou art to marry his sister Nell. Repent at idle
times as thou mayst, and so farewell.
Thine, by yea and no, (which is as much
as to say, as thou usest him,) Jack Fal-
staff, with my familiars ; John, vdth my
brothers and sisters ; and Sir John ivith
all Europe.
My lord, I will steep this letter in sack, and make
him eat it.
P. Hen. That's to make him eat twenty of his
words. But do you use me thus, Ned? must I
marry your sister.
Poins. May the girl have no worse fortune ! but
I never said so.
P. Hen- Well, thus we play the fools with the
time ; and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds
and mock us. — Is your master here in London ?
J3ard. Yes, my lord.
P. Hen. Where sups he ? doth the old boar feed
in the old frank ? 8
Bard. At the old place, my lord ; in Eastcheap.
p. Hen. Shall we steal upon him, Ned, at supper?
Poins. I am your shadow, my lord ; I'll follow
you.
p. Hen. Sirrah, you boy, — and Bardolph ; — no
word to your master that I am yet come to town :
There's for your silence.
Bard. I have no tongue, sir.
Page, And for mine, sir ; — I will govern it.
P. Hen. Fare ye well; go. {Exeunt Bardolph
and Page. ] How might we see FalstafF bestow him-
self to-night in his true colours, and not ourselves
be seen ?
Poins. Put on two leather jerkins, and aprons,
and wait upon him at his table as drawers.
P. Hen. From a god to a bull ? a heavy descen-
sion ! it was Jove's case. From a prince to a pren-
tice ? a low transformation ! tliat shdl be mine : for,
in every thing, the purpose must weigh with the
folly.
Enter Peto.
Peto, how now ? what news ?
Peto. The king, your father, is at Westminster ;
And there are twenty weak and wearied posts,
Come from the north : and, as I came along,
I met, and overtook, a dozen captains,
Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns.
And asking every one for sir John Falstaff.
P. Hen. By heaven, Poins, Ifeelmemuchtoblame,
So idly to profane the precious time :
When tempest of commotion, like the south,
Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt.
And drop upon our bare unarmed heads.
Give me my sword and cloak : — and, Poins, good
night. [ExcufU.
« Sty.
SCENE III Warkworth. Before the Castle.
Enter Northumberlakd, Ladv Northumberland,
and Lady Percy.
North. I pray thee, loving wife, and gentle
daughter.
Give even way unto my rough affairs :
Put not you on the visage of the times.
And be, like them, to Percy troublesome.
Lady N. I have given over, I will speak no more :
Do what you will ; your wisdom be your guide.
North. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn ;
And, but my going, nothing can redeem it.
Lady P. O, yet, for heaven's sake, go not to
these wars !
The time was, father, that you broke your word.
When you were more endear'd to it than now ;
When your own Percy, when my heart's dear Harry,
Threw many a northward look to see his father
Bring up his powers ; but he did long in vain.
Who then persuaded you to stay at home ?
There were two honours lost; yours, and your
son's.
For yours, — may heavenly glory brighten it !
For his — it stuck upon him, as the sun
In the grey vault of heaven : and by his light.
Did all the chivalry of England move
To do brave acts ; he was, indeed, the glass
Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves.
He had no legs, that practis'd not his gait :
And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish,
Became the accents of the valiant :
For those that could speak low, and tardily.
Would turn their own perfection to abuse.
To seem like him : So that, in speech, in gait,
In diet, in affections of delight,
In military rules, humours of blood.
He was the mark and glass, copy and book,
That fashioned others. And him, — O wondrous
him !
O miracle of men ! — him did you leave,
(Second to none, unseconded by you,)
To look upon the hideous god of war
In disadvantage ; to abide a field,
Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name
Did seem defensible, so you left him :
Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong.
To hold your honour more precise and nice
With others, than with him ; let them alone ;
The marshal, and the archbishop, are strong :
Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers.
To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck.
Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave.
North. Beshrew your heart.
Fair daughter ! you do draw my spirits from me.
With new lamenting ancient oversights.
But I must go, and meet with danger there ;
Or it will seek me in another place.
And find me worse provided.
Lady N. O, fly to Scotland,
Till that the nobles, and the armed commons.
Have of their puissance made a little taste.
Lady P. If they get ground and vantage of the
king.
Then join you with them, like a rib of steel.
To make strength stronger ; but for all our loves,
First let them try tliemselves : So did your son ;
He was so suffer'd ; So came I a widow ;
And never shall have length of life enough.
To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes.
412
SECOND PART OF
Act III.
That it may grow and sprout as liigh as heaven,
For recordation to iny noble husband.
North. Come, come, go in with me : 'tis with my
mind,
As with the tide swell'd up unto its height.
Tliat makes a still-stand, running neither way.
Fain would I go to meet the archbishop,
But many thousand reasons hold me back : ■
I will resolve for Scotland ; tliere am 1
Till time and vantage crave my company. \_Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I. —A Room in the Palace.
Entei' King Henry in his Night-goum, with a Page.
K. Hen. Go, call the earls of Surrey and of War-
wick ;
But, ere they come, bid them o'er- read these letters.
And well consider of them : Make good speed. —
[^Exit Page.
How many thousand of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep ! — Sleep, gentle sleep.
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee.
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down.
And steep my senses in forgetfulness ?
Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,
And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber ;
Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,
And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody ?
O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile,
In loathsome beds ; and leav'st the kingly couch,
A watch-case, or a common 'larum bell ?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude imperious surge j
And in the visitation of the winds
Who take the ruffian billows by the top,
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf 'ning clamours in the slippery clouds.
That, with the hurly 9, death itself awakes ?
Canst thou, O partial sleep ! give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude ;
And, in the calmest and most stillest night.
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a king ? Then, happy low ', lie down !
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
Enter Warwick and Surret.
War. Many good morrows to your majesty !
K. Hen. Is it good morrow, lords?
War. 'Tis one o'clock, and past.
K. Hen. Why then, good morrow to you all, my
lords.
Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you ?
War. We have, my liege.
K. Hen. Then you perceive the body of our
kingdom.
How foul it is ; what rank diseases grow,
And with what dangerj near the heart of it.
War. It is but as a body, yet distemper'd ;
Which to his former strength may be restor'd,
With good advice, and little medicine :
My lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd.
K. Hen. O heaven ! that one might read the book
of fate ;
And see the revolution of the times
Make mountaius level, and the continent
9 Noise.
Those in lowly situations.
(Weary of solid firmness) melt itself
Into the sea ! and, other times, to see
The beachy girdle of the ocean
Too wide for Neptune's hips ; how chances mock,
And changes fill the cup of alteration
With divers liquors ! O, if this were seen.
The happiest youth, — viewing his progress through,
What perils past, what crosses to ensue, —
Would shut the book, and sit him down and die.
'Tis not ten years gone.
Since Richard, and Northumberland, great friends.
Did feast together, and, in two years after.
Were they at wars : It is but eight years, since
This Percy was the man nearest my soul ;
Who like a brother toil'd in my affairs.
And laid his love and life under my foot :
Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard,
Gave him defiance. But which of you was by,
(You, cousin Nevil, as I may remember,)
[To Warwick.
When Richard, — with his eye brimfull of tears.
Then cbeck'd and rated by Northumberland, —
Did speak these words, now prov'd a prophecy ?
Northumberland, thou ladder, by the which
My cousin Bolingbroke ascends my throne ; —
Though then, heaven knows, I had no such in-
tent :
But that necessity so bow'd the state,
That I and greatness were compell'd to kiss : ■
The time shall come, thus did he follow it.
The time will come, that foul sin, gathering headt
Shall break into corruption : — so went on,
Foretelling this same time's condition,
And the division of our amity.
War. There is a history in all men's lives.
Figuring the nature of the times deceas'd :
The which observ'd, a man may prophesy.
With a near aim, of the main chance of things
As yet not come to life ; which in their seeds.
And weak beginnings, lie intreasured.
Such things become the hatch and brood of time ;
And, by the necessary form of this.
King Richard might create a perfect guess.
That great Northumberland, then false to him.
Would of that seed grow to a greater falseness ;
Which should not find a ground to root upon.
Unless on you.
K. Hen. Are these things then necessities ?
Then let us meet them like necessities :
And that same word even now cries out on us ;
They say, the bishop and Northumberland
Are fifty thousand strong.
War. It cannot be, my lord ;
Rumour doth double, like the voice and echo.
The numbers of the fear'd : — Please it your grace,
To go to bed ; upon my life, my lord.
The powers that you already have sent forth,
Shall bring this prize in very easily.
I
Scene II.
KING HENRY IV.
413
To comfort you the more, I have receiv'd
A certain instance, that Glendower is dead.
Your majesty hath been this fortnight ill ;
And these unseason'd hours, perforce, must add
Unto your sickness.
K. Hen. I will take your counsel :
And, were these inward wars once out of hand,
We would, dear lords, unto the Holy Land.
\ExeunU
SCENE II. — Court before Justice Shallow's
House in Gloucestershire.
Enter Shallow and Silence, meeting; Mouldy,
Shadow, Wart, Feeble, Bull-calf, and Ser-
vants behind.
Shot. Come on, come on, come on ; give me your
hand, sir, give me your hand, sir ; an early stirrer,
by the rood. « And how doth my good cousin
Silence ?
Sil. Good morrow, good cousin Shallow.
Shal. And how doth my cousin, your bedfellow ?
and your fairest daughter, and mine, my god-daueh-
ter Ellen? ^
Sil. Alas, a black ouzel, cousin Shallow.
Shal. By yea and nay, sir, I dare say, my cousin
William is become a good scholar : He is at Oxford,
still, is he not ?
,Si/. Indeed, sir ; to my cost.
Shal. He must then to the inns of court, shortly :
I was once of Clement's Inn ; where, I think, they
will talk of mad Shallow yet.
Sil. You were called — lusty Shallow, then, cousin.
Shal. By the mass, I was called any thing ; and
I would have done any thing indeed, and roundly
too. There was I, and little John Doit of Stafford-
shire, and black George Bare, and Francis Pick-
bone, and Will Squele a Cotswold man, — you had
not four such swinge-bucklers in all the inns of
court again : and I may say to you, we knew where
the bona-robas were. Then was Jack Falstaff, now
sir John, a boy ; and page to Thomas Mowbray,
duke of Norfolk.
Sil. This sir John, cousin, that comes hither anon,
about soldiers ?
Shal. The same sir John, the very same , I saw
him break Skogan's head at the court gate, when
he was a crack 3, not thus high : and the very same
day did I fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruit-
erer; behind Gray's Inn. O, the mad days that I
have spent ! and to see how many of mine old ac-
quaintance are dead !
SiL We shall all follow, cousin.
Shal. Certain, 'tis certain ; very sure, very sure;
death is certain to all ; all shall die How a good
yoke of bullocks at Stamford fair ?
Sil. Truly, cousin, I was not there.
Shal. Death is certain. — Is old Double of your
town living yet?
Sil. Dead, sir.
Shal. Dead ! — See, see ! — he drew a good bow ;
— And dead ! — He shot a fine shoot : — John of
Gaunt loved him well, and betted much money on
his head. Dead ! — he would have clapp'd i* the
clout at twelve score * ; and carried you a forehand
shaft at fourteen and fourteen and a half, tliat it
would have done a man's heart good to see.
How a score of ewes now ?
' CroM. 3 Boy.
* Hit the white nurk at twelve score yarcU
Sil. Tliereafter as they be ; a score of good ewes
may be worth ten pounds.
Shal. And is old Double dead !
Enter Bakdolph, and one unth him.
Sil. Here come two of sir John Falstaff's men,
as I think.
Bard. Good morrow, honest gentlemen : I be-
seech you, which is justice Shallow ?
Shal. I am Robert Shallow, sir ; a poor esquire
of this county, and one of the king's justices of the
peace : What is your good pleasure with me ?
Bard. My captain, sir, commends him to you :
my captain, sir John Falstaff: a tall* gentleman,
by heaven, and a most gallant leader.
Shal. He greets me well, sir ; I knew him a good
backsword man : How doth the good knight ? may
I ask, how my lady his wife doth ?
Bard. Sir, pardon ; a soldier is better accommo>
dated, than with a wife.
Shal. It is well said, in faith, sir ; and it is well
said indeed too. Better accommodated ! — it is good ;
yea, indeed, it is : good phrases are surely, and ever
were, very commendable. Accommodated ! — it
comes from accommodo : very good ; a good phrase.
Bard. Pardon me, sir : I have heard the word.
Phrase, call you it ? By this good day, I know not
the phrase : but I will maintain the word with my
sword, to be a soldier-like word, and a word of ex-
ceeding good command. Accommodated ; that is,
when a man is, as they say, accommodated : or
when a man is, — being, — whereby, — he may be
thought to be accommodated ; which is an excellent
thing.
Enter Falstaff.
Slial. It is very just : — Look, here comes good
sir John. — Give me your good hand, give me your
worship's good hand : By my troth, you look well,
andbearyouryears very well . welcome, good sir John.
Fal. I am glad to see you well, good master
Robert Shallow : — Master Sure-card, as I think.
Shal. No, sir John ; it is my cousin Silence, in
commission with me.
Fai. Good master Silence, it well befits you
should be of the peace.
Sil. Your good worship is welcome.
Fal. Fye ! this is hot weather. — Gentlemen, ha^e
you provided me here half a dozen sufficient men ?
Shal. Marry, have we sir. Will you sit?
Fal. Let me see them, I beseech you.
Shal. Where's the roll ? where's the roll ? where's
the roll ? — Let me see, let me see. So, so, so, so :
Yea, marry, sir — Ralph Mouldy : — let them appear
as I call ; let them do so, let them do so. Let me
see ; where is Mouldy ?
Monl. Here, an't please you.
Shal. What think you, sir John ; a good limbed
fellow : young, strong, and of good friends.
Fal. Is thy name Mouldy ?
Moul. Yea, an't please you.
Fal. *T1s the more time thou wert used.
Shal. Ha, ha, ha ! most excellent, things that are
mouldy, lack use : Very singular good ! — well said,
sir John ; very well said.
Fal. Prick him. {To Shallow.
Moid. My old dame will be undone now, for one
to do her husbandry, and her drudgery : you need
not to have pricked me ; there are other men fitter
to go out than I.
» Brave.
414
SECOND PART OF
Act III. Scene II.
Fat. Go to ; peace, Mouldy, you shall go, Mouldy.
Shal. Peace, fellow, peace ; stand aside ; Know
you where you are ? — For the other, sir John : —
let me see ; — Simon Shadow !
Fal. Ay marry, let me have him to sit under :
he's like to be a cold soldier.
Shal. Where's Shadow?
Shad. Here, sir.
Fal. Shadow, whose son art thou ?
Shad. My mother's son, sir.
Fal. Thy mother's son ! like enough, and thy
father's shadow.
Shal. Do you like him, sir John ?
Fal. Shadow will serve for summer, — prick him ;
— for we have a number of shadows to fill up the
muster-book.
Shal. Thomas Wart !
Fal. Where's he?
Wart. Here, sir.
Fal. Is thy name Wart ?
Wart. Yea, sir.
Fal. Thou art a very ragged wart.
Shal. Shall I prick him, sir John ?
Fal. It were superfluous : for his apparel is built
upon his back, and the whole frame stands upon
pins : prick him no more.
Shal. Ha, ha, ha ! — you can do it, sir ; you can
do it : I commend you well. — Francis Feeble !
Fee. Here, sir.
Fal. What trade art thou. Feeble ?
Fee. A woman's tailor, sir.
Shal. Shall I prick him, sir ?
Fal. You may : — Wilt thou make as many holes
in an enemy's battle, as thou hast made wjth thy
needle?
Fee. I will do my good will, sir ; you can have
no more.
Fal. Well said, good woman's tailor ! well said,
courageous Feeble ! Thou wilt be as valiant as the
wrathful dove, or most magnanimous mouse. —
Prick the woman's tailor well, master Shallow ;
deep, master Shallow.
Fee. I would, Wart might have gone, sir.
Fal. I would thou wert a man's tailor ; that thou
migh'st mend him, and make him fit to go. I can-
not put him to a private soldier, that is the leader of
so many thousands : Let that suffice, most forcible
Feeble.
Fee. It shall suffice, sir.
Fal. I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. —
Who is next ?
Shal. Peter Bull-calf of the green !
Fal. Yea, marry, let us see Bull-calf.
jBvll. Here, sir.
Fal. Trust me, a likely fellow ! — Come, prick
me Bull-calf till he roar again.
Bull. O lord ! good my lord captain, —
Fal. What, dost thou roar before thou art pricked?
Bull. O lord, sir ! I am a diseased man.
Fal. What disease hast thou ?
Bull. A cold, sir ; a cough, sir ; which I caught
with ringing in the king's affairs, upon his corona-
tion-day, sir.
Fal. Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown ;
we will have away thy cold ; and I will take such
order, that thy friends shall ring for thee. — Is here
all?
Shal. Here is two more called than your number ?
you must have but four here, sir ; — and so, I pray
you, go in with me to dinner.
Fal. Come, I will go drink with you, but I cannot
tarry dinner. I am glad to see you, in good troth,
master Shallow.
Shal. O, sir John, do you remember since we lay
all night in the windmill in Saint George's fields ?
Fal. No more of that, good master Shallow, no
more of that.
Shal. Ha, it was a merry night. And is Jane Night
alive?
Fal. She lives, master Shallow.
Shal. She never could away with me.
Fal. Never, never : she would always say, she
could not abide master Shallow.
Shal. By the mass, I could anger her to the heart.
She was then a bona-roba. Doth she hold her own
well?
Fal. Old, old, master Shallow.
Shal. Nay, she must be old ; she cannot choose
but be old ; certain she's old ; and had Robin be-
fore I came to Clement's Inn.
Sil. That's fifty-five year ago.
Shal. Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen
that that this knight and I have seen ! — Ha, sir
John, said I well ?
Fal. We have heard the chimes at midnight,
master Shallow.
Shal. That we have, that we have, that we have :
in faith, sir John, we have ; our watch- word was,
Henii hoys / — Come, let's to dinner ; come, let's to
dinner : — O, the days that we have seen ! — Come,
come. [^Exeunt Falstaff, Shallow, and Silence.
Bull. Good master corporate Bardolph, stand my
friend; and here is four Harry ten shillings in
French crowns for you. In very truth, sir, I had
as lief be hanged, sir, as go : and yet, for mine own
part, sir, I do not care ; but, rather, because I am
unwilling, and, for mine own part, have a desire to
stay with my friends ; else, sir, I did not care, for
mine own part, so much.
Bard. Go to ; stand aside.
Moul. And good master corporal captain, for my
old dame's sake, stand my friend : she has nobody
to do any thing about her, when I am gone : and
she is old, and cannot help herself: you shall have
fort)', sir.
Bard. Go to ; stand aside.
Fee. By my troth I care not ; — a man can die
but once ; — we owe God a death ; — I'll ne'er
bear a base mind ; — an't be my destiny, so ; an't
be not, so : No man's too good to serve his prince ;
and, let it go which way it will, he that dies this
year, is quit for the next.
Bard. Well said ; thou'rt a good fellow.
Fee. Nay, I'll bear no base mind.
Re-enter Falstaff, and Justices.
Fal. Come, sir, which men shall I have ?
Shal. Four, of which you please.
Bard. Sir, a word with you : — I have three
pound to free Mouldy and Bull-calf.
Fal. Goto; well.
Shal. Come, sir John, which four will you have ?
Fal. Do you choose for me.
Shal. Marry then, — Mouldy, Bull-calf, Feeble,
and Shadow.
Fal. Mouldy, and Bull-calf: — For you. Mouldy,
stay at home, still ; you are past service : — and, for
your part. Bull-calf, — grow till you come unto it ;
I will none of you.
Shal. Sir John, sir John, do not yourself wrong ;
I
I
J
Act IV. Scene I.
KING HENRY IV.
415
they are your likeliest men, and I would have you
served with the best.
Fed. Will you tell me, master Shallow, how to
choose a man ? Care I for the limb, the thewes, the
stature, bulk, and big assemblance of a man ! Give
me the spirit, master Shallow. — Here's Wart ; —
you see what a ragged appearance it is : he shall
charge you, and discharge you, with the motion of
a pewterer's hammer ; come off, and on, swifter than
he that gibbets- on the brewer's bucket. And this
same half-faced fellow, Shadow, — give me this
man ; he presents no mark to the enemy ; the foe-
man may with as great aim level at the edge of a
penknife : And, for a retreat, — how swiftly will
this Feeble, the woman's tailor, run off? O, give
me the spare men, and spare me the great ones. —
Put me a caliver " into Wart's hand, Bardolph.
Hard. Hold, Wart, traverse 7 ; thus, thus, thus.
Fed. Come, manage me your caliver. So : —
very well : go to : — very good : — exceeding good.
— O, give me always a little, lean, old, chapped,
bald shot. — Well said. Wart ; hold, there's a tester
for thee.
Shal. He is not his craft's master, he doth not do
it right, I remember at Mile-end green, (when 1
lay at Clement's Inn, — I was then sir Dagonet in
Arthur's show 8,) there was a little quiver fellow, and
'a would manage you his piece thus : and 'a would
about and about, and come you in, and come you
in: rah, tah, tah, would 'a say; bounce, woxiVd 'a
say ; and away again would 'a go, and again would
'a come : — I shall never see such a fellow.
Fal. Tliese fellows will do well, master Shallow.
— Heaven keep you, master Silence ; I will not use
many words with you : -'- Fare you well, gentlemen
both : 1 thank you : I must a dozen mile to-night.
— Bardolph, give the soldiers coats.
Shnl. Sir John, heaven bless you and prosper
your afiairs, and send us peace ! As you return, visit
my house ; let our old acquaintance be renewed :
peradventure, I will with you to the court,
Fal. I would you would, master Shallow
Shal. Go to ; I have spoke at a word. Fare you
well. {Exeunt Shallow and Silence.
Fal. Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. On, Bar-
dolph ; lead the men away. [Exeunt Bardolph,
Recruits, ^c-] As I return, I will fetch off these
justices : I do see the bottom of justice Shallow.
How subject we old men are to this vice of lying !
This same starved justice hatli done nothmg but
prate to me of the wildness of his youth, and the
feats he hath done about Turnbull-street ' ; and
every third word a lie, duer paid to the hearer than
the Turk's tribute. I do remember him at Cle-
ment's Inn, like a man made after supper of a
cheese-paring: lie was so forlorn, that his dimen-
sions to any thick sight were invisible : he was the
very Genius of famine ; he came ever in the rear-
ward of the fashion ; and sung those tunes to the
huswives that lie heard the carmen whistle, and
sware — they were his fancies, or his good-nights. «
And now is this Vice's dagger' become a squire;
and talks as familiarly of John of Gaunt, as if he
had been sworn brother to him : and I'll be sworn
he never saw him but once in the Tilt-yard ; and
then he burst his head, for crowding among the
marshal's men. I saw it ; and told John of Gaunt,
he beat his own name'* : for you might have truss'd
him, and all his apparel, into an eel-skin ; the case
of a treble haut-boy was a mansion for him, a court ;
and now has he land and beeves. Well ; I will be
acquainted with him, if I return : and it shall go
hard, but I will make him a philosopher's stone to
me : If the young dace be a bait for the old pike,
I see no reason, in the law of nature, but I may
snap at him. Let time shape, and there an end.
[ErU.
ACT IV.
SCENE I. — ^ Forest in Yorkshire.
Enter the Archbishop of York, Mowbray,
Hastings, and others*
Arch. What is this forest call'd ?
Hast. 'Tis Gualtree forest, an't shall please your
grace.
Arch. Here stand, my lord ; and send discoverers
forth,
To know the numbers of our enemies.
Hast. We have sent forth already.
Arch. 'Tis well done.
My friends and brethren in these great affairs,
I must acquaint you that I have receiv'd
New-dated letters from Northumberland ;
Their cold intent, tenour and substance, thus : —
Here doth he wish his person, with such powers
As might hold sortance 9 with his quality,
nie which he could not levy ; whereupon
He is retir'd, to ripe his growing fortunes.
To Scotland : and concludes in hearty prayers.
That your attempts may overlive the tiazard.
And fearful meeting of their opposite.
'^ Musket
" An exhibition of archert.
? March.
* Be suiUble.
Mowb. Thus do the hopes we have in him toucli
ground.
And dash themselves to pieces.
Eiiter a Messenger
Hast. Now, what news ?
Mess. West of this forest, scarcely off a mile.
In goodly form comes on the enemy :
And, by the ground they hide, I judge their number
Upon, or near, the rate of thirty thousand.
Mowb. The just proportion tliat we gave tliem out.
Let us sway on, and face them in the field.
Enter Westmoreland.
Arch. What well-appointed leader fronts us here "''
Mowb. I think, it is my lord of Westmoreland.
West. Health and fair greeting from our general.
The prince, lord John, and duke of Lancaster.
Arch. Say on, my lord of Westmoreland, in peace ,
What doth concern your coming ?
West. Then, my lord,
Unto your grace do I in chief address
The substance of my speech. If that rebellion
' In Clerkcnwell. ' Titles of little poems
3 A wooden dagger like that used by the modern harlequin.
4 Gaunt u thin, slender.
il6
SECOND PART OF
Act IV.
Came like itself, in base and abject routs,
Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rage,
And countenanc'd by boys and beggary ;
T say, if vile commotion so appear'd,
In his true, native, and most proper shape,
You, reverend father, and these noble lords.
Had not been here, to dress the ugly form
Of base and bloody insurrection
With your fair honours. You, lord archbishop, —
"Whose see is by a civil peace maintain'd ;
Whose beard the silver hand of peace hath touch'd ;
Whose learning and good letters peace hath tutor'd ;
Wliose white investments figure innocence.
The dove and very blessed spirit of peace, —
Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself.
Out of the speech of peace, that bears such grace,
Into the harsh and boist'rous tongue of war ?
Turning your books to graves, your ink to blood.
Your pens to lances ; and your tongue divine
To a loud trumpet, and a point of war ?
^rch. Wherefore do I this ? so the question stands.
Briefly to this end : — We are all diseased ;
And, with our surfeiting, and wanton hours.
Have brought ourselves into a burning fever.
And we must bleed for it : of which disease
Our late king, Richard, being infected, died.
But, my most noble lord of Westmoreland,
I take not on me here as a physician j
Nor do I, as an enemy to peace.
Troop in the throngs of military men ;
But, rather, show a while like fearful war.
To diet rank minds, sick of happiness ;
And purge the obstructions, M^hich begin to stop
Our very veins of life. Hear me more plainly.
I have in equal balance justly weigh'd
What wrongs our arms may do, what wrongs we
suffer,
And find our griefs 7 heavier than our offences.
We see which way the stream of time doth run,
And are enforc'd from our most quiet sphere
By the rough torrent of occasion :
And have the summary of all our griefs.
When time shall serve, to show in articles :
Which, long ere this, we offer'd to the king,
And might by no suit gain our audience :
When we are wrong'd, and would unfold our griefs.
We are denied access unto his person
Even by those men that most have done us wrong.
The dangers of the days but newly gone,
(Whose memory is written on the earth
With yet-appearing blood,) and the examples
Of every minute's instance, (present now,)
Have put us in these ill-beseeming arms :
Not to break peace, or any branch of it ;
But to establish here a peace indeed.
Concurring both in name and quality.
West. When ever yet was your appeal denied ?
Wherein have you been galled by the king ?
What peer hath been suborn'd to grate on you ?
That you should seal this lawless bloody book
Of forg'd rebellion with a seal divine.
And consecrate commotion's bitter edge ?
Arc/i. My brother general, the commonwealth,
I make my quarrel in particular.
JFest. There is no need of any such redress ;
Or, if there were, it not belongs to you.
Mowb. Why not to him, in part ; and to us all.
That feel the bruises of the days before ;
And suffer the condition of these times,
7 Grievances.
To lay a heavy and unequal hand
Upon our honours ?
West. O my good lord Mowbray,
Construe the times to their necessities.
And you shall say indeed, — it is the time.
And not the king, that doth you injuries.
Yet, for your part, it not appears to me,
Either from the king, or in the present time.
That you should have an inch of any groimd m
To build a grief on ; Were you not restor'd ■
To all the duke of Norfolk's signiories, l
Your noble and right- well remember'd father's?
Mowb. What thing, in honour, had my father lost.
That need to be reviv'd, and breath'd in me ?
The king, that lov'd him, as the state stood then,
Was, force perforce, compell'd to banish him :
And then, when Harry Bolingbroke, and he, —
Being mounted, and both roused in their seats.
Their neighing coursers daring of the spur.
Their armed staves in charge, their beavers down.
Their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of steel,
And the loud trumpet blowing them together ;
Then, then, when there was nothing could have staid
My father from the breast of Bolingbroke,
O, when the king did throw his warder 8 down.
His own life hung upon the staff he threw :
Then threw he down himself; and all their lives.
That by indictment, and by dint of sword,
Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke.
West. You speak, lord Mowbray, now you know
not what :
The earl of Hereford was reputed then
In England the most valiant gentleman ;
Who knows, on whomfortune wouldthen have smil'd?
But if your father had been victor there,
He ne'er had borne it out of Coventry :
For all the country, in a general voice.
Cried hate upon him ; and all their prayers, and love.
Were set on Hereford, whom they doted on,
And bless'd and grac'd indeed, more than the king.
But this is mere digression from my purpose. —
Here come I from our princely general,
To know your griefs ; to tell you from his grace.
That he veill give you audience : and wherein
It shall appear that your demands are just.
You shall enjoy them ; every thing set off,
That might so much as think you enemies.
Mowb. But he hath forc'd us to compel this offer;
And it proceeds from policy, not love.
West. Mowbray, you overween 9, to take it so ;
This offer comes from mercy, not from fear :
For, lo ! within a ken ', our army lies :
Upon mine honour, all too confident
To give admittance to a thought of fear.
Our battle is more full of names than yours.
Our men more perfect in the use of arms.
Our armour all as strong, our cause the best ;
Then reason wills, our hearts should be as good : — ■
Say you not then, our offer is compell'd.
Mowb. Well, by my will, we shall admit no parley.
West. That argues but the shame of your ofience :
A rotten case abides no handling.
^05^ Hath the prince John a full commission.
In very ample virtue of his father.
To hear, and absolutely to determine
Of what conditions we shall stand upon ?
West. That is intended '^ in the general's name :
I muse 3, you make so slight a question. ^^
8 Truncheon. >* Think too highly.
1 Sight. '' Understood. '^ Wonder,
_!
Scene II.
KING HENRY IV.
417
Arch. Tlien take, my lord of Westmoreland, tliis
schedule ;
For tliis contains our general grievances: —
Each several article herein redress'd ;
All members of our cause, both here and hence,
That are insinew'd to this action,
Acquitted by a true substantial form ;
And present execution of our wills
To us, and to our purposes, consign'd ;
We come within our awful banks again.
And knit our powers to the arm of peace.
lyest. This will I show the general. Please you, lords.
In sight of both our battles we may meet :
And either end in peace, which lieaven so frame !
Or to the place of difference call the swords
Which must decide it.
Arch. My lord, we will do so.
[Exit West.
Mowb. Tliere is a thing within my bosom, tells me
That no conditions of our peace can stand.
Hast. Fear you not that : if we can make our peace
Upon such large terms, and so absolute,
As our conditions shall consist upon.
Our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains.
Moivb. Ay, but our valuation shall be such.
That every slight and false-derived cause,
Yea, every idle, nice**, and wanton reason.
Shall, to the king, taste of tliis action :
That, were our royal faiths martyrs in love,
We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind.
That even our corn shall seem as light as chaff".
And good from bad find no partition.
Arch. No, no, my lord ; Note this, — the king
is weary
Of dainty and such picking ^ grievances :
For he hath found, — to end one doubt by death.
Revives two greater in tlie heirs of life.
And therefore will he wipe his tables 6 clean ;
And keep no tell-tale to his memory,
That may repeat and history his loss
To new remembrance : For full well he knows.
He cannot so precisely weed this land,
As his misdoubts present occasion :
His foes are so enrooted with his friends,
Tliat, plucking to unfix an enemy.
He doth unfasten so, and shake a friend.
So that this land, like an offensive wife.
That hath enrag'd him on to offer strokes ;
As he is striking, holds his infant up.
And hangs resolv'd correction in tlie arm
That was uprcar'd to execution.
. Hast. Besides, the king hath wasted all his rods
On late offenders, that he now doth lack
The very instruments of chastisement :
So that his power, like to a fangless lion.
May offer, but not hold.
Arch. 'Tis very true ; —
And therefore be assur'd, my good lord marshal.
If we do now make our atonement well,
Our peace will, like a broken limb united,
Grow stronger for the breaking.
Mowb. Be it so.
Here is retum'd my lord of Westmoreland.
lie-enter Westmoreland.
West. The prince is here at hand : Pleaseth your
lordship,
To meet his grace just distance 'tween our armies ?
* Trivial. » Iniignificant
< Book for mernorandum*.
Mowb. Your grace of York, in Gcd's name then
set forward.
Arch. Before, and greet his grace : — my lord,
we come. [Exeimt.
SCENE II Another Part of the Forest.
Enter, from one side, Mowbray, the Archbishop,
Hastings, and others : from the other side, Princf.
John o/" Lancaster, Westmoreland, Officers, and
Attendants.
P. John. You are well encounter'd here, my
cousin Mowbray : —
Good day to you, gentle lord archbishop ; —
And so to you, lord Hastings, — and to all. —
My lord of York, it better show'd with you,
When that your flock, assembled by the bell,
Encircled you, to hear with reverence
Your exposition on the holy text ;
Than now to see you here an iron man,
Cheering a rout of rebels with your drum,
Turning the word to sword, and life to death.
That man, that sits within a monarch's heart.
And ripens in the sunshine of his favour.
Would he abuse the countenance of the king,
Alack, what mischiefs might be set abroach,
In shadow of such greatness ! With you, lord bishop,
It is even so : — Who hath not heard it spoken.
How deep you were within the books of heaven ?
To us, the speaker in his parliament ;
To us, the imagin'd voice of heaven itself ;
The very opener, and intelligencer,
Between the grace, the sanctities of heaven.
And our dull workings : O, who shall believe,
But you misuse the reverence of your place ;
Employ the countenance and grace of heaven,
As a false favourite doth his prince's name,
In deeds dishonourable ? You have taken up.
Under the counterfeited zeal of heaven.
The subjects of heaven's substitute, my father ;
And, both against the peace of heaven,
Have here up-swann'd them.
Aixh. Good my lord of Lancaster.
I am not here against your father's peace :
But, as I told my lord of Westmoreland,
The time misorder'd doth, in common sense.
Crowd us, and crush us, to this monstrous form.
To hold our safety up. I sent your grace
The parcels and particulars of our grief;
The which hath been with scorn shov'd from the court.
Whereon this hydra son of war is born :
Whose dangerous eyes may well be charm'd asleep.
With grant of our most just and right desires ;
And true obedience of this madness cur'd
Stoop tamely to the foot of majesty.
Mowb. If not, we ready are to try our fortunes
To the last man.
Hast. And though we here fall down.
We have supplies to second our attempt;
If they miscarry, theirs sliall second them :
And so, success 7 of mischief shall be bom ;
And heir from heir shall hold this quarrel up,
Whiles England shall liave generation.
p. John. You are too sliallow, Hastings, much
too shallow,
To sound the bottom of the after-times,
If'est. Pleaseth your grace, to answer them directly.
How far-forth you do like their articles ?
* SucCetsioa
£e
418
SECOND PART OF
Act IV.
P. John. I like them all, and do allow » them well :
And swear here by the honour of my blood,
My father's purposes have been mistook ;
-A nd some about him have too lavishly
Wrested his meaning and authority. —
My lord, these griefs shall be with speed redress'd ;
Upon my soul they shall. If this may please you,
Discharge your powers unto their several counties,
As we will ours : and here, between the armies
I^et's drink together friendly, and embrace ;
That all their eyes may bear those tokens home.
Of our restored love, and amity.
jirch. I take your princely word for these redresses.
P. John. I give it you, and will maintain my wor I;
And thereupon I drink unto your grace.
Hast. Go, captain, [To an Officer.'] and deliver
to the army
This news of peace ; let them have pay, and part :
I know it will well please them ; Hie thee, captain.
[Exit Officer.
Arch. To you, my noble lord of Westmoreland.
West. I pledge your grace : And, if you knew
what pains
I have bestow'd, to breed this present peace.
You would drink freely : but my love to you
Shall show itself more openly hereafter.
Arch. I do not doubt you.
West. I am glad of it : —
Health to my lord, and gentle cousin, Mowbray.
Mowb. You wish me health in very happy season ;
For I am, on the sudden, something ill.
Arch. Against ill chances, men are ever merry ;
But heaviness foreruns the good event.
West. Therefore be merry, coz ; since sudden
sorrow
Serves to say thus, — Some good thing comes to-
morrow.
Arch. Believe me, T am passing light in spirit.
Mowb. So nmch the worse, if your own rule be
true. [Shouts within.
P. John. The word of peace is render'd ; Hark,
how they shout !
Mowb. This had been cheerful, after victory.
Arch. A peace is of the nature of a conquest ;
For then both parties nobly are subdued,
And neither party loser.
P. John. Go, my lord,
And let our army be discharged too. —
[Exit Westmoreland.
And, good my lord, so please you, let our trains
March by us ; that we may peruse the men
We should have cop'd withal.
Arch. Go, good lord Hastings,
And, ere they be dismissed, let them march by.
[Exit Hastings.
P. John. I trust, my lords, we shall lie to-night
together. —
Re-enter Westmoreland.
Now, cousin, wherefore stands our army still ?
West. The leaders, having charge from you to
stand.
Will not go off until they hear you speak.
P. John. They know their duties.
Re-enter Hastings.
Hast. My lord, our army is dispers'd already :
Like vouthful steers unyok'd,they take their courses
East, west, north, south ; or, like a school broke up.
Each hurries towards his home, and sporting-place.
^ Approve.
West. Good tidings, my lord Hastings ; for the
which
I do arrest thee, traitor, of high treason : —
And you, lord archbishop, — and you, lord Mowbray,
Of capital treason I attach you both.
Moicb. Is this proceeding just and honourable ?
West. Is your assembly so ?
Arch. Will you thus break your faith ?
p. John. I pawn'd thee none :
I promis'd you redress of these same grievances,
Whereof you did complain ; which, by mine honour,
I will perform with a most Christian care.
But, for you, rebels, — look to taste the due
Meet for rebellion, and such acts as yours.
Most ihallowly did you these arms commence,
Fondly 9 brought here, and foolishly sent hence. —
Strike up our drums, pursue the scatter'd stray ;
Heaven, and not we, have safely fought to-day. —
Some guard these traitors to the block of death,
Treason's true bed, and yielder up of breath.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. — Another Part of the Forest.
Alarums: Excursions. Enter Falstaff and
Colevile, meeting.
Fal. What's your name, sir? of what condition
are you ; and of what place, I pray ?
Cole. I am a knight, sir ; and my name is —
Colevile of the dale.
Fal. Well then, Colevile is your name ; a knight
is your degree ; and your place, the dale : Colevile
shall still be your name, — a traitor your degree ;
and the dungeon your place, — a place deep enough ;^
so shall you still be Colevile of the dale.
Cole. Are not you sir John Falstaff ?
Fal. As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am.
Do ye yield, sir ? or shall I sweat for you ? If I do
sweat, they are drops of thy lovers, and they weep
for thy death : therefore rouse up fear and trembling,
and do observance to my mercy.
Cole. I think, you are sir John Falstaff; and, in
that thought, yield me.
Fal. I have a whole school of tongues in this
belly of mine ; and not a tongue of them all speaks
any other word but my name. An I had but a belly
of any indifferency, I were simply the most active
fellow in Europe : — Here comes our general.
Enter Prince John of Lancaster, Westmoreland,
and others.
P. John. The heat is past, follow no further now ; —
Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland. —
[Eocit Westmoreland.
Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while ?
When every thing is ended, then you come :
These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life.
One time or other break some gallows' back.
Fal. I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be
thus ; I never knew yet, but rebuke and check was
the reward of valour. Do you think me a swallow,
an arrow, or a bullet ? have I, in my poor and old
motion, the expedition of thought? I have speeded
hither with the very extremest inch of possibility :
I have foundered nine-score and odd posts ; and
here, travel-tainted as I am, have, in my pure and
immaculate valour, taken sir John Colevile of the
dale, a most furious knight, and valorous enemy :
Foolishly.
J
Scene III.
KING HENRY IV.
419
But what of that? he saw me, and yielded ; that I
mayjustlysay with the hooked-nose fellow of Rome ',
— I came, saw, and overcame.
P. John. It was more of his courtesy than your
deserving.
Fal. I know not ; here he is, and here I yield
him : and I beseech your grace let it be booked
with tlie rest of this day's deeds ; or I will have it
in a particular ballad else, with mine own picture
on tlie top of it, Colevile kissing my foot : To the
which course, if I be enforced, if you do not all
show like gilt two-pences to me; and I, in the
clear sky of fame, o'ershining you as much as the
full moon doth the cinders of the element, which
shew like pins' heads to her ; believe not the word
of the noble : Therefore let me have right and let
desert mount.
P. John. Thine's too heavy to mount.
Fal. Let it shine then.
P. John. Thine's too thick to shine.
Fal. Let it do something, my good lord, that may
do me good, and call it what you will.
P. John. Is thy name Colevile ?
Cole. It is, my lord.
P. John. A famous rebel art thou, Colevile.
Fal. And a famous true subject took him.
Cole. I am, my lord, but as my betters are.
That led me hither : had they been ruled by me.
You should have won them dearer than you have.
Fal. I know not how they sold themselves : but
thou, like a kind fellow, gavest thyself away ; and
I thank thee for thee.
Re-enter Westmoreland.
P. John. Now, have you left pursuit ?
Jfest. Retreat is made, and execution stay'd.
P. John. Send Colevile, with his confederates,
To York, to present execution :
Blunt, lead him hence ; and see you guard him sure.
[Exeunt some with Colevile.
And now despatch we toward the court, my lords;
I hear, the king my father is sore sick :
Our news shall go before us to his majesty, —
Which, cousin, you shall bear, — to comfort him ;
And we with sober speed will follow you.
Fal. My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to
go through Glostershire ; and, when you come to
court, stand my good lord, 'pray, in your good
report.
P. John. Fare you well, Falstaff : I, in my con-
dition '^,
Shall better speak of you than you deserve. [Exit.
Fal. I would, you had but the wit : 'twere better
than your dukedom. — Good faith, tin's same young
sober-blooded boy doth not love me ; nor a man
cannot make him laugh ; — but that's no marvel, he
dnnks no wine. There's never any of these de-
mure boys come to any proof: for thin drink doth
so over- cool their blood, they are generally fools and
cowards ; — which some of us should be too, but
for inflammation. A good sherris-sack liath a two-
fold operation in it. It ascends me into the brain ;
dries me there all the foolish, and dull, and crudy
vapours which environ it ; makes it apprehensive,
quick, forgetive % full of nimble, fiery, and delect-
iJjle shapes ; which delivered o'er to the voice, (tlie
tongue,) which is the birth, becomes excellent wit.
The second property of your excellent sherris is, —
• Julius Osar. « In my piesent temper.
• Inventive
the warming of the blood ; which, before cold and
settled, left the liver white and pale, which is the
badge of pusillanimity and cowardice : but the
sherris warms it, and makes it course from the in-
wards to the parts extreme. It illumineth the face ;
which, as a beacon, gives warning to all the rest of
this little kingdom, man, to arm j and then the
vital commoners, and inland petty spirits, muster
me all to their captain, the heart ; who, great, and
putfed up with this retinue, doth any deed of
courage : and this valour comes of sherris : So that
skill in the weapon is nothing, without sack ; for
that sets it a- work : and learning, a mere hoard of
gold, kept by a devil ; till sack commences it *,
and sets it in act and use. Hereof comes it, that
prince Harry is valiant : for the cold blood he did
naturally inherit of his father, he hath, like lean,
steril, and bare land, manured, husbanded, and
tilled, with excellent endeavour of drinking good,
and good store of fertile sherris ; that he is become
very hot and valiant. If I had a thousand sons,
the first human principle I would teach them should
be, — to forswear thin potations, and addict them-
selves to sack.
Enter Bardolph.
How now, Bardolph?
Bard. The army is discharged all, and gone.
Fal. Let them go. I'll through Glostershire ;
and there will I visit master Robert Shallow, es-
quire : I have him already tempering between my
finger and my thumb, and shortly will I seal with
him. 5 Come away. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV Westminster.
Palace.
A Room in the
Enter Kikg Henry, Clarence, Prince Huk-
PHREY, Warwick, and otfters.
IT. Hen. Now, lords, if heaven doth give success-
ful end
To this debate that bleedeth at our doors,
We will our youth lead on to higher fields.
And draw no swords but what are sanctified.
Our navy is address 'd 6, our power collected,
Our substitutes in absence well invested.
And every thing lies level to our wish :
Only, we want a little personal strength ;
And pause us, till these rebels now afoot,
Come underneath the yoke of government.
War. Both which we doubt not but your miyestj
Shall soon enjoy.
JT. Hen. Humphrey, my son, of Gloster,
Where is the prince your brother ?
P. Humph. I think he's gone to hunt, my lord,
at Windsor.
A". Hen. And how accompanied ?
P. Humph. I do not know, my lord.
K. Hen. Is not his brother, Thomas of Clarence,
with him ?
P. Humph. No, my good lord, he is in presence
here.
Cla. What would my lord and father ?
K. Hen. Nothing but well to thee, Thomas of
Clarence.
How chance, tliou art not with the prince thy brother ?
He loves thee, and thou dost neglect him, Thomas ;
* Brings it mto action.
^ An allusion to the old use of waling with soft wax.
« Ready, prepared.
Ee 2
420
SECOND PART OF
Act IV.
Tlioii hast a better place in his affection,
I'han all thy brothers ; cherish it, my boy ;
And noble offices thou mayst effect
Of mediation, after I am dead,
Between his greatness and thy other brethren : —
Therefore omit him not ; blunt not his love :
Nor lose the good advantage of his grace,
By seeming cold, or careless of his will,
For he is gracious, if he be observ'd 7 ;
He hath a tear for pity, and a hand
Open as day for melting charity :
Yet notwithstanding, being incens'd, he's flint ;
As humorous as winter, and as sudden
As flaws congealed in the spring of day.
His temper, therefore, must be well observ'd :
Chide him for faults, and do it reverently,
When you perceive his blood inclin'd to mirth :
But, being moody, give him line and scope ;
Till that his passions, like a whale on ground.
Confound themselves with working. Learn this,
Thomas,
And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends;
A hoop of gold, to bind thy brothers in j
That the united vessel of their blood.
Mingled with venom of suggestion,
(As, force perforce, the age will pour it in,)
Shall never leak, though it do work as strong
As aconitum^, or rash gunpowder. ,
Cla. I shall observe him with all care and love.
K. Hen. Why art thou not at Windsor with him,
Thomas ?
Cla. He is not there to-day ; he dines in London.
. K. Hen. And how accompanied ? canst thou tell
that ?
Cla. With Poins, andother his continual followers.
IC. Hen. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds ;
And he, the noble image of my youth.
Is overspread with them : Therefore my grief
Stretches itself beyond the hour of death ;
The blood weeps from my heart, when I do shape,
In forms imaginary, the unguided days.
And rotten times, that you shall look upon
When I am sleeping with my ancestors.
For when his headstrong riot hath no curb.
When rage and hot blood are his counsellors.
When means and lavish manners meet together,
O, with what wings shall his affections fly
Towards fronting peril and oppos'd decay !
War. My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite :
The prince but studies his companions.
Like a strange tongue : wherein, to gain the language,
'Tis needful that the most immodest word
Be look'd upon, and learn'd : which once attain'd.
Your highness knows, comes to no further use.
But to be known and hated. So, like gross terms.
The prince will, in the perfectness of time.
Cast off* his followers : and their memory
Shall as a pattern or a measure live,
By which his grace must mete the lives of others ;
Turning past evils to advantages.
K. Hen. 'Tis seldom, when the bee doth leave
her comb
In the dead carrion. — Who's here ? Westmoreland?
Enter Westmoreland.
West. Health to my sovereign ! and new happiness
Added to that that I am to deliver !
Prince John, your son, doth kiss your grace's hand :
'' Has attention shown him.
8 Wolfs Lane, a poisonous herb.
Mowbray, the bishop Scroop, Hastings, and all,
Are brought to the correction of your law ;
There is not now a rebel's sword unsheath'd.
But peace puts forth her olive every where.
The manner how this action hath been borne.
Here at more leisure may your highness read ;
With every course, in this particular. 9
K. Hen. O Westmoreland, thou art a summer-birdj
Which ever in the haunch of winter sings
The lifting up of day. Look ! here's more news.
Enter Harcourt.
Har. From enemies heaven keep your majesty ;
And when they stand against you, may they fall
As those that I am come to tell you of !
The earl Northumberland, and the lord Bardolph,
With a great power of English, and of Scots,
Are by the sheriff" of Yorkshire overthrown ;
The manner and true order of the fight.
This packet, please it you, contains at large.
JC. Hen. And wherefore should these good news
make me sick ?
Will fortune never come with both hands full.
But write her fair words still in foulest letters ?
She either gives a stomach, and no food, —
Such are the poor, in health ; or else a feast.
And takes away the stomach, — such are the rich.
That have abundance, and enjoy it not.
I should rejoice now at this happy news ;
And now my sight fails, and my brain is giddy : —
O me! come near me, now I am much ill. \^Swoon&.
P. Humph. Comfort, your majesty !
Cla. O, my royal father !
West. My sovereign lord, cheer up yourself, look
up!
War. Be patient, princes ; you do know, these fits
Are with his highness very ordinary.
Stand from him, give him air ; he'll straight be well.
Cla. No, no ; he cannot long hold out these pangs j
The incessant care and labour of his mind
Hath wrought the mure ', that should confine it in,
So thin, that life looks through, and will break out.
P. Humph. The people fear me * ; for they do
observe
Unfather'd heirs, and loathly birds of nature ;
The seasons change their manners, as the year
Had found some months asleep, and leap'd them
over.
Cla. The river hath thrice flow d, no ebb between 3;
And the old folk, time's doting chronicles.
Say, it did so, a little time before
That our great grandsire, Edward, sick'd and died.
War. Speak lower, princes, for tlie king recovers.
P. Humph- This apoplex will, certain, be his end.
K. Hen. I pray you, take me up, and bear me hence
Into some other chamber : softly, 'pray.
{They convey the King into an inner part of
the room, and place him on a bed.
Let there be no noise made, my gentle friends ;
Unless some dulH and favourable hand
Will whisper musick to my weary spirit.
War. Call for the musick in the other room.
IT. Hen. Set me the crown upon my pillow here.
Cla. His eye is hollow, and he changes much.
War. Less noise, less noise.
9 The detail contained in prince John's letter.
» Wall. 2 Make me afraid.
3 An historical fact, on Oct 12. 1411.
* Melancholy, soothing.
I
Scene IV.
KING HENRY IV.
421
Enter Prince Henry.
P. Hen. Who saw the duke of Clarence ?
C/a. I am here, brother, full of heaviness.
P. Hen. How now ! rain witliin doors, and none
abroad !
How doth the king ?
P. Humph. Exceeding ill.
P. Hen. Heard he the good news yet ?
Tell it him.
P. Humph. He alter'd much upon the hearing it.
P. Hen. If he be sick
With joy, he will recover without physick.
War. Not so much noise, my lords : — sweet
prince, speak low ;
The king your father is dispos'd to sleep.
Cla. Let us withdraw into the other room.
IVar. Will't please your grace to go along with us ?
P. Hen. No j I will sit and watch here by the
king. [Exeunt all but F. Heury.
Why doth the crown lie there upon his pillow,
Being so troublesome a bedfellow ?
O polish'd perturbation ! golden care !
That keep'st the ports * of slumber open wide
To many a watchful night ! — sleep with it now !
Yet not so sound, and half so deeply sweet.
As he, whose brow, with homely biggin 6 bound.
Snores out the watch of night. O majesty !
When thou dost pinch thy bearer, thou dost sit
Like a rich armour worn in heat of day,
That scalds with safety. By his gates of breath
There lies a downy feather, which stirs not :
Did he suspire, that light and weightless down
Perforce must move. — My gracious lord ! my
fatlier ! —
This sleep is sound indeed ; this is a sleep
That from this golden rigol 7 hath divorc'd
So many English kings. Thy due, from me.
Is tears, and heavy sorrows of the -blood;
Which nature, love, and filial tenderness,
Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously j
My due, from thee, is this imperial crown ;
Which, as immediate from thy place and blood.
Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits, —
[Putting it on his head.
Which heaven shall guard : And put the world's
whole strength
Into one giant arm, it shall not force
This lineal honour from me : This from thee
Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me. [ tlxit.
K. Hen. Warwick ! Gloster ! Clarence !
Re-enter Warwick, and the rest.
Cla. Doth the king call ?
War. What would your majesty ? How fares your
grace?
A". Hen. Why did you leave me here alone, my
lords?
Cla. We left the prince my brother here, my liege,
Who undertook to sit and watch by you.
K. Hen. The prince of Wales? Where is he?
let me see him :
He is not here:
War. This door is open ; he is gone this way.
P. Humph. He came not tlirough the cliambcr
where we stay'd.
A". Hen, Where is the crown ? who took it from
my pillow ?
War. When we withdrew, my liege, we left it here.
» G«t«. « Cap. ' Circle
K. Hen. The prince hath ta'en it hence : — go,
seek him out ;
Is he so hasty, that he doth suppose
My sleep my death ?
Find him, my lord of Warwick ; chide him hither.
[Exit Warwick.
This part of his conjoins with my disease.
And helps to end me. — See, sons, what things you
are !
How quickly nature falls into revolt,
When gold becomes her object !
For this the foolish over-careful fathers
Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains
with care,
Their bones witli industry ;
For this they have engrossed and piled up
The canker'd heaps of strange-achieved gold ;
For this they have been thoughtful to invest
Their sons with arts, and martial exercises :
When, like the bee, tolling** from every flower
The virtuous sweets ;
Our thighs pack'd with wax, our mouths with honey,
We bring it to the hive ; and, like the bees,
Are murder'd for our pains. This bitter taste
Yield his engrossments 9 to the ending fatlier. — .
Re-enter Warwick.
Now, where is he that will not stay so long
Till his friend sickness hath determin'd ' me ?
War. My lord, I found the prince in the next room,
Washing with kindly tears his gentle cheeks ;
With such a deep demeanour in great sorrow.
That tyranny, which never quaff'd but blood,
Would, by beholding him, have wash'd his knife
With gentle eye-drops. He is coming hither.
K. Hen. But wherefore did he take away the
crown ?
Re-enter Prince Henry.
Lo, where he comes. — Come hither to me, Harry ; —
Depart the chamber, leave us here alone.
[Exeunt Clarence, Prince Humphrey,
Lords, ^c.
P. Hen. I never thought to hear you speak again.
X. Hen. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that
thought :
I stay too long by thee, I weary thee.
Dost thou so hunger for my empty chair,
That thou wilt needs invest thee with mine honours
Before thy hour be ripe ? O foolish youth !
Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee.
Stay but a little ; for my cloud of dignity
Is held from falling with so weak a wind,
That it will quickly drop : my day is dim.
Thou hast stolen that, which, after some few hours,
Were thine without offence ; and, at my death,
Thou hast seal'd up my expectation « :
Thy life did manifest, thou lov'dst me not.
And thou wilt have me die assur'd of it.
Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thouglits ;
Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart.
To stab at half an hour of my life.
What! canst thou not forbear me half an hour?
Then get tliee gone ; and dig my grave thystif ;
And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear,
That thou art crown'd, not that I am dead.
Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse,
9 Taking tolL
» Ended.
» Accumulations.
' Coiifimicti my opinion.
E c 3
422
SECOND PART OF
Act IV. Scene IV.
Be di'ops of balm, to sanctify thy head :
Only compound me with begotten dust ;
Give that, which gave thee Life, unto the worms,
Pluck down my officers, break my decrees ;
For now a time is come to mock at form,
Harry the Fifth is crown'd : — Up, vanity !
Down, royal state ! all you sage counsellors, hence !
And to the English court assemble now.
From every region, apes of idleness !
Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum :
Have you a ruffian, that will swear, drink, dance.
Revel the night ; rob, murder, and commit
The oldest sins the newest kind of ways ?
Be happy, he will trouble you no more :
England shall double gild his treble guilt j
England shall give him office, honour, might :
For the fifth Harry from curb'd license plucks
The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog
Shall flesh his tooth in every innocent.
0 my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows !
When that my care could not withhold thy riots.
What wilt thou do, when riot is thy care ?
O, thou wilt be a wilderness again.
Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants !
p. Hen. O pardon me, my liege ! but for my
tears, {JTneeling.
The moist impediments unto my speech,
1 had forestall'd this dear and deep rebuke.
Ere you with grief had spoke, and I had heard
The course of it so far. There is your crown ;
And He that wears the crown immortally.
Long guard it yours ! If I affect it more.
Than as your honour, and as your renown.
Let me no more from this obedience rise,
(Which my most true and inward duteous spirit
Teacheth,) this prostrate and exterior bending !
Heaven witness with me, when I here came in,
And found no course of breath within your majesty.
How cold it struck my heart ! if I do feign,
O, let me in my present wildness die ;
And never live to show the incredulous world
The noble change that I have purposed !
Coming to look on you, thinking you dead,
(And dead almost, my liege, to think you were,)
I spake unto the crown, as having sense,
And thus upbraided it. The care on thee depending.
Hath fed upon the body of my father ;
Therefore, thou, best of gold, art worst of gold.
Other, less fine in carat % is more precious.
Preserving life in medicine potable :
Sut thou, most fine, most honoured, most renown d,
Hast eat thy bearer up. Thus, my most royal liege,
Accusing it, I put it on my head ;
To try with it, — as with an enemy.
That had before my face murder'd my father, —
The quarrel of a true inheritor.
But if it did infect my blood with joy,
Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride j
If any rebel or vain spirit of mine
Did, with the least affection of a welcome,
Give entertainment to the might of it,
Let God for ever keep it from my head !
And make me as the poorest vassal is,
That doth with awe and terror kneel to it !
K. Hen. O my son !
Heaven put it in thy mind to take it hence,
That thou mightst win the more thy father's love,
Pleading so wisely in excuse of it.
* A term used m describing the fineness of gold.
Come hither, Harry ; sit thou by my bed,
And hear, I think, the very latest counsel
That ever I shall breathe. Heaven knows, my son,
By what by-paths, and indirect crook'd ways,
I met this crown ; and I myself know well.
How troublesome it sat upon my head :
To thee it shall descend with better quiet,
Better opinion, better confirmation :
For all the soil of the achievement goes
With me into the earth. It seem'd in me.
But as an honour snatch'd with boisterous hand ;
And I had many living, to upbraid
My gain of it by their assistances ;
Which daily grew to quarrel and to bloodshed.
Wounding supposed peace : all these bold fears,
Thou seest, with peril I have answer'd :
For all my reign hath been but as a scene
Acting that argument ; and now my death
Changes the mode : for what in me was purchas'd ■*,
Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort ;
So thou the garland wear'st successively.
Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do,
Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green ;
And all thy friends, which thou must make tjhy
friends,
Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out j
By whose fell working I was first advanc'd.
And by whose power I well might lodge a fear
To be again displac'd : which to avoid
I cut them off; and had a purpose now
To lead out many to the Holy Land ;
Lest rest, and lying still, might make them look
Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry,
Be it thy course, to busy giddy minds
With foreign quarrels ; that action, hence borne out.
May waste the memory of the former days.
More would I, but my lungs are wasted so.
That strength of speech is utterly denied me.
How I came by the crown, O God, forgive !
And grant it may with thee in true peace live !
P. Hen. My gracious liege.
You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me ;
Then plain, and right, must my possession be :
Which I, with more than with a jcommon pain,
'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain.
Enter Prince John o/* Lancaster, Warwick, Lordst
and others.
K. Hen. Look, look, here comes my John of
Lancaster.
P. John. Health, peace, and happiness to my
royal father !
K. Hen. Thou bring'st me happiness, and peace,
son John ;
But health, alack, with youthful wings is flown
From this bare, wither'd trunk j upon thy sight.
My worldly business makes a period.
Where is my lord of Warwick ?
p. Hen. My lord of Warwick !
K. Hen. Doth any name particular belong
Unto the lodging where I first did swoon ?
War. 'Tis call'd Jerusalem, my noble lord.
K. Hen. Laud be to God ! — even there my life
must end.
It hath been prophesied to me many years,
I should not die but in Jerusalem ;
Which vainly I supposed the Holy Land : —
But, bear me to that chamber ; there I'll lie ;
In that Jerusalem shall Harry die. \Exeunt.
4 Purchase, in Shakspeare, frequently means stolen goods.
Act V. Scene I.
KING HENRY IV.
42S
ACT V.
SCENE I. — Glostershire. A Hall in Shallow's
House.
Enter Shallow, Falstaff, Bardolfh, and Page.
Shal. By cock and pye, sir, you shall not away
to-night. What, Davy, I say !
Fal. You must excuse me, master Robert Shallow.
Shal. I will not excuse you ; you shall not be
excused; excuses shall not be admitted; there is
no excuse shall serve j you shall not be excused. —
Why, Davy!
Enter Davy.
Davi/. Here, sir.
Shal. Davy, Davy, Davy, — let me see, Davy ;
let me see : — yea, marry, William cook, bid him
come hither. — Sir John, you shall not be excused.
Davy. Marry, sir, thus ; — those precepts 6 can-
not be served : and, again, sir, — Shall we sow the
head-land with wheat?
Shal. With red wheat, Davy. But for William
cook ; Are there no young pigeons ?
Davt/. Yes, sir. Here is now the smith's
note, for shoeing and plough-irons.
Shal. Let it be cast 7, and paid.: — sir John, you
shall not be excused.
Davy. Now, sir, a new link to the bucket must
needs be had : — And, sir, do you mean to stop any
of William's wages, about the sack he lost the other
day at Hinckley fair ?
Shal. He shall answer it : ^— - Some pigeons,
Davy ; a couple of short-legged hens ; a joint of
mutton ; and any pretty little tiny kickshaws, tell
William cook.
Davy. Doth the man of war stay all night, sir ?
Shal. Yes, Davy. I will use him well; A friend
i'the court is better than a penny in purse. Use his
men well, Davy. About thy business, Davy.
Davy. I beseech you, sir, to countenance William
Visor of Wincot against Clement Perkes of the hill.
Shal. There are many complaints, Davy, against
that Visor; that Visor is an arrant knave, on my
knowledge.
Dai>y. I grant your worship, that he is a knave,
sir : but yet, heaven forbid, sir, but a knave should
have some countenance at his friend's request. An
honest man, sir, is able to speak for himself, when
a knave is not. I have served your worship truly,
sir, this eight years; and if I cannot once or twice
in a quarter bear out a knave against an honest
man, I have but a very little credit with your wor-
ship. The knave is mine honest friend, sir ; there-
fore, I beseech your worship, let him be counte-
nanced.
Shal. Go to ; I say, he shall have no wrong.
Look about, Davy. [Exit Davy.] Where are
you, sir John ? Come, off with your boots. — Give
me your hand, master Bardolpli.
Bard. I jun glad to see your worship.
ShaL I thank thee with all my heart, kind mas-
ter Bardolph : — and welcome, my tall fellow. [ To
the Page.'] Come, sir John. [Exit Shallow.
Pal. I'll follow you, good master Robert Shallow.
Bardolph, look to our horses. [Exeunt Bardolph
and Page ] If I were sawed into quantities, I should
make four dozen of such bearded hermit's staves as
master Shallow. It is a wonderful thing, to see the
semblable coherence of his men's spirits and his :
They, by observing him, do bear themselves like
foolish justices ; he, by conversing with them, is
turned into a justice-like serving man ; their sijirits
are so married in conjunction with the participation
of society, that they flock together in consent, like
so many wild-geese. If I had a suit to master
Shallow, I would humour his men, with the im-
putation of being near their master : if to his men,
I would curry with master Shallow, that no man
could better command his servants. It is certain,
that either wise bearing, or ignorant carriage, is
caught, as men take diseases, one of another : tlicre-
fore, let men take heed of their company. 1 will
devise matter enough out of this Shallow, to keep
prince Harry in continual laughter, the wearing-
out of six fashions, (which is four terms, or two
actions,) and he shall laugh without intervallums.
O, it is much, that a lie, with a slight oath, and a
jest, with a sad brow 8, will do with a fellow that
never had the ache in his shoulders ! O, you shall
see him laugh, till his face be like a wet cloak ill
laid up.
Shal. [Jruhin.'] Sir John!
Fal. I come, master Shallow ; I come, master
Shallow. [Exit Falstaff.
SCENE XL
Westminster.
Palace.
A Room in the
« Warrants.
Cast up.
Enter Warwick, and the Lord Chief Justic*.
War. How now, my lord chief Justice ? whither
away ?
Ch. Just. How doth the king?
War. Exceeding well ; his cares are now all ended.
Ch. Just. I hope, not dead.
War. He's walk'd the way of nature ;
And, to our purposes, he lives no more.
Ch. Just. I would his majesty had call'd me with
him :
The service that I truly did his life,
Hath left me open to all injuries.
War. Indeed, I think, the young king loves you
not.
Ch. Just. I know he doth not ; and do arm myself.
To welcome the condition of the time ;
Which cannot look more hideously upon me
Than I have drawn it in my fantasy.
Enter Prince Johv, Prince Humphrey, Cla-
rence, Westmoreland, and others.
War. Here come the heavy issue of dead Harry :
O, that the living Harry had the temper
Of him, the worst of these three gentlemen !
How many nobles then should hold their places,
That must strike sail to spirits of vile sort I
Ch. Just. Alas I I fear, all will be overturn'd.
P. John. Good morrow, cousin Warwick.
P. Humph, eta. Good morrow, cousin.
P. John. We meet like men that had forgot to
speak.
■ A aerioua faca
E e 4
424.
SECOND PART OF
Act V.
War. We do remember ; but our argument
Is all too heavy to admit such talk.
P. John. Well, peace be with him that hath made
us heavy !
Ch. Just. Peace be with us, lest we be heavier !
P. Humph. O, good my lord, you have lost a
friend indeed :
And I dare swear, you borrow not that face
Of seeming sorrow ; it is, sure, you own.
P. John. Though no man be assiur'd what grace
to find,
You stand in coldest expectation :
I am the sorrier; 'would 'twere otherwise.
Cla. Well, you must now speak sir John FalstafF
fair;
Which swims against your stream of quality.
Ch. Just. Sweet princes, what I did, I did in
honour,
Led by the impartial conduct of my soul j
And never shall you see, that I will beg
A ragged and forestall'd remission. —
If truth and upright innocency fail me,
I'll to the king my master that is dead.
And tell him who hatii sent me after him.
fTar. Here comes the prince.
Enter King Henry V.
Ch. Just. Good morrow ; and heaven save your
majesty
ITing. This new and gorgeous garment, majesty,
Sits not so easy on me as you think. —
Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear ;
This is the English, not the Turkish court,
Not Amurath an Amurath 9 succeeds,
But Harry Harry : Yet be sad, good brothers,
For, to speak truth, it very well becomes you ;
Sorrow so royally in you appears.
That I will deeply put the fashion on.
And wear it in my heart. Why then, be sad ;
But entertain no more of it, good brothers.
Than a joint burden laid upon us all.
For me, by Heaven, I bid you be assur'd,
I'll be your father and your brother too ;
Let me but bear your love, I'll bear your cares.
Yet weep, that Harry's dead ; and so will I :
But Harry lives, that shall convert those tears.
By number, into hours of happiness.
P. John, ^-c. We hope no other from your majesty.
ITing. You all look strangely on me : — and you
most ; [ To the Chief Justice.
You are, I think, assur'd, I love you not
Ch. Just. I am assur'd, if I be measur'd rightly,
Your majesty hath no just cause to hate me.
Xing. No !
How might a prince of my great hopes forget
So great indignities you laid upon me ?
What ! rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison
The immediate heir of England ! Was this easy ?
May this be wash'd in Lethe and forgotten ?
Ch. Just. I then did use the person of your father ;
The image of his power lay then in me :
And, in the administration of his law.
Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth,
Your highness pleased to forget my place.
The majesty and power of law and justice,
Tlie image of the king whom I presented.
And struck me in my very seat of judgment;
9 Emperor of the Turks, died in 1596 ; his son, who suc-
ceeded him, had all his brothers strangled.
Whereon, as an offender to your father,
I gave bold way to my authority,
And did commit you. If the deed were ill.
Be you contented, wearing now the garland.
To have a son set your decrees at nought ;
To pluck down justice from your awful bench ;
To trip the course of law, and blunt the sword
That guards tiie peace and safety of your person :
Nay, more : to spurn at your most royal image,
And mock your workings in a second body.
Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours j
Be now the father, and propose a son :
Hear your own dignity so much profan'd,
Sae your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted.
Behold yourself so by a son disdain'd :
And then imagine me taking your part.
And, in your power, soft silencing your son :
A fter this cold considerance, sentence me ;
And, as you are a king, speak in your state ',
What I have done, that misbecame my place.
My person, or my liege's sovereignty.
ITing. You are right, justice, and you weigh this
well;
Therefore still bear the balance, and the sword :
And I do wish your honours may increase,
Till you do live to see a son of mine
Offend you, and obey you, as I did.
So shall I live to speak my father's words ; —
Happy am 7, that have a man so bold,
That dares do justice on my proper son :
And not less happy, having such a sou,
That would deliver up his greatness so
Into the hands of justice. — You did commit me :
For which I do commit into your hand
The unstained sword that you have us'd to bear ;
With this remembrance, — That you use the same
With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit,
As you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand ;
You shall be as a father to my youth :
My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear ;
And I will stoop and humble my intents
To your well-practis'd, wise directions.
And, princes all, believe me, I beseech you ; —
My father is gone wild into his grave.
For in his tomb lie my affections ;
And with his spirit sadly I survive ;
To mock the expectation of the world ;
To frustrate prophecies ; and to raze out
Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down
After my seeming. The tide of blood in me
Hath proudly flow'd in vanity till now :
Now doth it turn, and ebb back to the sea :
Where it shall mingle with the state of floods.
And flow henceforth in formal majesty.
Now call we our high court of parliament :
And let us choose such limbs of noble council.
That the great body of our state may go
In equal rank with the best govern'd nation ;
That war, or peace, or both at once, may be
As things acquainted and familiar to us ;
In which you, father, shall have foremost hand.
[To the LoRn Chief Justice.
Our coronation done, we will accite ',
As I before remember'd, all our state :
And (heaven consigning to my good intents)
No prince, nor peer, shall have just cause to say, —
Heaven shorten Harry's happy life one day.
[Exeunt.
' In your regal character and office. 2 Sunmion
Scene III.
KING HENRY IV.
423
SCENE III Glostershlre. The Garden of
Shallow's House,
Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Silence, Bardolph,
the Page, and Davy.
Shal. Nay, you shall see mine orchard : where, in
an arbour, we will eat a last year's pippin of my own
graffing, with a dish of carraways, and so forth ; —
come, cousin Silence ; — and then to bed.
Fal. You have here a goodly dwelling, and a rich.
iS7ia/. Barren, barren, barren ; beggars all, beg-
gars all, sir John : — marry, good sir. — Spread,
Davy ; spread, Davy ; well said, Davy.
Fal. This Davy serves you for good uses ; he is
your serving-man, and your husbandman.
Shal. A good varlet, a good varlet, a very good
varlet, sir John. — By the mass, I have drunk too
much sack at supper ; — A good varlet. Now sit
down, now sit down : — come, cousin.
Sil. Ah, sirrah ! quoth-a, — we shall
Do nothing but eat, and make good cheer,
[Singing.
uind praise heaven Jor the merry year ;
So merrily.
And ever among so merrily.
Fal. There's a merry heart ! — Good master
Silence, I'll give you a health for that anon.
Shal. Give master Bardolph some wine, Davy.
Davy. Sweet sir, sit ; [Seating Bardolph and
the Page at another /aWe.] I'll be with you anon ; —
most sweet sir, sit. Master page, good roaster
page, sit : prqface 1 ' What you want in meat, we'll
have in drink. But you must bear; the heart's
all. [ExU.
Shal. Be merry, master Bardolph : — and my
little soldier there, be merry.
Sil. J3e merry, be merry, my wife\ as all ;
[Singing.
For women are shrews, both short and tall ;
' Tis merry in hall, when beards wag all.
And welcome merry shrove-tide.
Be merry, be merry, ^c.
Fal. I did not think master Silence had been a
man of this mettle.
SU. Who, I ? I have been merry twice and once,
ere now.
Re-eixter Davt.
Davy. There is a dish of leather-coats'* for you.
\Setting thenX before Bardolph.
Shal. Davy, —
Davy. Your worship ? — I'll be with you straight.
[To Bard.] — A cup of wine, sir ?
Sil. A cup of wine, that's brisk and fine,
[Singing.
And dnnk unto the lady mine ;
And a merry heart lives long-a.
Fal. Well said, master Silence.
Sil. And we shall be merry ; — now comes in
the sweet of the night.
Fal. Health and long life to you, master Silence.
Sil. Fill the cup, and let it come ;
ril pledge you a mile to the bottom.
• 5// a/. Honest Bardolph, welcome : If thouwantest
any thing, and wilt not call, beshrew tliy heart. —
Welcome, my little tiny tliicf; [To the Page.^ and
wtlcome, indeed, too. — I'll drink to master Bar-
dul])h, and to all the cavaleroes about London.
' Italian, much goo<l may it do you.
♦ Apples commonly callwl russctines.
Davy. I hope to see London once ere I die.
Bard. An I might see you there, Davy, —
ShcU. By the mass, you'll crack a quart together.
Ha ! will you not, master Bardolph ?
Bard. Yes, sir, in a pottle pot.
Shal. I thank thee : — The knave will stick by
thee, I can assure thee that : he will not out : he is
true bred.
Bard. And I'll stick by him, sir.
Shal. Why, there spoke a king. Lack nothing :
be merry. [KnockiTig heard.] Look who's at door
there : Ho ! who knocks ? [Bxil Davy.
Fal. Why, now you have done me right.
[ To Silence, ivho drinks a bumper,
Sil. Do me right, [Singing
And dub me knight * .•
Samingo. ^
Is't not so ?
Fal. "Tis so.
Sil. Is't so ? Why, then say, an old man can do
somewhat.
Re-enter Davy.
Davy. An it please your worship, there's one Pistol
come from the court with news.
Fal. From the court ! let him come in. —
Enter Pistol.
How now. Pistol ?
Pist. Save you, sir John !
Fal. What wind blew you hither, Pistol ?
Pist, Not the ill wind which blows no man to
good. — Sweet knight, thou art now one of the
greatest men in the realm.
Sil. By'r lady, I think 'a be j but goodman Puff
of Barson.
Pist. Puff?
Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base ! —
Sir John, I am thy Pistol, and thy friend,
And helter-skelter have I rode to thee ;
And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys.
And golden times, and happy news of price.
Fal. I pr'ythee now, deliver them like a man of
this world.
Pist. A fico for the world, and worldlings base !•
I speak of Africa, and golden joys.
Fal. O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news?
Let king Cophetua know the truth thereof.
Sil. Afid Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John. [Sings.
Pist. Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons?
And shall good news be baffled ?
Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap.
Shal. Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding.
Pist. Why then, lament therefore.
Shal. Give me pardon, sir; — If, sir, you come
with news from the court, I take it, there is but
two ways ; either to utter them, or to conceal them.
I am, sir, under the king, in some authority.
Pist. Under which king, Bezonian ? speak, or die,
Shal. Under king Harry.
Pist. Harry the fourth ? or fifth ?
Shal. Harr>' tlie fourth.
Pist. A fico for thine office ! —
Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is king ;
Harry the fifth's the man. I speak the truth :
When Pistol lies, do this ; and fig me, like
Tiie bragging Spaniard.
■* He who drank a bum|>or on his knees, to the health of his
mistress, was «lut>l)'d a knight for the evening
^ It should Ix^ Domingo: it is (wrt of a song m one of Nasbe's
plays.
426
SECOND PART OF
Act V.
. Fal. What! is the old king dead ?
Pist. As nail in door : the things I speak, are just.
Fal. Away, Bardolph ; saddle my horse. — Master
Robert Shallow, choose what office thou wilt in the
land, 'tis thine. — Pistol, I will double-charge thee
with dignities.
Bard. O joyful day ! — I would not take a knight-
hood for my fortune.
Pist. What ? I do bring good news ?
Fal. Carry master Silence to bed. — Master
Shallow, my lord Shallow, be what thou wilt, I am
fortune's steward. Get on thy boots ; we'll ride
all night : — O, sweet Pistol : — Away Bardolph.
l^Exit Bard.] — Come, Pistol, utter more to me;
and withal, devise something, to do thyself good. —
Boot, boot, master Shallow ; I know, the young
king is sick for me. Let us take any man's horses ;
the laws of England are at my commandment.
Happy are they which have been my friends ; and
woe to my lord chief justice !
Pist. Let vultures, vile seize on his lungs also !
Where is the life that late I led, say they :
Why, here it is ; Welcome these pleasant days.
\_Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — A public Place near Westminster
Abbey.
Enter two Grooms, strewing Bushes.
1 Groom. More rushes, more rushes.
2 Groom. The trumpets have sounded twice.
1 Groom. It will be two o'clock ere they come
from the coronation : Despatch, despatch.
[Exeunt Grooms.
Enter Falstaff, Shallow, Pistol, Bardolph,
and the Page.
Fal. Stand here by me, master Robert Shallow ;
I will make the king do you grace : I will leer upon
him, as 'a comes by ; and do but mark the counte-
nance that he will give me.
Pist. Bless thy lungs, good knight.
Fal. Come here. Pistol ; stand behind me. — O,
if I had had time to have made new liveries, I would
have bestowed the thousand pound I borrowed of
you. [To Shallow.] But 'tis no matter ; this poor
show doth better : this doth infer the zeal I had to
see him.
Shal. It doth so.
Fal. It shows my earnestness of affection.
Shal. It doth so.
Fal. My devotion.
Shal. It doth, it doth, it doth.
Fal. As it were, to ride day and night ; and not
to deliberate, not to remember, not to have patience
to shift me.
Shal. It is most certain.
Fal. But to stand stained with travel, and sweating
with desire to see him : thinking of nothing else ;
putting all affairs else in oblivion ; as if there were
nothing else to be done, but to see him.
Pist. 'Tis semper idem, for absque hoc nihil est"^ :
*Tis all in every part.
Shal. 'Tis so indeed.
[Shouts within, and the Trumpets sound.
Pist. There roar'd the sea, the trtunpet-clangor
sounds.
Enter the King and his Train, the Chief Justice
among them.
Fal. God save thy grace, king Hal ! my royal Hal !
7 'Tis all in all, and all in every part.
Pist. The heavens thee guard and keep, most
royal imp of fame !
Fal. God save thee, my sweet boy !
JKing. My lord chief justice, speak to that vain
man.
Ch. Just. Have you yovu" wits ? know you what
'tis you speak ?
Fal. My king ! my Jove ! I speak to thee, my
heart !
I^ng. I know thee not, old man : Fall to tliy
prayers ;
How ill white hairs become a fool, and jester !
I have long dream'd of such a kind of man.
So surfeit-swell'd, so old, and so profane ;
But, being awake, I do despise my dream.
Make less thy body, hence 8, and more thy grace ;
Leave gormandizing ; know, the grave doth gape
For thee thrice wider than for other men :
Reply not to me with a fool-bom jest ;
Presume not, that I am the thing I was ,
For heaven doth know, so shall the world perceive,
That I have turn'd away my former self ;
So will I those that kept me company.
When thou dost hear I am as I have been,
Approach me ; and thou shalt be as thou wast,
The tutor and the feeder of my riots :
Till then, I banish thee, on pain of death, —
As I have done the rest of my misleaders, —
Not to come near our person by ten miles.
For competence of life, I will allow you.
That lack of means enforce you not to evil :
And, as we hear you do reform yourselves,
We will, — according to your strength, and qua-
lities, —
Give you advancement, — Be it your charge, my
lord.
To see performed the tenor of our word. —
Set on. [Exeunt King, and his Train.
Fal. Master Shallow, I owe you a thousand
pound.
Shal. Ay, marry, sir John ; which I beseech you
to let me have home with me.
Fal. That can hardly be, master Shallow. Do
not you grieve at this ; I shall be sent for in private
to him : look you, he must seem thus to the world.
Fear not your advancement ; I will be the man yet,
that shall make you great.
Shal. I cannot perceive how ; unless you give
me your doublet, and stuff me out with straw. I
beseech you, good sir John, let me have five hundred
of my thousand.
Fal Sir, I will be as good as my word : this that
you heard, was but a colour.
Shal. A colour, I fear, that you will die in, sir
John.
Fal. Fear no colours ; go with me to dinner,
Come, lieutenant Pistol ; — come, Bardolph : — I
shall be sent for soon at night. [Exeunt.
Be-enter Prince John, the Chief Justice,
Queers, ^c.
P. John. I like this fair proceeding of the king's;
He hath intent, his wonted followers
Shall all be very well provided for ;
But all are banish'd, till their conversations
Appear more wise and modest to the world.
Ch. Just. And so they are.
P. John. The king hath call'd his parliament, my
lord.
" Henceforward.
y
1
II
Scene V.
KING HENRY IV.
427
Ch. Juat^ He hath.
P. John. I will lay odds, — that ere this year
expire,
We bear our civil swords, and native fire,
As far as France : I heard a bird so sing.
Whose musick, to my thinking, pleas'd the king.
Come, will you hence ?
[Exeunt,
EPILOGUE. ■— Spoken by a Dancer.
First, my fear ; then, my court' sy ; last, my
speech. My fear is, your displeasure j my court' sy,
my duty ; and my speech, to beg your pardons. If
you look for a good speech now, you undo me : for
what I have to say, is of mine otun making ; and
what, indeed, I should say, will, I doubt, prove mine
own marring. But to the purpose, and so to the
venture. — Be it known to you, (as it is very well,)
I was lately here in the end of a displeasing play, to
pray your patience for it, and to promise you a
better. I did m£an, indeed, to pay you udth this ;
which, if, like an ill venture, it come unluckily hom^,
I break, and you, my gentle creditors lose. Here, I
promised you^ I would be, and here I commit my
body to your mercies : bate me some, and I will pay
you some, and as mrost debtors do, promise you
iri/initely.
If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me, will
you command me to use my legs ? and yet that were
but light payment, — to dance out of your debt. But
a good conscience mil make any possible satisfaction,
and so will I. All the gentlewomen here have for-
given me : if the gentlemen "will not, then the gentle-
men do not agree with the gentlewomen, which was
never seen before in such an assembly.
One word more, I beseech you. If you be not too
much cloyed tvith fat ment, our humble author will
continue the story, with sir John in it, and make you
merry with fair Katharine of France : where, for
any thing I know, Falstaff shaU die of a sweat, unless
already he be killed with your hard ojnninns ; for
Oldcastle died a martyr, and this is not the man.
My tongue is weary ; when my legs are too, I will
bid you good night : and so kneel down before you ;
— but, indeed, to pray for the queen. 9
B Most of the ancient interludes conclude with a prayer for
the king or queen. Hence, perhaps, the Vivant Rex S( Regina,
at the bottom of our modern play.bills.
b
I
%
u
KING HENRY V.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
King Henry the Fifth.
Duke of Gloster, T „ ,, ^ i. v
,^ o > Brothers to the King.
Duke OF Bedford, J *
Duke of Exeter, Uncle to the King.
Duke of York, Cousin to tlie King.
Earls of Salisbury, Westmoreland, and War-
wick.
Archbishop of Canterbury.
Bishop of Ely.
Earl of Cambridge, ") „ . ^ • , i
Lord Scroop, \ Conspirator s^^^against the
Sir Thomas Grey, J °'
Sir Thomas Erpingham, Gower, Fluellen,
Macmorris, Jamy, Officers in King
Henry's army.
Bates, Court, Williams, Soldiers in the same.
Nym, Bardolph, Pistol, formerly Servants to
Falstaff, now Soldiers in the same.
Boy, Servant to them.
T/ie SCENE, at tfie beginning of the play, lies
A Herald.
Chorus.
Charles the Sixth, King of France.
Lewis, the Dauphin.
Dukes of Burgundy, Orleans, and Bourbon.
The Constable of France.
Rambures, and Grandpree, French Lords.
Governor of Harfleur.
MoNTJOY, a French Herald.
Ambassadors to the King of England.
Isabel, Queen of France.
Katharine, Daughter of Charles and Isabel.
Alice, a Lady attending on the Princess Katharine
Quickly, Pistol's Wife, an Hostess.
Lords, Ladies, Officers, French and English Soldiers
Messengers, and Attendants,
in England ; bu^ afterwards wholly in France.
FAIR KaIHAFl^
ANIJ MOST FAIR :
KING HENRY V.
Enter Chorus.
O, for a muse of fire that would ascend
The brightest heaven of invention !
A kingdom for a stage, princes to act,
And monarchs to behold the swelling scene !
Tlien should the warlike Harry, like himself.
Assume the port of Mars ; and at his heels,
Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword, and
fire.
Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all.
The flat unraised spirit, that hath dar'd,
On this unworthy scaffold, to bring forth
So great an object : Can this cockpit hold
The vasty fields of France, or may we cram
Within the wooden O ', the very casques '•,
That did affright the air at Agincourt ?
O, pardon ! since a crooked figure may
' An illusion to the circular form of the theatre.
2 Helmets.
Attest, in little place, a million ;
And let us, ciphers to this great accompt.
On your imaginary forces 3 work ;
Suppose, within the girdle of these walls.
Are now confin'd two mighty monarchies,
Whose high upreared and abutting fronts
The perilous, narrow ocean parts asunder.
Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts ,
Into a thousand parts divide one man.
And make imaginary puissance :
Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them
Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth :
For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings.
Carry them here and there ; jumping o'er times ;
Turning the accomplishment of many years
Into an hour-glass ; For the which supply.
Admit me Chorus to this history ;
Who, prologue-like, your humble patience pray,
Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play.
3 Powers of fancy.
Act I. Scene I.
KING HENRY V.
429
ACT I.
SCENE I. — London. An Ante-chamber in the
King'i Palace.
Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury, and Bishop
OF Ely.
Cant. My lord, I'U tell you, — that self bill is
urg'd,
Which, in the eleventh year o' the last king's reign.
Was like, and had indeed against us pass'd.
But that the scambling and unquiet time
Did push it out of further question.
J?/y. But how, my lord, shall we resist it now ?
Cant. It must be thought on. If it pass against
us.
We lose the better half of our possession :
For all the temporal lands, which men devout
By testament have given to the church.
Would they strip from us ; being valued thus, —
As much as would maintain, to the king's honour.
Full fifteen earls, and fifteen hundred knights ;
Six thousand and two hundred good esquires ;
And, to relief of lazars, and weak age.
Of indigent faint souls, past corporal toil,
A hundred alms-houses, right well supplied ;
And to the coffers of the king beside,
A thousand pounds by the year : Tlius runs the bill.
nil/. Tliis would drink deep.
Cant. 'Twould drink the cup and all.
Ell/. But what prevention ?
Cant. Tlie king is full of grace and fair regard.
£li/. And a true lover of the holy church.
Ca7it. The courses of his youth promis'd it not.
The breath no sooner left his father's body.
But that his vvildness, mortified in him,
Seem'd to die too : yea, at that very moment,
Consideration like an angel came.
And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him ;
Ivcaving his body as a paradise.
To envelop and contain celestial spirits.
Never was such a sudden scholar made :
Never came reformation in a flood,
With such a heady current, scouring faults ;
Nor never hydra-headed wilfulness
So soon did lose his seat, and all at once,
As in this king.
J^fj/- We are blessed in the change.
Cant. Hear him but reason in divinity.
And, all-admiring, with an inward wish
You would desire, the king were made a prelate :
Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs,
You would say, — it hath been all-in-all his study :
List ' his discourse of war, and you sliall hear
A fearful battle render'd you in musick :
Turn him to any cause of policy.
The Gordian knot of it he will unloose,
Familiar as his garter ; that, when he speaks.
The air, a charter'd libertine, is still,
And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears.
To steal his sweet and honeyed sentences ;
So that the art and practick part of life
Must be the mistress to this iheorick :
Which is a wonder, how his grace should glean it.
Since his addiction was to courses vain :
His companies unletter'd, rude, and shallow ;
• Listen tn.
His hours fill'd up with riots, banquets, sports ;
And never noted in him any study.
Any retirement, any sequestration
From open haunts and popularity.
Ell/. The strawberry grows underneath the nettle j
And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best,
Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality :
And so the prince obscur'd his contemplation
Under the veil of wildness ; which, no doubt.
Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night.
Unseen, yet crescive '-^ in his faculty.
Cant. It must be so : for miracles are ceas'd ;
And therefore we must needs admit the means.
How things are perfected.
■Eli/. But, my good lord.
How now for mitigation of this bill
Urg'd by the commons ? Doth his majesty
Incline to it, or no ?
Ca7it. He seems indifferent.
Or, rather, swaying more upon our part.
Than cherishing the exhibiters against us :
For I have made an offer to his majesty, —
Upon our spiritual convocation ;
And in regard of causes now in hand.
Which I have open'd to his grace at large.
As touching France, — to give a greater sum
Than ever at one time the clergy yet
Did to his predecessors part withal.
Ely. How did this offer seem receiv'd, my lord ?
Cant. With good acceptance of his majesty ;
Save, that there was not time enough to hear
(As, I perceiv'd, his grace would fain have done,)
The severals, and unhidden passages.
Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms ;
And, generally, the crown and seat of France,
Deriv'd from Edward, his great grandfather.
Ell/. What was the impediment that broke this oflT?
Cant. The French ambassador, upon that instant,
Crav'd audience : and the hour, I think, is come,
To give him hearing : Is it four o'clock ?
Ell/. It is.
Cant. Then go we in, to know his embassy ;
Which I could, with a ready guess, declare.
Before the Frenchman speak a word of it.
Ell/. I'll wait upon you ; and I long to hear it.
[Exeunt,
SCENE II. — A Room of State in the same.
Enter King Henry, Gloster, Bedford, Exeter,
Warwick, Westmoreland, and Attendants.
K. Hen. Where is my gracious lord of Canter-
bury ?
Exe. Not here in presence.
K. Hen. Send for him, good uncle.
West. Shall we call in the ambassador, my liege?
A". Hen. Not yet, my cousin ; we would be re-
solv'd,
Before we hear him, of some things of weight.
That task our thoughts, concerning us and France.
Enter the Archbishop or Canterbury, and Bishop
OF Ely.
Cant. God, and his angels, guard your sacred
throne,
And make you long become it !
* Increasing,
430
KING HENRY V.
Act I.
JT. Hen. Sure, we thank you.
My learned lord, we pray you to proceed ;
And justly and religiously unfold,
Why the law Salique, that they have in France,
Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim.
And heaven forbid, my dear and faithful lord.
That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your reading.
Or nicely charge your understanding soul
With opening titles miscreate, whose right
Suits not in native colours with the truth ;
For heaven doth know, how many, now in health,
Shall drop their blood in approbation
Of what your reverence shall incite us to :
Therefore take heed how you impawn our person.
How you awake the sleeping sword of war j
We charge you in the name of God, take heed :
For never two such kingdoms did contend.
Without much fall of blood ; whose guiltless drops
Are every one a woe, a sore complaint,
'Gainst him, whose wrongs give edge unto the swords
That make such waste in brief mortality.
Under this conjuration, speak, my lord :
And we will hear, note, and believe in heart.
That what you speak is in your conscience wash'd
As pure as sin with baptism.
^ Cant. Then hear me, gracious sovereign, — and
you peers,
That owe your lives, your faith, and services.
To this imperial throne ; — There is no bar
To make against your highness' claim to France,
But this which they produce from Pharamond, —
Jn terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant.
No woman shall succeed in Salique land :
Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze^,
To be the realm of France, and Pharamond
The founder of this law and female bar.
let their own autliors faithfully affirm,
That the land Salique lies in Germany,
Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe :
Where Charles the great, having subdued the Saxons,
There left behind and settled certain French ;
Who, holding in disdain the German women.
For some dishonest manners of their life,
Establish'd there this law, — to wit, no female
Should be inheritrix in Salique land ;
Which Salique, as I said, 'twixt Elbe and Sala,
Is at this day in Germany call'd — Meisen.
Thus doth it well appear, the Salique law
Was not devised for the realm of France :
Nor did the French possess the Salique land
Until four hundred one and twenty years
After defunction of king Pharamond,
Idly suppos'd the founder of this law :
Who died within the year of our redemption
Four hundred twenty-six ; and Charles the great
Subdued the Saxons, and did seat the French
Beyond the river Sala, in the year
Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say,
King Pepin, which deposed Childerick,
Did, as heir-general, being descended
Of Blithild, which was daughter to king Clothair,
Make claim and title to the crown of France.
Hugh Capet also, — that usurp'd the crown
Of Charles the duke of Lorain, sole heir male
Of the true line and stock of Charles the great, —
To fine 4 his title with some show of truth,
(Though, in pure truth, it was corrupt and naught,)
Convey'd himself * as heir to the lady Lingare,
3 Explain. 4 Make showy or specious.
* Derived his title.
Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son
To Lewis the emperor, and Lewis the son
Of Charles the great. Also king Lewis the tenth.
Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet,
. Could not keep quiet in his conscience.
Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied
That fair queen Isabel, his grandmother.
Was lineal of the lady Ermengare,
Daughter to Charles the foresaid duke of Lorain :
By the which marriage, the line of Charles the great
Was re-united to the crown of France.
So that, as clear as is the summer's sun.
King Pepin's title, and Hugh Capet's claim,
King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear
To hold in right and title of the female :
So do the kings of France unto this day ;
Howbeit they would hold up this Salique law.
To bar your highness claiming from the female ;
And rather choose to hide them in a net.
Than amply to imbare ^ their crooked titles
Usurp'd from you and your progenitors.
II. Hen. May I, with right and conscience, make
this claim ?
Cant. The sin upon my head, dread sovereign !
For in the book of Numbers is it writ, —
When the son dies, let the inheritance
Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord.
Stand for your own ; unwind your bloody flag ;
Look back unto your mighty ancestors :
Go, my dread lord, to your great grandsire's tomb,
From whom you claim ! invoke his warlike spirit.
And your great uncle's, Edward the black prince ;
Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy,
Making defeat on the full power of France ;
Whiles his most mighty father on a hill
Stood smiling, to behold his lion's whelp
Forage in blood of French nobility. 7
O noble English, that could entertain
With half their forces the full pride of France ;
And let anotner half stand laughing by.
All out of work, and cold for action !
nil/. Awake remembrance of these valiant dead.
And with your puissant arm renew their feats ;
You are their heir, you sit upon their throne ;
The blood and courage, that renowned them,
Runs in your veins ; and my thrice-puissant liege
Is in the very May-morn of his youth.
Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprizes.
Exe. Your brother kings and monarchs of the earth
Do all expect that you should rouse yourself,
As did the former lions of your blood.
West. They know your grace hath cause, and
means, and might ;
So hath your highness ; never king of England
Had nobles richer, and more loyal subjects ;
Whose hearts have left their bodies here in England,
And lie pavilion'd in the fields of France.
Cant. O, let their bodies follow, my dear liege.
With blood, and sword, and fire to win your right :
In aid whereof, we of the spiritualty
Will raise your highness such a mighty sum,
As never did the clergy at one time
Bring in to any of your ancestors.
JT. Hen. We must not only arm to invade the
French ;
But lay down our proportions to defend
Against the Scot, who will make road upon us
With all advantages.
• Lay open.
' At the battle of Cressy.
Scene II.
KING HENRY V.
431
Cant. They of those marches 8, gracious sovereign,
Shall be a wall sufficient to defend
Our inland from the pilfering borderers.
K. Hen. We do not mean the coursing snatchers
only,
But fear the main intendment 9 of the Scot,
Who hath been still a giddy neighbour to us ;
For you shall read, tha'. my great grandfather
Never went with his forces into France,
But that the Scot on his unfurnished kingdom
Came pouring, like the tide into a breach,
With ample and brim fulness of his force ;
Galling the gleaned land with hot essays ;
Girding witli grievous siege, castles and towns ;
That England, being empty of defence,
Hath shook, and trembled at the ill neighbourhood.
Cant. She hath been then more fear'd ' than harm'd,
my liege :
For hear her but exampled by herself, —
When all her chivalry hath been in France,
And she a mourning widow of her nobles,
She hath herself not only well defended.
But taken, and impounded as a stray.
The king of Scots, whom she did send to France, —
To fill king Edward's fame with prisoner kings ;
And make your chronicle as rich with praise,
As is the ooze and bottom of the sea
With sunken wreck, and sumless treasuries.
West. But there's a saying, very old and true, —
If that you will France win.
Then with Scotland Jirst begin :
For once the eagle England being in prey,
To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot
Comes sneaking, and so sucks her princely eggs ;
Playing the mouse, in absence of tlie cat.
To spoil and havock more than she can eat.
Exe. It follows then, the cat must stay at home :
Yet that is but a sad necessity ;
Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries,
And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves.
While that the armed hand doth fight abroad.
The advised head defends itself at home :
For government, though high, and low, and lower,
Put into parts, doth keep in one concent ;
Congruing '^ in a full and natural close.
Like musick.
Cant. True : therefore doth heaven divide
The state of man in divers functions.
Setting endeavour in continual motion ;
To which is fixed, as an aim or butt.
Obedience : for so work the honey bees ;
Creatures, that, by a rule in nature, teach
ITie act of order to a peopled kingdom.
Tliey have a king, and officers of sorts ^ :
Where some, like magistrates, correct at home ;
Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad ;
Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings.
Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds ;
Which pillage they with merry march bring home
To the tent-royal of their emperor :
Who, busied in his majesty, sun-eys
ITie singing masons building roofs of gold ;
The civil citizens kneading up the honey ;
Tlie poor mi chanick porters crowding in
Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate ;
The sad-ey'd justice, with his surly hum,
" The twrders of England and Scotland.
» General dinposition. > Frightened
' Agreeing. 3 DiflTerent degree*.
Delivering o'er to Executors * pale
The lazy yawning drone. I this infer, —
That many things, having full reference
To one concent, may work contrariously ;
As many arrows, loosed several ways,
Fly to one mark ;
As many several ways meet in one town ;
As many fresh streams run in one self sea ;
As many lines close in the dial's center ;
So may a thousand actions, once afoot.
End in one purpose, and be all well borne
Without defeat. Therefore to France, my liege.
Divide your happy England into four ;
Whereof take you one quarter into France,
And you withal shall make all Gallia shake.
If we, with thrice that power left at home.
Cannot defend our own door from the dog,
Let us be worried ; and our nation lose
The name of hardiness, and policy.
IC. Hen. Call in the messengers, sent from the
dauphin.
[Exit an Attendant. The Kino ascends his Throne.
Now are we well resolv'd : and, — by God's help,
And yours, the noble sinews of our power, —
France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe,
Or break it all to pieces : Or there we'll sit,
Ruling in large and ample empery 5,
O'er France, and all her almost kingly dukedoms ;
Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn,
Tombless, with no remembrance over them :
Either our history shall, with full mouth.
Speak freely of our acts ; or else our grave.
Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth.
Not worshipp*d with a waxen epitaph.
Enter Ambassadors of France.
Now are we well prepar'd to know the pleasure
Of our fair cousin dauphin ; for we hear.
Your greeting is from him, not from the king.
Amh. May it please your majesty, to give us leave
Freely to render what we have in charge ;
Or shall we sparingly show you far off
The dauphin's meaning, and our embassy ?
K. Hen. We are no tyrant, but a Christian king ;
Under whose grace our passion is a suliject.
As are our wretches fetter'd in our prisons :
Therefore, with frank and with uncurbed plainness,
Tell us the dauphin's mind.
Amb. Thus, then, in few.
Your highness, lately sending into France,
Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right
Of your great predecessor, king Edward the third.
In answer of which claim, the prince our master
Says, — that you savour too much of your youth ;
And bids you be advis'd, there's nought in France,
That can be with a nimble galliard*' won ;
You cannot revel into dukedoms tliere :
He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit,
This tun of treasure ; and, in lieu of this.
Desires you, let the dukedoms, that you claim.
Hear no more of you. Tliis the dauphin speaks.
K. Hen. What treasure, uncle ?
Exe. Tennis-balls, my liege.
K. Hen. We are glad, the dauphin is so pleasant
with us ;
His present, and your pains, we thank you for .
When we have match'd our rackets to these balls.
We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set,
* Executioner*. ^ Dominion. < An ancient dance
432
KING HENRY V.
Act II.
Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard 7 :
Tell him, he hath made a match with such a wrangler,
That all the courts of France will be disturb'd
With chaces.3 And we understand him well.
How he comes o'er us with our wilder days,
Not measuring what use we made of them.
We never valu'd this poor seat9 of England;
And therefore, living hence ', did give ourself
To barbarous license ; As 'tis ever common,
That men are merriest Avhen they are from home.
But tell the dauphin, — I will keep my state ;
Be like a king, and show my sail of greatness.
When I do rouse me in my throne of France :
For that I have laid by my majesty,
And plodded like a man for working-days ;
But I will rise there with so full a glory,
That I will dazzle all the eyes of France,
Yea, strike the dauphin blind to look on us.
And tell the pleasant prince, — this mock of his
Hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones ; and his soul
Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance
That shall fly with them : for many a thousand widows
Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands ;
Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down ;
And some are yet ungotten, and unborn,
Tliat shall have cause to curse the dauphin's scorn.
But this lies all witliin the will of God,
To whom I do appeal ; and in whose name,
Tell you the dauphin, I am coming on.
To venge me as I may, and to put forth
My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause.
So, get you hence in peace ; and tell the dauphin.
His jest will savour but of shallow wit,
When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it, —
Convey them with safe conduct. — Fare you well.
[Exeunt Ambassadors.
Uxe. This was a merry message.
K. Hen. We hope to make the sender blush at it.
[Descends from his Throne.
Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour,
Tliat may give furtherance to our expedition :
For we have now no thought in us but France ;
Save those to heaven, that run before our business.
Therefore, let our proportions for these wars
Be soon collected : and all things thought upon,
That may with reasonable swiftness, add
More feathers to our wings ; for, God before,
We'll chide this dauphin at his father's door.
Therefore, let every man now task his thought.
That this fair action may on foot be brought.
[Exeunt,
ACT 11.
Enter Chorus.
Chor. Now all the youth of England are on fire.
And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies ;
Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought
Reigns solely in the breast of every man :
They sell the pasture now, to buy the horse ;
Following the mirror of all Christian kings.
With winged heels, as English Mercuries.
For now sits Expectation in the air;
And hides a sword, from hilts unto the point.
With crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets,
Promis'd to Harry, and his followers.
The French advis'd by good intelligence
Of this most dreadful preparation.
Shake in their fear ; and with pale policy
Seek to divert the English purposes.
O England ! — model to thy inward greatness.
Like little body with a mighty heart, —
What might'st thou do, that honour would thee do.
Were all thy children kind and natural !
But see thy fault ! France hath in thee found out
A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills
With treacherous crowns : and three corrupted men, —
One, Richard earl of Cambridge ; and the second,
Henry lord Scroop of Masham ; and the third.
Sir Thomas Grey knight of Northumberland, —
Have, for the gilt -^ of France, ( O guilt, indeed ! )
Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France ;
And by their hands this grace of kings must die,
(If hell and treason hold their promises,)
Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton.
Linger your patience on ; and well digest
The abuse of distance, while we force a play.
The sum is paid ; the traitors are agreed ;
The king is set from London ; and the scene
7 A place in the tennis-court, into which the ball is some-
times struck. « A term at tennis. ^ The throne,
i Withdrawing from the court. 2 Gold.
Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton :
There is the playhouse now, there must you sit :
And thence to France shall we convey you safe,
And bring you back, charming the narrow seas
To give you gentle pass ; for, if we may.
We'll not offend one stomach with our play.
But, till the king come forth, and not till then,
Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. [Exit.
SCENE L — London. Before Quickly's House
i?i Eastcheap.
Enter Nym and Bardolph.
Bard. Well met, corporal Nym.
Nym. Good morrow, lieutenant Bardolph.
Bard. What, are ancient Pistol and you friends yet?
Nym. For my part, I care not ; I say little ; but
when time shall serve, there shall be smiles ; — but
that shall be as it may. I dare not fight ; but I will
wink, and hold out mine iron : It is a simple one ;
but what though ? it will toast cheese ; and it will
endure cold as another man's sword will; and
there's the humour of it.
Bard. I will bestow a breakfast, to make you
friends ; and we'll be all three sworn brothers to
France ; let it be so, good corporal Nym.
Nym. 'Faith, I will live so long as I may, that's
the certain of it ; and when I cannot live any longer,
I will do as I may : that is my rest "*, that is the
rendezvous of it.
Bard, It is certain, corporal, that he is married
to Nell Quickly : and, certainly she did you wrong ;
for you were troth-plight to her.
Nym. I cannot tell ; things must be as they may :
men may sleep, and they may have their throats
about them at that time ; and some say, knives have
3 Determination,
Scene I.
KING HENRY V.
433
edges. It must be as it may : though patience be
a tired mare, yet she will plod. 'Ihere must be
conclusions. Well, I cannot tell.
Enter Pistol and Mrs. Quickly.
Bard. Here comes ancient Pistol, and his wife :
— good corporal, be patient here. — How now,
mine host Pistol ?
Pist. Base tike \ call'st thou me — host ?
Now, by this hand, I swear, I scorn the term ;
Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers.
Quick. No, by my troth, not long : [Nym draws
his sword.] O well-a-day. Lady, if he be not drawn
now ! O Lord ! here's corporal Nym's — now shall
we have wilful murder conmiitted. Good lieute-
nant Bardolph, — good corporal, offer nothing here.
Ni/jn. Pish !
Fist. Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou cur of
Iceland !
Quick. Good corporal Nym, show the valour of a
man, and put up thy sword.
Nym. Will you shog off' I would have you solus.
[Sheathing his sword.
Pist. Solus, egregious dog ? O viper vile !
The solus in thy most marvellous face ;
I'he solus in thy teeth, and in thy throat.
And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy. *
Nym. I am not Barbason^ ; you cannot conjure
me. I have an humour to knock you indifferently
well : If you grow foul with me, Pistol, I will
scour you with my rapier, as I may, in fair terms :
and that's the humour of it.
Pist. O braggard vile, and desp'rate furious
wight !
The grave doth gape, and doting death is near;
Therefore exhale.' [Pistol and Nym draw.
Bard. Hear me, hear me what I say : — he that
strikes the first stroke, I'll run him up to the hilts,
as I am a soldier. {^Draws.
Pist. An oath of mickle might ; and fury shall
abate.
Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give ;
Thy spirits are most tall.
Nym. I will cut thy throat, one time or other,
in fair terms ; that is the humour of it.
Pist. Coupe le gorge, that's the word? — I thee
defy again.
0 hound of Crete 8, think'st thou my spouse to get?
1 have, and I will hold, the quondam 9 Quickly
For the only she; and — Pauca, there's enough.
Enter the Boy.
Boy. Mine host, Pistol, you must come to my
roaster, — and you, hostess ; — he is very sick, and
would to bed. — 'Faith, he's very ill.
Quick. By my troth, he'll yield the crow a pudding
one of these days : the king has killed his heart. —
Good husband, come home presently.
[Exeunt Mrs. Quickly and Boy.
Bard. Come, shall I make you two friends ? We
must to France together ; Why should we keep
knives to cut one another's throats ?
Pist. Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for food
howl on !
Nym. You'll pay me the eight shillings I won of
you at betting ?
Pist. Base is the slave that pays.
* Dog. - rax j
' Breathe your last
* Par Dieu ! ^ Name of a dcmoa
• BloodUhound. » Formerly.
Nym. That now I will have ; that's the humour
of it.
Pist. As manhood shall compound ; Push home.
Bard. By this sword, he that makes the first
thrust, I'll kill him ; by this sword, I will.
Pist. Sword is an oath, and oaths must have
their course.
Bard Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, be
friends : an thou wilt not, why then be enemies
with me too. Pr'ythee, put up.
Nym. I shall have my eight shillings, I won of
you at betting ?
Pist. A noble ^ shalt thou have, and present pay ;
And liquor likewise will I give to thee,
And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood :
I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me ; —
Is not this just ? — for I shall sutler be
Unto the camp, and profits will accrue.
Give me thy hand.
Nym. I shall have my noble ?
Pist. In cash most justly paid.
Nym. Well, then, that's the humour of it.
Re-enter Mrs. Quickly.
Quick. As you ever came of women, come in
quickly to sir John : Ah, poor heart ! he is so shaked
of a burning quotidian tertian, that it is most
lamentable to behold. Sweet men, come to him.
Nym. The king hath run bad humours on the
knight, that's the even of it.
Pist. Nym, thou hast spoke the right ;
His heart is fracted and corroborate.
Nynu The king is a good king : but it must be as
it may ; he passes some humours, and careers.
Pist. Let us condole the kuight ; for, lambkins,
we will live. [Exeunt,
SCENE II. — Southampton. A Council- Cliamber.
Enter Exeter, Bedford, and Westmoreland.
Bed. By heaven, his grace is bold, to trust these
traitors.
Exe. They shall be apprehended by and by.
West. How smooth and even they do bear them>
selves !
As if allegiance in their bosoms sat,
Crowned with faith, and constant loyalty.
Bed. The king hath note of all that they intend,
By interception which they dream not of.
Exe. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow.
Whom he hath cloy'd and grac'd with princely fa-
vours,—
That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell
His sovereign's life to death and treachery !
Trumpet sounds. Enter Kino Henry, Scroop,
Cambridge, Grey, Lords and Attendants.
K. Hen. Now sits the wind fair, and we will
aboard.
My lord of Cambridge, — and my kind lord of
Masham, —
And you, my gentle knight, —— give me your
tlioughts :
Think you not, that the powers we bear with us,
Will cut their passage through the force of France ;
Doing the execution, and the act,
For which we have in head^ assembled them?
Scroop. No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best.
* A coin, value six shillings and eighUpence.
» Force
Ff
434
KING HENRY V.
Act II.
K. Hen. I doubt not that: since we are well per-
suaded,
We carry not a heart with us from hence,
That grows not in a fair consent with ours ;
Nor leave not one behind, that doth not wish
Success and conquest to attend on us
Cam,' Never was monarch better fear'd, and lov'd,
Than is your majesty ; there's not, I think, a subject,
'Ihat sits in heart-grief and uneasiness
Under the sweet shade of your government.
Grey. Even those, that were your father's enemies.
Have steep'd their galls in honey ; and do serve you
With hearts create of duty and of zeal.
K. Hen. We therefore have great cause of thank-
fulness ;
And shall forget the office of our hand.
Sooner than quittance "* of desert and merit.
According to the weight and worthiness.
Scroop. So service shall with steeled sinews toil ;
And labour shall refresh itself with hope j
To do your grace incessant services.
K. Hen. We judge no less. — Uncle of Exeter,
Enlarge the man committed yesterday,
That rail'd against our person: we consider.
It was excess of wine that set him on ;
And, on his more advice, we pardon him.
Scroop. That's mercy, but too much security ;
Let him be punish'd, sovereign ; lest example
Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind.
K. Hen. O, let us yet be merciful.
Cam. So may your highness, and yet punish too.
Grey. You show great mercy, if you give him life,
After the taste of much correction.
K. Hen. Alas, your too much love and care of me
Are heavy orisons * 'gainst this poor wretch.
If little faults, proceeding on distemper,
Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eje,
When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd, and di-
gested.
Appear before us? — We'll yet enlarge that man,
Though Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey, — in their
dear care,
And tender preservation of our person, —
Would have him punish'd. And now to our
French causes ;
Who are the late ^ commissioners ?
Cam. I one, my lord ;
Your highnesr bade me ask for it to-day.
Scroop. So did you me, my liege.
Grey. And me, my royal sovereign.
K. Hen. Then, Richard, earl of Cambridge, there
is yours ; —
There yours, lord Scroop of Masham ; — and, sir
knight.
Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours : —
Read them ; and know, I know your worthiness. —
My lord of Westmoreland, — and uncle Exeter, —
We will aboard to-night. — Why, how now, gentle-
men ?
What see you in those papers, that you lose
So much complexion ? — look ye, how they change!
Their cheeks are paper. — Why, what read you there.
That hath so cowarded and chas'd your blood
Out of appearance ?
Cam. I do confess my fault :
And do submit me to your highness' mercy.
Grey. Scroop. To which we all appeal.
K. Hen. The mercy, that was quick' in us but late.
* Recompense.
6 Lately appointed.
* Prayers.
7 Living.
By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd :
You must not dare for shame, to talk of mercy ;
For your own reasons turn into your bosoms.
As dogs upon their masters, worrying them. —
See you my princes, and my noble peers,
These English monsters ! My lord of Cambridge
here, —
You know, how apt our love was, to accord
To furnish him with all apnertinents
Belonging to his honour ; and this man
Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspir'd
And sworn unto the practices of France,
To kill us here in Hampton ; to the which,
This knight, no less for bounty bound to us
Than Cambridge is, — hath likewise sworn — But O !
What shall I say to thee, lord Scroop ; thou cruel,
Ingrateful, savage, and inhuman creature !
Thou, that didst bear the key of all my counsels,
That knew'st the very bottom ofmy soul.
That almost mightst have coin'd me into gold,
Wouldst thou have practis'd on me for thy use ?
May it be possible, that foreign hire
Could out of thee extract one spark of evil.
That might annoy my finger? 'tis so strange.
That though the truth of it stands off* as gross
As black from white, my eye will scarcely see it.
Treason, and murder, ever kept together.
As two yoke-devils sworn to cither's purpose,
Working so grossly in a natural cause,
That admiration did not whoop at them :
But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in
Wonder, to wait on treason, and on murder :
And whatsoever cunning fiend it was.
That wrought upon thee so preposterously.
Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason,
Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor.
If that same daemon, that hath guU'd thee thus.
Should with his lion gait «, walk the whole world.
He might return to vasty Tartar 9 back.
And tell the legions — I can never win
A soul so easy as that Englishman's.
O, how hast thou with jealousy infected
The sweetness of affiance ! Show men dutiful ?
Why, so didst thou : Seem they grave and learned?
Why, so didst thou : Come they of noble family ?
Why, so didst thou : Seem they religious ?
Why, so didst thou : Or are they spare in diet ;
Free from gross passion, or of mirth, or anger;
Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood ;
Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement ' ;
Not working with the eye, without the ear,
And, but in purged judgment, trusting neither?
Such, and so finely bolted % didst thou seem ;
And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot.
To mark the full-fraught man, and best indued,
With some suspicion. I will weep for thee j
For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like
Another fall of man. — Their faults are open.
Arrest them to the answer of the law ; —
And heaven acquit them of their practices !
Exe. I arrest thee of high treason, by the namo
of Richard earl of Cambridge.
I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of
Henry lord Scroop of Masham.
I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of
Thomas Grey, knight of Northumberland.
Scroop. Our purposes God justly hath discover'd;
And I repent my fault, more than my death ;
8 Pace, step. ^ Tartarus
' Accomplishment. ' Sifted.
I
Scene III.
KING HENRY V.
435
Which I beseech your highness to forgive.
Although my body pay the price of it.
Cam. For me, — tlie gold of France did not
seduce ;
Although r did admit it as a motive,
The sooner to eftect what I intended :
But heaven be thanked for prevention ;
Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice.
Beseeching God, and you, to pardon me.
Grey. Never did faitiiful subject more rejoice
At the discovery of most dangerous treason,
Than 1 do at this hour joy o'er myself.
Prevented from a damned enterprize :
My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign.
K. Hen. God quit you in his mercy ! Hear your
sentence.
You have conspir'd against our royal person,
Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd, and from his coffers
Receiv'd the golden earnest of our death ;
Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter.
His princes and his peers to servitude.
His subjects to oppression and contempt.
And his whole kingdom unto desolation.
Touching our person, seek we no revenge ;
But we our kingdom's safety must so tender,
Wliose ruin you three sought, that to her laws
We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence.
Poor miserable wretches, to your death :
The taste whereof, God. of his mercy, give you
Patience to endure, and true repentance
Of all your dear offences ! — Bear them hence.
[Exeunt Conspirators, guarded.
Now, lords, for France ; the enterprize whereof
Shall be to you, as us, like glorious.
We doubt not of a fair and lucky war ;
Since heaven so graciously hath brought to light
This dangerous treason, lurking in our way.
To hinder our beginnings, we doubt not now.
But every rub is smootlied on our way.
Then forth, dear countrymen ; let us deliver
Our puissance into the hand of God,
Putting it straight in expedition.
Cheerly to sea ; the signs of war advance :
No king of England, if not king of France.
[^Exeunt.
SCENE III.— Mrs. Quickly'^iToawemEastcheap.
Enter Pistol, Mrs. Quickly, Nym, Bardolfh,
and Boy.
Quick. Pf'ythee, honey-sweet husband, let me
bring thee to Staines.
Pist. No ; for my manly heart doth yearn. 3 —
Bardolph, be blithe ; — Nym, rouse thy vaunting
veins ;
Boy, bristle thy courage up ; for Falstaff he is dead.
And we must yearn therefore.
Bard. 'Would, I were with him, wheresome'er
he is.
Quick. Nay, sure, he's in Arthur's bosom, if ever
man went to Arthur's bosom. 'A made a finer end,
and went away, an it had been any christom'* child ;
'a parted even just between twelve and one, e'en at
turning o'the tide : for after I saw him fumble with
the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile ufKjn
his finger's ends, I knew there was but one way ; for
his nose was as sharp as a i>en, and 'a babbled of
green fields. How now, sir John ? quoth I : what,
man ! be of good cheer. So 'a cried out — God,
' Grieve.
* A child not more than a month old.
God, God ! three or four times : now I, to comfort
him, bid him, 'a should not think of God ; I hoped,
there was no need to trouble himself with any such
thoughts yet : So, 'a bade me lay more clothes on
his feet : I put my hand into the bed, and felt them,
and they were as cold as any stone ; then 1 felt to
his knees, and all was as cold as any stone.
Nym. They say, he cried out of sack.
Quick. Ay, that 'a did.
Hard- And of women.
Quick. Nay, that 'a did not.
Hoy. Yes, that 'a did ; and said, they were devils
incarnate.
Quick. 'A could never abide carnation ; 'twas a
colour he never liked.
Baid. Well, he is gone, and all the riches I got
in his service.
Kym. Shall we shog off? the king will be gone
from Southampton.
Pist. Come, let's away. — My love, give me thy
lips.
Look to my chattels, and my moveables :
Let senses rule ; the word is, Fitch and pay ;
Trust none ;
For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer cakes.
And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck ;
Therefore, caveto be thy counsellor.
Go, clear thy crystals, — Yoke-fellows in arms.
Let us to France ! like horse-leeches, my boys ;
To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck !
Boy. And that is but unwholesome food, they say.
Pist. Touch her soft mouth and march.
Bard. Farewell, hostess. [ITissing her.
Nym. I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it ; but,
adieu.
Pist. Let housewifery appear ; keep close, I thee
command.
Quick. Farewell; adieu. [Exeunt,
SCENE IV. — France. A Room in tlie French
King's Palace.
Enter the French King attended ; the Dauphin, the
Duke or Burgundy, the Constable, and otiiers.
Fr. £ing. Thus come the English with full power
upon us ;
And more than carefully it us concerns.
To answer royally in our defences.
Therefore the dukes of Berry, and of Bretagne,
Of Brabant, and of Orleans, shall make forth, —
And you, prince dauphin, — with all swift despatch,
To line, and new repair, our towns of war,
With men of courage, and with means defendant :
For England his approaches makes as fierce,
As waters to the sucking of a gulph.
It fits us then, to be as provident
As fear may teach us, out of late examples
Left by the fatal and neglected English
Upon our fields.
Z>au. IMy most redoubted father
It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe :
For peace itself should not so dull ^ a kingdom,
(Though war, nor no known quarrel, were in ques-
tion,)
But tliat defences, musters, preparations.
Should be maintain'd, assembled, and collected,
As were a war in expectation.
Therefore, I say, 'tis meet we all go forth,
To view the sick and feeble parts of France :
* Render it callous, Insenaibla
Ff 2
436
KING HENRY V.
Act II. Scene IV.
And let us do it with no show of fear ;
No, with no more, than if we heard that England
Were busied with a Whitsun morrice-dance :
For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd,
Her scepter so fantastically borne
By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth.
That fear attends her not.
Con. O peace, prince dauphin !
You are too much mistaken in this king :
Question your grace the late ambassadors, —
With what great state he heard their embassy.
How well supplied with noble counsellors.
How modest in exception 6, and, withal,
How terrible in constant resolution, —
And you shall find, his vanities fore-spent
Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus,
Covering discretion with a coat of folly.
Dau. Well, 'tis not so, my lord high constable,
But though we think it so, it is no matter :
In cases of defence, 'tis best to weigh
The enemy more mighty than he seems,
So the proportions of defence are fiU'd ;
Which, of a weak and niggardly projection,
Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat, with scanting
A little cloth.
Fr. King. Think we king Harry strong ;
And, princes, look you strongly arm to meet liim.
The kindred of him hath been flesh'd upon us ;
And he is bred out of that bloody strain ',
That haunted us in our familiar paths :
Witness our too much memorable shame,
When Cressy battle fatally was struck.
And all our princes captiv'd, by the hand
Of that black name, Edward black prince of Wales ;
Whiles that his mountain sire — on mountain
standing.
Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sun, —
Saw his heroical seed, and smil'd to see him
Mangle the work of nature.
This is a stem
Of that victorious stock ; and let us fear
The native mightiness and fate of him.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Ambassadors from Henry king of England
Do crave admittance to your majesty.
Fr. King. We'll give them present audience. Go,
and bring them.
[Exeunt Mess, and certain Lords.
You see this chase is hotly follow'd, friends.
Dau. Turn head, and stop pursuit: for coward dogs
Most spend their mouths, when what they seem to
threaten.
Runs far before them. Good my sovereign.
Take up the English short ; and let them know
Of what a monarchy you are the head :
Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin
As self-neglecting.
Re-enter Lords, with Exeter and Train.
Fr. King. From our brother England ?
Exe. From him : and thus he greets your majesty.
He wills you, in the name of the Almighty,
That you divest yourself, and lay apart
The borrowed glories, that, by gift of heaven.
By law of nature, and of nations, 'long
To him, and to his heirs ; namely, the crown.
7 In making objections.
Lineage.
And all wide-stretched honours that pertain,
By custom and the ordinance of times.
Unto the crown of France. Tljat you may know,
'Tis no sinister, nor no awkward claim,
Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vanish'd days,
Nor from the dust of old oblivion rak'd.
He sends you this most memorable line,
[Gives a paper.
In every branch truly demonstrative ;
Willing you overlook this pedigree :
And, when you find him evenly deriv'd
From his most fam'd of famous ancestors,
Edward the third, he bids you then resign
Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held
From him, the native and true challenger.
Fr. King. Or else, what follows ?
Exe. Bloody constraint ; for if you hide the crown
Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it :
And therefore in fierce tempest is he coming,
In thunder, and in earthquake, like a Jove j
(That, if requiring fail, he will compel;)
And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord,
Deliver up the crown ; and to take mercy
On the poor souls, for whom this hungry war
Opens his vasty jaws : and on your head
Turns he the widows' tears, the orphans' cries.
The dead men's blood, the pining maidens' groans.
For husbands, fathers, and betrothed lovers,
That shall be swallow'd in this controversy.
This is his claim, his threat'ning, and my message ;
Unless the dauphin be in presence here.
To whom expressly I bring greeting too.
Fr. King. For us, we will consider of this further :
To-morrow shall you bear our full intent
Back to our brother England.
JDau. For the dauphin,
I stand here for him ; What to him from England?
Exe. Scorn and defiance ; slight regard, contempt.
And any thing that may not misbecome
The mighty sender, doth he prize you at.
Thus says my king : and, if your father's highness
Do not, in grant of all demands at large.
Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty.
He'll call you to so hot an answer for it.
That caves and womby vaultages of France
Shall chide your trespass, and return your mock
In second accent of his ordnance.
Dau. Say, if my father render fair reply,
It is against my will : for I desire
Nothing but odds with England : to that end,
As matching to his youth and vanity,
I did present him with those Paris balls.
Exe. He'll make your Paris Louvre shake for it,
Were it the mistress court of mighty Europe :
And, be assur'd, you'll find a ditference,
(As we, his subjects, have in wonder found,)
Between the promise of his greener days.
And these he masters now : now he weighs time.
Even to the utmost grain ; which you shall read
In your own losses, if he stay in France.
Fr. King. To-morrow shall you know our mind
at full.
Exe. Despatch us with all speed, lest that our king
Come here himself to question our delay ;
For he is footed in this land already.
Fr. King. You shall be soon despatch'd with fair
conditions :
A night is but small breath, and little pause.
To answer matters of this consequence.
[Exeunt*
i
I
Act III. Scene I.
KING HENRY V.
437
ACT III.
Enter Chorus.
Chor, Thus with imagin'd wiug our swift scene
flies,
In motion of no less celerity
Than that of thought. Suppose, that you have seen
The well-appointed king at Hampton pier
Embark his royalty ; and his brave fleet
With silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning.
Play with your fancies ; and in them behold,
Upon the hempen tackle, ship-boys climbing :
Hear the shrill whistle, which doth order give
To sounds confus'd : behold the threaden sails,
Borne with the invisible and creeping wind.
Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea.
Breasting the lofty surge : O, do but think.
You stand upon the rivage*, and behold
A city on the inconstant billows dancing ;
For so appears this fleet majestical.
Holding due course to Haifleur. Follow, follow !
Grapple your minds to sternage 9 of this navy ;
And leave your England, as dead midnight, still.
Guarded with grandsires, babies, and old women,
Or past, or not arriv'd to, pith and puissance :
For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd
With one appearing hair, that will not follow
These cuU'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France ?
Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege :
Behold the ordnance on their carriages.
With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur.
Suppose, tlie ambassador from the French comes back;
Tells Harry — that the king doth offer him
Katharine his daughter ; and with her, to dowry,
Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms.
The offer likes not : and the nimble gunner,
With linstock • now the dreadful cannon touches,
[Alarum ; and Chambers '^ go off.
And down goes all before them. Still be kind.
And eke out our performance with your mind. [Exit.
SCENE I. — Before Harfleur.
Alarums. Enter King Henry, Exeter, Bedford,
Gloster, and Soldiers, with Scaling Ladders.
K, Hen. Once more unto the breach, dear friends,
once more ;
Or close the wall up with our English dead !
In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man,
As modest stillness and humility :
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger ;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage ;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect j
Let it pry through the portage of the head.
Like tlie brass cannon ; let the brow o'erwhelm it.
As fearfully, as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty3 his confounded •• base,
Swiird with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set tlie teeth, and stretch the nostril wide ;
Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit
To his full height ! — On, on, you noblest English,
■ Bank or shoTf. • Stem* of the ihipc.
' The ftaff which hold* the match used in firing cannon.
» Small pieces of ordnance.
» A mole to withstand the encroachment of the tide
* Worn, wasted.
Whose blood is fet * from fathers of war-proof !
Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders,
Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought.
And sheath 'd their swords for lack of argument. ^
Dishonour not your mothers ; now attest.
That those, whom you call'd fathers, did beget you !
Be copy now to men of grosser blood.
And teach them how to war ! — And you, good
yeomen.
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture ; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding ; which I doubt
not;
For there is none of you so mean and base.
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips.
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot ;
Follow your spirit : and, upon this charge.
Cry — God for Harry ! England ! and saint George !
[Exeunt. Alarum, and Chambers go off.
SCENE W. — The same.
Forces pass over; then enter Nym, Bardolfh, Pis-
tol, and Boy.
Bard. On, on, on, on, on ! to the breach, to the
breach!
Nym. 'Pray thee, corporal, stay ; the knocks are
too hot ; and, for mine own part, I have not a case
of lives : the humour of it is too hot, that is the very
plain-song of it.
Fist. The plain-song is most just ; for humours
do abound ;
Knocks go and come ; God's vassals drop and die ;
And sword and shield.
In bloody field.
Doth win immortal fame.
Boy. 'Would I were in an alehouse in London !
I would give all my fame for a pot of ale and safety.
Fist. And I :
If wishes would prevail with me,
My purpose should not fail with me,
But thither would I hie.
Boy. As duly, but not as truly, as bird doth sing
on bough.
Enter Flcellkn.
Flu. Up to the preaches, you rascals ! will you
not up to the preaches ? [Driving them forward.
Fist. Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould !
Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage !
Abate thy rage, great duke !
Good bawcock, bate thy rage ! use lenity, sweet chuck 1
Nym. These be good humours I — your honour
wins bad humours.
[Exeunt Nym, Pistol, and Bardolph,
followed by Flukllkn.
Boy. As young as I am, I have observed these
three swashers. I am boy to them all three : but
all they three, though they would serve me, could
not be man to me ; for, indeed, tlu-ee such anticks
do not amount to a man. For Bardolph, — he is
white-livered, and red-faced ; by the means whereof,
'a faces it out, but fights not. For Pistol, he
" Fetched. « Matter, subject
Ff3 *
438
KING HENRY V.
Act m.
hath a killing tongue, and a quiet sword : by the
means whereof 'a breaks words, and keeps whole
weapons. For Nym, — he hath heard that men
of few words are the best 7 men ; and therefore he
scorns to say his prayers, lest 'a should be thought
a coward ; but his few bad words are match'd with
as few good deeds ; for 'a never broke any man's
head but his own ; and that was against a post, when
he was drunk. They will steal any thing, and call
it — purchase. Bardolph stole a lute-case ; bore it
twelve leagues, and sold it for three halfpence. —
Nym, and Bardolph, are sworn brothers in filching ;
and in Calais they stole a fire-shovel : 1 knew, by
that piece of service, the men would carry coals. 8
They would have me as familiar with men's pockets,
as their gloves or their handkerchiefs : which makes
much against my manhood, if I should take from
another's pocket, to put into mine ; for it is plain
pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them, and seek
some better service : their villainy goes against my
weak stomach. \^ExU Boy.
Re-enter Fluellen, GowEVi following.
Gow. Captain Fluellen, you must come presently
to the mines j the duke of Gioster would speak with
you.
Flu. To the mines ! tell you the duke, it is not
so good to come to the mines : For, look you, the
mines is not according to the disciplines of the war ;
the concavities of it is not sufficient ; for, look you,
th' athversary (you may discuss unto the duke, look
you,) is dightS himself four yards under the coun-
termines : I think, 'a will plow up all, if there is not
better directions.
Gow. The duke of Gioster, to whom the order of
the siege is given, is altogether directed by an Irish-
man ; a very valiant gentleman, i'faith.
Flu. It is captain Macmorris, is it not ?
Gow. I think it be.
Flu. He is an ass, as in the 'orld : I will verify
as much in his peard : he has no more directions in
the true disciplines of the wars, look you, of the
Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog.
Enter Macmorris and Jamy, at a distance.
Gow. Here 'a comes; and the Scots captain,
captain Jamy, with him.
Flu. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous gen-
tleman, that is certain ; and of great expedition, and
knowledge, in the ancient wars, upon my particular
knowledge of his directions : he will maintain his
argument as well as any military man in the 'orld,
in the disciplines of the pristine wars of the Romans.
Jamy. I say, gud-day, captain Fluellen.
Flu. God-den to your worship, goot captain Jamy.
Gow. How now, captain Macmorris ? have you
quit the mines ? have the pioneers given o'er ?
Mac. Tish ill done : the work ish give over, the
trumpet sound the retreat. By my hand, I swear,
and by my father's soul, the work ish ill done ; it
ish give over : I would have blowed up the town in
an hour. O, tish ill done, tish ill done ; by my
hand, tish ill done !
Flu. Captain Macmorris, I peseech you now, will
you voutsafe me, look you, a few disputations with
you, as partly touching or concerning the disciplines
of the war, the Roman wars, in the way of argument,
look you, and friendly communication ; partly, to
satisfy my opinion, and partly, for the satisfaction,
7 Ilravest. e pocket affronts. 9 Digged.
look you, of my mind, as touching the direction of
the military discipline ; that is the point.
Jamy. It sail be very gud, gud feith, gud captains
bath : and I sail quit ' you with gud leve, as I may
pick occasion ; that sail I, marry.
Mac. It is no time to discourse, the day is hot,
and the weather, and the wars, and the king, and
the dukes ; it is no time to discourse. The town is
beseeched, and the trumpet calls us to the breach ;
and we talk, and do nothing ; 'tis shame for us all :
'tis shame to stand still ; it is shame, by my hand :
and there is throats to be cut, and works to be done ;
and there ish nothing done.
Jamy. By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take
themselves to slumber, aile do gude service, or aile
ligge i' the grund for it ; ay, or go to death ; and
aile pay it as valorously as I may, that sal I surely
do, that is the breffand the long : Mary, I wad full
fain heard some question 'tween you tway.
Flu. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you>
under your correction, there is not many of your
nation
Mac. Of my nation ? What ish my nation ? ish
a villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal?
What ish my nation ? Who talks of my nation ?
Flu. Look you, if you take the matter otherwise
than is meant, captain Macmorris, peradventure, I
shall think you do not use me with that affability as
in discretion you ought to use me, look you ; being
as goot a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of
wars, and in the derivation of my birth, and in other
particularities.
Mac. I do not know you so good a man as my-
self : I will cut off your head.
Gow. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other.
Jamy. Au ! that's a foul fault.
\^A Parley sounded.
Gow. The town sounds a parley.
Flu. Captain Macmorris, when there is more
better opportunity to be required, look you, I will
be so bold as to tell you, I know the disciplines of
war ; and there is an end. [^Exeunt.
SCENE III. —Before the Gates o/'Harfleur.
The Governor and some Citizens on the Walls ; the
English Forces beloiv. Enter King Henry and
his Train.
K. Hen. How yet resolves the governor of the town ?
This is the latest parle we will admit :
Therefore, to our best mercy give yourselves :
Or, like to men proud of destruction.
Defy us to our worst : for, as I am a soldier,
(A name, that, in my thoughts, becomes me best,)
If I begin the battery once again,
I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur,
Till in her ashes she lie buried.
The gates of mercy shall be all shut up ;
And the fiesh'd soldier — rough and hard of heart,—
In liberty of bloody hand, shall range.
What is it then to me, if impious war, —
Array'd in flames, like to the prince of fiends, —
Do, with his smirch'd '2 complexion, all fell ^ feats
Enlink'd to waste and desolation ?
What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause?
What rein can hold licentious wickedness.
When down the hill he holds his fierce career ?
We may as bootless ^ spend our vain command
I
' Requite, answer.
3 Cruel.
Soiled.
Without success.
Scene IV.
KING HENRY V.
439
Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil,
As send precepts to the Leviathan
To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur
Take pity of your town, and of your people,
Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command ;
Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace
O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds
Of deadly murder, spoil, and villainy.
If not, why, in a moment, look to see
The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand
Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters ;
Your fathers taken by the silver beards,
And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls ;
Your naked infants spitted upon pikes ;
Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confus'd
Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry
At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen.
What say you ? will you yield, and this avoid?
Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd ?
Gov. Our expectation hath this day an end :
The dauphin, whom of succour we entreated,
Returns us — that his powers are not yet ready
To raise so great a siege. Therefore, dread king,
We yield our town, and lives to thy soft mercy :
Enter our gates ; dispose of us, and ours ;
For we no longer are defensible.
IT. Hen. Open your gates. — Come, uncle Exeter,
Go you and enter Harfleur ; there remain.
And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French ;
Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle, —
The winter coming on, and sickness growing
Upon our soldiers, — we'll retire to Calais.
To-night in Harfleur will we be your guest ;
To-morrow for the march are we addrest. ^
iFlourish. The King, ^c. enter the Tovm.
SCENE IV. — Rouen. A Room in the Palace.
Enter the French Kino, the Dauphin, Duke of
Bourbon, the Constable of France, and others.
Fr. King. 'Tis certain, he hath pass'd the river
Some.
Con. And if he be not fought withal, my lord,
Let us not live in France : let us quit all.
And give our vineyards to a barbarous people.
Dau. Shall a few sprays of us, —
Our scions, put in wild and savage stock,
Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds.
And overlook their grafters?
Bour. Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman
bastards !
Mort de ma vie I if they march along
Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom,
To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm
In that nook-shotten6 isle of Albion.
Con. Dieu de battaiUes J where have they this
mettle ?
Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull ?
On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale.
Killing their fruit with frowns ? Can sodden water,
A drench for sur-rein'd? jades, their barley broth,
Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat?
And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine.
Seem frosty ? O, for honour of our land,
Let us not hang like roping icicles
Upon our houses' thatch, whales a more frosty people
Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields ;
Poor — we may call them, in their native lords.
* Prepared. « Shooting into promontories.
"> Orer.ridden.
Dau. By faith and honour,
Our madams mock at us.
Hour. 1 hey bid us — to the English dancing-
schools.
And teach lavoltas high, and swift corantos ^ ;
Saying, our grace is only in our heels,
And that we are most lofty runaways.
Fr. King. Where is Montj6y, the herald ? speed
him hence ;
Let him greet England with our sharp defiance. —
Up, princes ; and, with spirit of honour edg'd.
More sharper than your swords, hie to the field ;
Charles De-la-bret, high constable of France ;
You dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berry,
Alen^on, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy ;
Jacques Chatillion, Rambures, Vaudemont,
Beaumont, Grandpre, Roussi, and Fauconberg,
Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois ;
High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and knights,
For your great seats, now quit you of great shames,
Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land
With pennons 9 painted in the blood of Harfleur :
Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow
Upon the vallies ; —
You have power enough, —
And in a captive chariot, intoRoUen
Bring him our prisoner.
Con. This becomes the great
Sorry am I, his numbers are so few,
His soldiers sick, and famish'd in their march j
For, I am sure when he shall see our army,
He'll drop his heart into the sink of fear.
And, for achievement, offer us his ransome.
Fr. King. Therefore, lord constable, haste on
Montj6y :
And let him say to England, that we send
To know what willing ransome he will give. —
Prince dauphin, you shall stay with us in Roiien.
Dau. Not so, I do beseech your majesty.
Fr. King. Be patient, for you shall remain with
us. —
Now forth, lord constable, and princes all ;
And quickly bring us word of England's fall.
^Exeunt.
SCENE V The English Camp in Picardy.
Enter GowER and Fluellen.
Gow. How now, captain Fluellen? come you
from the bridge ?
Flu. I assure you, there is very excellent service
committed at the pridge.
Gow. Is the duke of Exeter safe ?
Flu. The duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as
Agamemnon ; and a man tliat I love and honour
with my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my
life, and my livings, and my uttermost powers : he
is not, (God be praised, and plessed!) any hurt in
the *orld; but keeps the pridge most valiantly,
with excellent discipline. There is an ensign there
at the pridge, — I think, in my very conscience, he
is as valiant as Mark Antony ; and he is a man of
no estimation in the 'orld : but I did see him do
gallant service.
Gow. Wlmt do you oall him ?
Flu. He is called — ancient Pistol.
Gowb I know him not.
Dance*.
' Pendant*, small flags.
Ff 4
440
KING HENRY V.
Act m.
Enter Pistol.
Flu. Do you not know him ? Here comes the
man.
Fist. Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours :
The duke of Exeter doth love thee well.
Flu. Ay, and I have merited some love at his
hands.
Pist. Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of heart,
Of buxom valour, hath, — by cruel fate,
And giddy fortune's furious fickle wheel,
That goddess blind.
That stands upon the rolling restless stone, —
Flu. By your patience, ancient Pistol. Fortune
is painted plind, with a muffler i before her eyes, to
signify to you that fortune is plind : And she is
painted also with a wheel ; to signify to you, which
is the moral of it, that she is turning, and incon-
stant and variations, and mutabilities ; and her
foot, look you, is fixed upon a spherical stone,
which rolls, and rolls, and rolls ; — In good truth
the poet is make a most excellent description of
fortune : fortune, look you, is an excellent moral.
Pist. Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on
him ;
For he hath stol'n a j)ix 2, and hanged must 'a be.
Let gallows gape for dog, let man go free,
And let not hemp his windpipe suffocate :
But Exeter hath given the doom of death.
For ;jM7 of little price.
Therefore, go speak, the duke will hear thy voice ;
And let not Bardolph's vital breath be cut
With edge of penny cord, and vile reproach :
Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite.
Flu. Ancient Pistol, I do partly undestand your
meaning.
Pist. Why then rejoice therefore.
Flu. Certainly, ancient, it is not a thing to re-
joice at : for if, look you, he were my brother, I
would desire the duke to use his goot pleasure, and
put him to executions j for disciplines ought to be
used.
Pist. Ajigo for thy friendship !
Flu. It is well.
Pist. The fig of Spain !3 [Exit Pistol.
Flu. Very good.
Gow. Why this is an arrant counterfeit rascal ;
I remember him now ; a cutpurse.
Fbi. I'll assure you, 'a utter'd as prave 'ords at
the pridge, as you shall see in a summer's day :
But it is very well ; what he has spoke to me, that
is well, I warrant you, when time is serve.
Gow. Why, 'tis a gull, a fool, a rogue ; that now
and then goes to the wars, to grace himself, at his
return into London, under the form of a soldier.
And such fellows are perfect in great commanders'
names : and they will learn you by rote, where ser-
vices were done ; — at such and such a sconce ^, at
such a breach, at such a convoy : who came off
bravely, who was shot, who disgraced, what terms
the enemy stood on : and this they con perfectly in
the phrase of war, which they trick up with new-
tuned oaths : And what a beard of the general's
cut, and a horrid suit of the camp, will do among
foaming bottles and ale-wash'd wits, is wonderful
to be thought on ! but you must learn to know
' A fold of linen, which partially covered the face.
■* A small box in which were kept the consecrated wafers.
■'' An allusion to the custom in Spain and Italy of giving
poisoned tigs.
* An entrenchment hastilythrown up.
such slanders of the age, or else you may be mar-
vellous mistook.
Flu. I tell you what, captain Gower ; — I do
perceive, he is not the man that he would gladly
make show to the 'orld he is ; if I find a hole
in his coat, I will tell him my mind. [Drum heard.]
Hark you, the king is coming ; and I must speak
with him from the pridge.
Enter King Henry, Gloster, and Soldiers.
Flu. Cot pless your majesty !
JT. Hen. How now, Fluellen ? camest thou £rom
the bridge ?
Flu. Ay, so please your majesty. The duke of
Exeter has very gallantly maintained the pridge :
l"he French is gone off, look you; and there is gallant
and most prave passages : Marry, th' athversary
was have possession of the pridge ; but he is en-
forced to retire, and the duke of Exeter is master
of the pridge : I can tell your majesty, the duke is
a prave man.
JT. Hen. What men have you lost, Fluellen ?
Flu. The perdition of th' athversary hath been
very great, very reasonable great : marry, for my
part, I think the duke hath lost never a man, but
one that is like to be executed for robbing a church,
one Bardolph, if your majesty know the man : his
face is all bubukles, and whelks, and knobs, and
flames of fire ; and his lips plows at his nose, and it
is like a coal of fire, sometimes plue, and sometimes
red ; but his nose is executed, and his fire's out.
IT. Hen. We would have all such offenders so
cut off: and we give express charge, that in our
marches through the country, there be nothing
compelled from the villages, nothing taken but paid
for ; none of the French upbraided, or abused in
disdainful language j For when lenity and cruelty
play for a kingdom, the gentler gamester is the
soonest winner.
Tucket sounds. Enter Montjoy.
Mont. You know me by my habit.
IT. Hen. Well then, I know thee ; What shall I
know of thee ?
Mont. My master's mind.
JT. Hen. Unfold it.
Mont. Thus says my king : — Say thou to Harry
of England, Though we seemed dead, we did but
sleep ; Advantage is a better soldier, than rashness.
Tell him, we could have rebuked him at Harfleur ;
but that we thought not good to bruise an injury,
till it were full ripe : — now we speak upon our cue ^,
and our voice is imperial : England shall repent his
folly, see his weakness, and admire our sufferance.
Bid him, therefore, consider of his ransome ; which
must proportion the losses m'c have borne, the sub-
jects we have lost, the disgrace we have digested ;
which, in weight to re-answer, his pettiness would
bow under. For our losses his exchequer is too
poor ; for the effusion of our blood, the muster of
his kingdom too faint a number ; and for our dis-
grace, his own person, kneeling at our feet, but a
weak and worthless satisfaction. To this add —
defiance: and tell him, for conclusion, he hath
betrayed his followers, whose condemnation is pro-
nounced. So far my king and master j so much
my oflice.
IT. Hen. What is thy name ? I know thy quality.
* In proper time.
Scene VI.
KING HENRY V.
441
Mont. Montjoy.
JT. Hen. Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn thee
back,
And tell thy king, — 1 do not seek him now ;
But could be willing to march on to Calais
Without impeachment^: for, to say tlie sooth,
(Though 'tis no wisdom to confess so much
Unto an enemy of craft and vantage,)
My people are with sickness much enfeebled ;
My numbers lessen'd ; and those few I have
Almost no better than so many French ;
Who, when they were in health, I tell thee, herald,
I thought upon one pair of English legs
Did march three Frenchmen. — Yet, forgive me,
heaven.
That I do brag thus ! — this yoiu" air of France
Hath blown that vice in me ; I must repent.
Go, therefore, tell thy master here I am ;
My ransome, is this frail and worthless trunk ;
My army, but a weak and sickly guard ;
Yet God before', tell him we will come on,
Though France himself, and such another neighbour.
Stand in our way. There's for thy labour, Montjoy j
Go, bid thy master well advise himself:
If we may pass, we will ; if we be hinder'd.
We shall your tawny ground with your red blood
Discolour : and so, Montjoy, fare you well.
The sum of all our answer is but this :
We would not seek a battle, as we are ;
Yet, as we are, we say, we will not shun it ;
So tell your master.
Mont. I shall deliver so. Thanks to your high-
ness. [Exit Montjoy.
Glo. I hope they will not come upon us now.
A'. Ben. We are in God's hand, brother, not in
theirs.
March to the bridge ; it now draws toward night r —
Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves ;
And on to-morrow bid them march away. [Exeunt.
SCENE \l The French Camp near Agincourt.
Enter the Constable o/" France, thehoKo Rambures,
the Duke of Orleans, Dauphin, and others.
Con. Tut ! I have the best armour of the world.
— 'Would it were day.
OrL You have an excellent armour ; but let my
horse have his due.
dm. It is the best horse of Europe.
Orl. Will it never be morning ?
Dau. My lord of Orleans, and my lord high
constable, you talk of horse and armour. —
Orl. You are as well provided of both, as any
prince in the world.
Dau. What a long night is this ! I will not
change my horse with any that treads but on four
pasterns. Ca, ha / He bounds from the earth, as if
his entrails were hairs ! « le cheval volant, the Pe-
gasus, qui a les narines de feu ! When I bestride
him, I soar, I am a hawk : he treads the air ; the
earth sings when he touches it ; the basest horn of
his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes.
Orl. He's of the colour of the nutmeg.
Dnu. And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast
for Perseus : he is pure air and fire ; and the dull
elements of earth and water never appear in him,
• Hinderance ? Then used for Ood being my guide.
* Alluding to the bounding of tennis-balls, which were stuffed
with hair.
but only in patient stillness, while his rider mounts
him : he is, indeed, a horse ; and all other jades you
may call — beasts.
Con, Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and
excellent horse.
Dau. It is the prince of palfreys; his neigh is
like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance
enforces homage.
Orl. No more, cousin.
Dau- Nay, tlie man hath no wit, that cannot, from
the rising of the lark to the lodging of the lamb,
vary deserved praise on my palfrey : it is a theme
as fluent as the sea ; turn the sands into eloquent
tongues, and my horse is argument for them all :
'tis a subject for a sovereign to reason on, and for a
sovereign's sovereign to ride on ; and for the world
(familiar to us, and unknown,) to lay apart their
particular functions, and wonder at him. I once
writ a sonnet in his praise, and began thus : Wonder
ofruUure, —
Orl. 1 have heard a sonnet begin so to one's
mistress.
Dau. Then did they imitate that which I composed
to my courser ; for my horse is my mistress.
Con. You have good judgment in horseman-
ship.
Ram. My lord constable, the armour, that I saw
in your tent to-night, are those stars, or suns, upon
it?
Con. Stars, my lord.
Dau. Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope.
Con. And yet my sky shall not want.
Dau. That may be, for you bear a many super-
fluously ; and 'twere more honoiu", some were away.
Con. Even as your horse bears your praises ; who
would trot as well, were some of your brags dis-
mounted.
Dau. 'Would I were able to load him with his
desert ! Will it never be day ? I will trot to-morrow
a mile, and my way shall be paved with English
faces.
Con. I will not say so, for fear I should be faced
out of my way : But 1 would it were morning, for
I would fain be about the ears of the English.
Ram. Who will go to hazard with me for twenty
English prisoners.
Con. You must first go yourself to hazard, ere
you have them.
Dau. 'Tis midnight ; I'll go arm myself. [Exit.
Orl. The dauphin longs for morning.
Ram. He longs to eat the English.
Con. I think, he will eat all he kills.
Orl. By the white liand of my lady, he's a gallant
prince.
Con. Swear by her foot, that she may tread out
the oath.
Orl. He is simply, the most active gentleman of
France.
Con. Doing is activity : and he will still be doing.
Orl. He never did harm, that I heard of.
Con. Nor will do none to-morrow ; he will keep
that good name still.
Orl. I know him to be valiant.
Con. I was told that, by one that knows him
better than you.
Orl. What's he?
Con. Marry, he told me so himself; and he said,
he cared not who knew it.
Orl. He needs not, it is no hidden virtue in him.
Con. By my faith, sir, but it is ; never any body
442
KING HENRY V.
Act III
saw it, but his lackey : 'tis a hooded valour ; and,
when it appears, it will bate. 9
Orl. Ill-will never said well.
Con. I will cap that proverb with — There is flat-
tery in friendship.
Orl. And I will take up that with — Give the
devil his due.
Con. Well placed j there stands your friend for
the devil.
Orl. You are the better at proverbs, by how much
— A fool's bolt is soon shot.
Con. You have shot over.
Orl. 'Tis not the first time you were overshot.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My lord high constable, the English lie
within fifteen hundred paces of your tent.
Con. "Who hath measured the ground ?
Mess. The lord Grandpr^.
Con. A valiant and most expert gentleman. —
Would it were day! — Alas, poor Harry of Eng-
land ! — he longs not for the dawning, as we do.
Orl. What a wretched and peevish * fellow is this
king of England, to mope with his fat-brained fol-
lowers so far out of his knowledge !
Con. If the English had any apprehension, they
would run away.
Orl. That they lack ; for if their heads had any
intellectual armour, they could never wear such
heavy head-pieces.
Ram. That island of England breeds very valiant
creatures ; their mastiffs are of unmatchable courage.
Orl. Foolish curs ! that run winking into the
mouth of a Russian bear, and have their heads
crushed like rotten apples : You may as well say, —
that's a valiant flea, that dare eat his breakfast on
the lip of a lion.
Con. Just, just ; and the men do sympathize with
the mastiffs, in robustious and rough coming on,
leaving their wits with their wives : and then give
them great meals of beef, and iron and steel, Siey
will eat like wolves, and fight like devils.
Orl. Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of beef.
Con. Then we shall find to-morrow — they have
only stomachs to eat, and none to fight. Now is it
time to arm : Come, shall we about it ?
Orl. It is now two o'clock : but, let me see, —
by ten.
We shall have each a hundred Englishmen.
[ExewU.
ACT IV.
Enter Chorus.
Chor. Now entertain conjecture of a time.
When creeping murmur, and the poring dark.
Fills the wide vessel of the universe.
From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night,
The hum of either army stilly '^ sounds.
That the fix'd sentinels almost receive
The secret whispers of each other's watch :
Fire answers fire; and through their paly flames
Each battle sees the other's umber'd^ face:
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs
Piercing the night's dull ear ; and from the tents.
The armourers, accomplishing the knights.
With busy hammers closing rivets up,
Give dreadful note of preparation.
The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll.
And the third hour of drowsy morning name.
Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul.
The confident and over-lusty"* French
Do the low-rated English play at dice ;
And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night,
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp
So tediously away. The poor condemned English,
Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires
Sit patiently, and inly ruminate
The morning's danger ; and their gesture sad,
Investing lank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats,
Presenteth them unto the gazing moon
So many horrid ghosts. O, now, who will behold
The royal captain of this ruin'd band,
Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent,
Let him cry — Praise and glory on his head !
For forth he goes, and visits ail his host ;
Bids them good-morrow, with a modest smile ;
8 An equivoque in terms in falconry : he means his valour
Is hid from every body but his lackey, and when it appears it
will fall ofE
' Foolish. 2 Gently, lowly.
' Discoloured by the gleam of the fires. * Over-saucy.
And calls them ^brothers, friends, and countrymen.
Upon his royal face there is no note,
How dread an army hath enrounded him ;
Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour
Unto the weary and all-watched night:
But freshly looks, and over-bears attaint.
With cheerful semblance, and sweet majesty j
That every wretch, pining and pale before.
Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks ;
A largess universal, like tlie sun.
His liberal eye doth give to every one.
Thawing cold fear. Then, mean and gentle all.
Behold, as may unworthiness define,
A little touch of Harry in the night :
And so our scene must to the battle fly :
Where, (O for pity !) we shall much disgrace —
With four or five most vile and ragged foils.
Right ill-dispos'd, in brawl ridiculous, —
The name of Agincourt : Yet, sit and see ;
Minding ^ true things, by what their mockeries be. :
[ExU.
SCENE L — The English Catnp at Agincourt.
Enter King Henrt, Bedford, and Gloster.
Jr. Hen. Gloster, 'tis true, that we are in great
danger ;
The greater therefore should our courage be. —
Good morrow, brother Bedford. — Now we find
There is some soul of goodness in things evil.
Would men observingly distil it out ;
For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers,
Which is both healthful, and good husbandry :
Besides, they are our outward consciences,
And preachers to us all ; admonishing,
That we should dress us fairly for our end.
Thus may we gather honey from the weed
And make a moral of the devil himself.
» Calling to remembrance.
Act IV. Scene I.
KING HENRY V.
443
Enter Erpin(ihak.
Good morrow, old sir Thomas Erpingham :
A good soft pillow for that good white head
Were better tlian a churlish turf of France.
Erp. Not so, my liege ; this lodging likes me
better,
Since I may say— now lie I like a king.
K. Hen. "I'is good for men to love tlieir present
pains,
Upon example ; so the spirit is eased :
And, when the mind is quicken'd, out of doubt,
The organs, though defunct and dead before.
Break up their drowsy grave, and newly move
With casted slough 6 and fresh legerity. 7
Lend me thy cloak, sir Thomas. — Brothers both,
Commend me to the princes in our camp ;
Do my good- morrow to them ; and anon,
Desire them all to my pavilion.
Glo. We shall, my liege.
[Exeunt Gloster and Bedford.
Erp. Shall I attend your grace ?
IT. Hen. No, my good knight ;
Go with my brothers to my lords of England;
I and my bosom must debate a while.
And then I would no other company.
Erp. The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble
Harry. [Exit Erpingham.
A'. Hen. Worthy old heart ! thou speakest cheer-
fully.
Enter Pistol.
Pist. Quivald?
K. Hen. A friend.
Pist. Discuss unto me ; Art thou officer ;
Or art thou base, common, and popular?
K. Hen. I am a gentleman of a company.
Pist. Trailest thou the puissant pike ?
K. Hen. Even so : what are you ?
Pist. As good a gentleman as the emperor.
K. Hen. Then you are a better than the king.
Pist. The king's a bawcock, and a heart of gold,
A lad of life, an imp of fame ;
Of parents good, of fist most valiant :
I kiss his dirty shoe, and from my heart-strings
I love the lovely bully. What's thy name ?
K. Hen. Harry le Roy.
Pist. Le Roy I a Cornish name: art thou of
Cornish crew ?
K. Hen. No, I am a Welshman.
Pist. Knowest thou Fluellen.
K.Hen. Yes.
Pist. Tell him, I'll knock his leek about his pate,
Upon saint David's day.
K. Hen. Do not you wear your dagger in your cap
that day, lest he knock that about yours.
Pist. Art thou his friend ?
K. Hen. And his kinsman too.
Pist. The fgo for thee then !
A''. Hen. I thank you : Heaven be with you.
Piit. My name is Pistol called. [Exit.
K. Hen. It sorts well with your fierceness.
Enter Fluellen and Gower, severally.
Gow. Captain Fluellen !
Etu. So ! speak lower. It is the greatest admir-
ation in the universal 'orld, when tlie true and
aimcient prerogatifes and laws of the wars is not
kept : if you would take the pains but to examine
* Slouch is the skin which serpents annually throw off J
^ Lightness, nimblencss.
the wars of Pompey the Great, you shall find, I
warrant you, that there is no tiddle taddle, or pib-
ble pabble, in Pompey's camp ; I warrant you, you
shall find the ceremonies of the wars, and the cares
of it, and the forms of it, and the sobriety of it, and
the modesty of it, to be otherwise.
Gow. Why, the enemy is loud j you heard him
all night.
Flu. If the enemy is an ass and a fool, and a
prating coxcomb, is it meet, tliink you, that we
should also, look you, be an ass, and a fool, and a
prating coxcomb ; in your ovni conscience now ?
Gow. I will speak lower.
Elu. 1 pray you, and beseech you, that you will.
[Exeufit GowER and Fluellen.
JT. Hen. Though it appear a little out of fashion,
There is much care and valour in this Welshman.
Enter Bates, Court, and Williams.
Court. Brother John Bates, is not that the morn-
ing which breaks yonder?
Bates. I think it be : but we have no great cause
to desire the approach of day.
Will. We see yonder the beginning of the day,
but, I think, we shall never see the end of it. —
Who goes there ?
JC.Hen. A friend.
WUt. Under what captain serve you ?
IT. Hen. Under sir Thomas Erpingham.
Will. A good old commander, and a most kind
gentleman : I pray you, what thinks he of our estate ?
JT. Hen. Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that
look to be washed off the next tide.
Bates. He hath not told his thought to the king ?
JT. Hen. No : nor it is not meet he should. For,
though I speak it to you, I think, the king is but a
man, as I am : the violet smells to him, as it doth
to me ; the element shows to him, as it doth to me ;
all his senses have but human conditions 8 : his ce-
remonies laid by, he appears but a man ; and though
his affections are higher mounted than ours, yet,
when they stoop, they stoop with the like wing ;
therefore when he sees reason of fears, as we do,
his fears, out of doubt, be of the same relish as ours
are : Yet, in reason, no man should possess him with
any appearance of fear, lest he, by showing it,
should dishearten his army.
Bates. He may show what outward courage he
will : but, I believe, as cold a night as 'tis, he could
wish himself in the Thames up to the neck : and so
I would he were, and I by him, at all adventures^
so we were quit here.
JT. Hen. By my troth, I will speak my conscience
of the king ; I think, he would not wish himself
any where but where he is.
Bates. Then, 'would he were here alone ; so
should he be sure to be ransomed, and a many poor
men's lives saved.
JT. Hen. I dare say, you love him not so ill, to
wish him here alone : howsoever you speak this, to
feel other men's minds : Methinks, I could not die
any where so contented, as in the king's company ;
his cause being just, and liis quarrel honourable.
Will. That's more than we know.
Bates. Ay, or more than we should seek after ;
for we know enough, if we know we are the king's
subjects ; if his cause be wrong, our obedience to
the king wipes the crime of it out of us.
" QualittM.
444
KING HENRf V.
Act IV.
fFill- But, if the cause be not good, the kin^
himself hath a heavy reckoning to make ; when all
those legs, and arms, and heads, chopped off in a
battle, shall join together at the latter day, and cry
all — We died at such a place ; some swearing ;
some, crying for a surgeon ; some, upon their wives
left poor behind them ; some, upon the debts they
owe ; some, upon their children rawly ' left. I am
afeard there are few die well, that die in battle ; for
how can they charitably dispose of any thing, when
blood is their argument ? Now, if these men do
not die well, it will be a black matter for the king
that led them to it ; whom to disobey, were against
all proportion of subjection.
IT. Hen. So, if a son, that is by his father sent
about merchandize, do sinfully miscarry upon the
sea, the imputation of his wickedness, by your rule,
should be imposed upon his father that sent him :
or if a servant, under his master's command, trans-
porting a sum of money, be assailed by robbers, and
die in many irreconciled iniquities, you may call the
business of the master the author of the servant's
perdition : — But this is not so : the king is not
bound to answer the particular endings of his sol-
diers, the father of his son, nor the master of his
servant : for they purpose not their death, when
they purpose their services. Besides, there is no
king, be his cause never so spotless, if it come to
the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with all
unspotted soldiers. Some, peradventure, have on
them the guilt of premeditated and contrived mur-
der ; some, of beguiling virgins with the broken
seals of perjury ; some, making the wars their bul-
wark, that have before gored the gentle bosom of
peace with pillage and robbery. Now, if these men
have defeated the law, and outrun native punish-
ment 2, though they can outstrip men, they have no
wings to fly from God : war is his vengeance ; so
that here men are punished, for before-breach of
the king's laws, in now the king's quarrel : where
they feared the death, they have borne life away ;
and where they would be safe, they perish : Then
if they die unprovided, no more is the king guilty
of it, than he was before guilty of those impieties
for the which they are now visited. Every subject's
duty is the king's ; but every subject's soul is his
own. Therefore should every soldier in the wars
do as every sick man in his bed, wash every mote
out of his conscience : and dying so, death is to
him advantage ; or not dying, the time was blessedly
lost, wherein such preparation was gained : and, in
him that escapes, it were not sin to think, that
making God so free an offer, he let him outlive that
day to see his greatness, and to teach others how
they should prepare.
Will. 'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill
is upon his own head, the king is not to answer for it.
Bates. I do not desire he should answer for me ;
and yet I determine to fight lustily for him.
JC. Hen. I myself heard the king say, he would
not be ransomed.
Will. Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully ;
but when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed,
and we ne'er the wiser.
JC. Hen. If I live to see it, I will never trust his
word after.
Will. 'Mass, you'll pay 3 him then ! That's a peril-
ous shot out of an elder gun, that a poor and private
I Suddenly. 2 1. e. Punishment in their native country.
3 To pay here signifies to bring to account, to punish.
displeasure can do against a monarch ! you may as
well go about to turn the sun to ice, with fanning in
his face with a peacock's feather. You'll never
trust his word after ! come, 'tis a foolish saying.
IT. Hen. Your reproof is something too round ;
I should be angry with you, if the time were con-
venient.
Will. Let it be a quarrel between us, if you live.
IT. Hen. I embrace it.
WUl. How shall I know thee again.
IT. Hen. Give me any gage of thine, and I will
wear it in my bonnet : then, if ever thou darest
acknowledge it, I will make it my quarrel.
Will. Here's my glove ; give me another of thine.
JC. Hen. There.
Will. This will I also wear in my cap : if ever
thou come to me and say, after to-morrow. This is
my glove, by this hand, I will take thee a box on the
ear.
K. Hen. If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it.
WiU. Thou darest as well be hanged.
K. Hen. Well, I will do it, though I take thee in
the king's company.
Will. Keep thy word : fare thee well.
Bates. Be friends, you English fools, be friends ;
we have French quarrels enough, if you could tell
how to reckon.
K. Hen. Indeed, the French may lay twenty French
crowns to one, they will beat us ; for they bear them
on their shoulders : But it is no English treason to
cut French crowns ; and, to-morrow the king him-
self will be a clipper. [Exeunt Soldiers.
Upon the king ! let us our lives, our souls,
Our debts, our careful wives, our children, and
Our sins, lay on the king ; — we must bear all.
O hard condition ! twin-born with greatness.
Subjected to the breath of every fool.
Whose sense no more can feel but his own wringing !
What infinite heart's ease must kings neglect.
That private men enjoy ?
And what have kings, that privates have not too.
Save ceremony, save general ceremony?
And what art thou, thou idle ceremony ?
What kind of god art thou, that sufFer'st more
Of mortal griefs, than do thy worshippers ?
What are thy rents ? what are thy comings-in ?
0 ceremony, show me but thy worth !
What is the soul of adoration ?
Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form.
Creating awe and fear in other men ?
Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd
Than they in fearing.
What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet.
But poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great greatness,
And bid thy ceremony give thee cure !
Think'st thou, the fiery fever will go out
With titles blown from adulation ?
Will it give place to flexure and low bending ?
Canst thou, when thou command' st the beggar's
knee,
Command the health of it ? No, thou proud dreamy
That play'st so subtly with a king's repose ;
1 am a king, that find thee ; and I know,
'Tis not the balm, the scepter, and the ball.
The sword, the mace, the crown imperial.
The enter-tissued robe of gold and pearl.
The farced ^ title running 'fore the king.
The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp
' Farced is stuffed. The tumid puffy titles with which
king's name is introduced.
Scene II.
KING HENRY V.
445
That beats upon the liigh shore of this world,
No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony,
Not all these, laid in bed majestical.
Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave ;
Who, witli a body fiU'd, and vacant mind.
Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread ;
Never sees horrid night, the child of hell ;
But, like a lackey, from the rise to set,
Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night.
Sleeps in Elysium ; next day, after dawn.
Doth rise, and help Hyperion <5 to his horse ;
And follows so the ever-running year
With profitable labour, to his grave :
And, but for ceremony, such a wretch.
Winding up days with toil, and nights with sleep,
Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king.
The slave, a member of the country's peace.
Enjoys it ; but in gross brain little wots.
What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace,
Whose hours the peasant best advantages.
Enter Ekpingham.
Erp. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence.
Seek through your camp to find you.
-A' Hen. Good old knight.
Collect them all together at my tent :
I'll be before thee.
E^P' I shall do't, my lord. [Exit.
K. Hen. O God of battles ! steel my soldiers'
hearts!
Possess them not with fear ; take from them now
The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers
Pluck their hearts from them !— Not to-day, O Lord,
0 not to-day, think not upon the fault
My father made in compassing the crown !
1 Richard's body have interred new ;
And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears,
Tlian from it issued forced drops of blood.
Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay.
Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up
Toward heaven, to pardon blood ; and I have built
Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests
Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do :
Tliough all that I can do, is nothing worth j
Since that my penitence comes after all.
Imploring pardon.
Enter Glostbr.
Glo. My liege !
K. Hen. My brother Gloster's voice ? — Ay ;
I know thy errand, I will go with thee : —
The day, my friends, and all things stay for me.
{Exeunt.
SCENE II. — The French Camp,
Enter Dauphin, Orleans, Rambures, arid others.
Orl. The sun doth gild our armour ; up, my lords.
Dau. Montezd cheval: — My horse ! valet/ lacquay!
ha !
Orl. O brave spirit !
Dau. Via ! "> — les eaux et la terre
Orl. Bienpuis ? fair et le feu
Dau. del ! cousin Orleans.
Enter Constable.
Now, my lord constable !
Con. Hark, how our steeds for present service
neigh.
» The sun.
An old encouraging exclamation.
Z)au . Mount them,and make incision in their hides;
That their hot blood may spin in English eyes.
And dout ^ them with superfluous courage : Ha !
Ram. What, will you have them weep our horses*
blood?
How shall we then behold their natural tears ?
Enter
Mess. The English are embattled, you French
peers.
Con. To horse, you gallant princes ! straight to
horse !
Do but behold yon poor and starved band.
And your fair show shall suck away their souls.
Leaving them but the shales and husks of men.
There is not work enough for all our hands ;
Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins,
To give each naked curtle-ax a stain.
That our French gallants shall to-day draw out.
And sheath for lack of sport : let us but blow on
them.
The vapour of our valour will o'ertum them.
'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords.
That our superfluous lackeys, and our peasants, —
•Mru- jjj unnecessary action, swarm
Who.
About our squares of battle, — were enough
To purge this field of such a hilding 9 foe ;
Though we, upon this mountain's basis by.
Took stand for idle speculation :
But that our honours must not. What's to say ?
A very little little let us do.
And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound
The tucket-sonuance ', and the note to mount :
For our approach shall so much dare the field.
That England shall couch down in fear, and yield.
Enter Grandprk.
Grand. Why do you stay so long, my lords of
France ?
Yon island carrions, desperate of their bones,
Ill-favour'dly become the morning field :
Their ragged curtains - poorly are let loose.
And our air shakes them passing scornfully.
Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host.
And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps.
Their horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks,
With torch-staves in their hand: and their poor
jades
Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips ;
The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes ;
And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal 3 bit
Lies foul with chew'd grass, still and motionless ;
And their executors, the knavish crows.
Fly o'er them all, impatient for their hour.
Description cannot suit itself in words.
To demonstrate the life of such a battle
In life so lifeless as it shows itself.
Con. They have said their prayers, and they stay
for death.
Dau. Shall we go send them dinners, and fresh
suits.
And give their fasting horses provender,
And after fight with them ?
Con. I stay but for my guard ; On, to the field :
I will the banner from a trumpet take.
And use it for my haste. Come, come away !
Tlie sun is high, and we outwear the day. [Exeunt.
** D<» them o|it, extinguish them. » Mean, despicable;
' The name "of an introductory flourish on the trumpet
2 Colour* 3 Ring.
44d
KING HENRY V.
Act IV.
SCENE III. — The English Camp.
Enter the English Host ; Gloster, Bedford,
Exeter, Salisbury, and Westmoreland.
Glo. Where is the king ?
Bed. The king himself is rode to view their battle.
West. Of fighting men they have full three-score
thousand.
Exe. There's five to one ; besides, they all are fresh.
Sal. God's arm strike with us ! 'tis a fearful odds.
God be wi' you, princes all ; I'll to ray charge :
If we no more meet, till we meet in heaven,
Then joyfully, — my noble lord of Bedford, —
My dear lord Gloster, — and my good lord Exeter, —
And my kind kinsman, — warriors all, adieu !
Bed. Farewell, good Salisbury : and good luck
go with thee !
Exe. Farewell, kind lord ; fight valiantly to-day :
And yet I do thee wrong, to mind thee of it,
For thou art fram'd of the firm truth of valour.
l^Exit Salisbury.
Bed. He is as full of valour as of kindness ;
Princely in both.
West. O that we now had here
Enter King Henry.
But one ten thousand of those men in England,
That do no work to-day !
K. Hen, What's he, that wishes so ?
My cousin Westmoreland ? — No, my fair cousin :
If we are mark'd to die, we are enough
To do our country loss ; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
0 no, I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, 1 am not covetous for gold ;
Nor care I, who doth feed upon my cost ;
It yearns'' me not, if men my garments wear ;
Such outer things dwell not in my desires :
But, if it be a sin to covet honour,
1 am the most offending soul alive.
No, 'faith, my coz, wish not a man from England :
By heaven ! I would not lose so great an honour.
As one man more, methinks, would share from me,
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more :
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he, which hath no stomach to this figlit.
Let him depart ; his passport shall be made.
And crowns for convoy put into his purse :
We would not die in that man's company,
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd — the feast of Crispian :
He, that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian :
He, that shall live this day, and see old age.
Will yearly on the vigil feast his friends,
And say — to-morrow is saint Crispian :
Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars.
And say, these wounds I had on Crispin's day.
Old men forget ; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages.
What feats he did that day : Then shall our names,
Familiar in their mouths as household words, —
Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster, —
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd :
This story shall the good man teach his son ;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by.
From this day to the ending of the world,
4 Grieves.
But we in it shall be remembered :
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers ;
For he, to-day that sheds his blood with me,
Shall be my brother ; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition » :
And gentlemen in England, now a-bed.
Shall think themselves accurs'd, they were not here ;
And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks
That fought with us upon saint Crispin's day.
Enter Salisbury.
Sal. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed :
The French are bravely in their battles set,
And will with all expedience charge on us.
jr. Hen. All things are ready, if our minds be so.
West. Perish the man, whose mind is backward
now !
K. Hen. Thou dost not wish more help from
England, cousin?
West. By heaven, my liege, 'would you and I alone,
Without more help, might fight this battle out !
JC Hen. Why, now thou hast unwish'd five thou-
sand men ;
Which likes me better, than to wish us one. —
You know your places : God be with you all 1
Tucket. Enter Montjoy.
Mont. Once more I come to know of thee, king
Harry,
If for thy ransome thou wilt now compound,
Before thy most assured overthrow :
For, certainly, thou art so near the gulf.
Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy.
The constable desires thee — thou wilt mind 9
Thy followers of repentance ; that their souls
May make a peaceful and a sweet retire
From off these fields, where (wretches) their poor
bodies
Must lie and fester.
K. Hen. Who hath sent thee now ?
Mont. The constable of France.
K. Hen. I pray thee, bear my former answer back ;
Bid them achieve me, and then sell my bones.
Good Heaven ! why should they mock poor fellows
thus?
The man, that once did sell the lion's skin
While the beast liv'd, was killed with hunting him.
A many of our bodies shall, no doubt.
Find native graves ; upon the which, I trust,
Shall witness live in brass of this day's work ;
And those that lea\e their valiant bones in France,
Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills,
They shall be fam'd ; for there the sun shall greet
them,
And draw their honours reeking up to heaven.
Let me speak proudly ; — Tell the constable,
We are but warriors for the working-day :
Our gayness, and our gilt', are all besmirch'd*
With rainy marching in the painful field ;
There's not a piece of feather in our host,
(Good argument, I hope, we shall not fly,)
And time hath worn us into slovenry :
But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim :
And my poor soldiers tell me — yet ere night
They'll be in fresher robes ; or they will pluck
The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' heads,
And turn them out of service. If they do this,
(As, if God please, they shall,) my ransome then
* t. e. This day shall advance him to the rank of a gentleman.
9 Remind. » Gilding. ^ Soiled,
I
Scene IV.
KING HENRY V
447
k
Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour ;
Come thou no more for ransome, gentle herald ;
They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints :
Which if they have as I will leave 'em to them.
Shall yield tliem little, tell the constable.
Mont. I shall, king Harry. And so fare thee well :
Thou never shalt hear herald any more. [Exii.
K. Hen. I fear, thou'lt once more come again for
ransome.
Enter the Duke of York.
York. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg
The leading of the vaward.3
K. Hen. Take it, brave York, — Now, soldiers,
march away :• —
And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day !
[Exeunt.
SCENE IW.-- The Field of Battle.
Alarums : Excursions. Enter French Soldier,
Pistol, and Boy.
Fist. Yield, cur.
Fr. Sol. Je pense, que vous estes le gentilhomme de
bonne quality.
Fist. Quality, call you me ? — Construe me, art
thou a gentleman ? What is thy name? discuss.
Fr. Sol. 0 seigneur Dicu !
Fist. O, signieur Dew should be a gentleman : —
Perpend my words, O signieur Dew, and mark j —
O signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox *, [
Except, O signieur, thou do give to me I
Egregious ransome. |
Fr. Sol. 0, prennez misericorde / ayez piti^ de moy.
Fist. Moy shall not serve, I will have forty moys;
For I will fetch thy rim* out at thy throat.
In drops of crimson blood.
Fr. Sol. Est U impossible d^eschapper la force de
ton bras.
Fist. Brass, cur !
Olfer'st me brass ?
Fr. Sol. 0, pardonnez moy !
Fist. Say'st thou me so ? is that a ton of moys ? —
Come hither, boy ; Ask me this slave in French,
What is his name.
Boy. Escoutez ; Comment estes vous appelii ?
Fr. Sol. Monsieur le Fer.
Boy. He says, his name is — master Fer.
Fist. Master Fer, I'll fer him, and firk ^ him, and
ferret Jiim : — discuss the same in French unto him.
Boy. I do not know the French for fer, and fer-
ret, and firk.
Fist. Bid him prepare, for I will cut his throat.
Fr. Sol. Que (lit il, Monsieur F
Boy. // me commande de vous dire que vousfaites
vous prest ; car ce soldat icy est dispose toute a, cetle
heure de couper vostre gorge.
Fist. Ouy, couper gorge, par may foy, pesant
Unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns ;
Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword.
Fr. Sol. 0, je vous supplie pour Vamour de Dieu,
me pardonner ! Je suis gentilhomme de bonne maison :
gardez ma vie, etje vous donneray deux cents escus.
JHst. What are his words ?
Boy. He prays you to save his life : he is a gen-
tleman of a good house ; and, for his ransome, he
will give you two hundred crowns.
Pist. Tell him, — my fury shall abate, and I
The crowns will take.
' Vanguard.
* An old cant word Tor a Rword, so called from a Tamoui
•word cutler of the name of Fox.
* The diapliragm. • Chaatisc.
Fr. Sol. Fetit monsieur, que dit-U 9
Boy. Encore quil est contre sonjurement, de par-
donner aucun prisonnier ; neantmoins, pour les escus
que vous Cavez promis, il est contend de xxms donncr
la lihertit le franchise ment.
Fr. Sol. Sur mes genour, je vous donne mille re-
merciemem : etje niestime heureux que je suis tombe
entre les mains d'un c/ievalier, je pense, le plus brave,
valiant, et tres distingue seigneur d^ Angleterre.
Fist. Expound unto me, boy.
Boy. He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand
thanks : and he esteems himself happy that he hath
fallen into the hands of (as he thinks) the most brave,
valorous, and thrice-worthy signieur of England.
Fist. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show. —
Follow me, cur. [Exit Pistol.
Boy. Suivez vous le graiui capitaine.
[Exit French Soldier.
I did never know so full a voice issue from so
empty a heart : but the saying is true, — The empty
vessel makes the greatest sound. Bardolph, and
Nym, had ten times more valour than this rearing
devil i'the old play, that every one may pare his
nails with a wooden dagger; and they are both
hanged ; and so would this be, if he diu^t steal any
thing adventurously. I must stay with the lackeys,
with the luggage of our camp : the French might
have a good prey of us, if he knew of it j for there
is none to guard it but boys. [Exit.
SCENE V. — Another Fart of the Field of Battle.
Alarums. Enter Dauphih, Orleans, Boukbox,
Constable, Rambures, and ot/iers.
Con. 0 diable I
Orl. 0 seigneur I — le jour est perdu, tout est
perdu /
Dau. Mort de ma vie ! all is confounded, all !
Reproach and everlasting shame
Sits mocking in our plumes. — 0 meschante fortune!
Do not run away. [A short Alarum.
Con. Why all our ranks are broke.
Dan. O perdurable' shame! — let's stab our-
selves.
Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for ?
Orl. Is this the king we sent to for his ransome?
Bour. Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but
shame !
Let us die instant : Once more back again ;
And he tliat will not follow Bourbon now,
Let him go hence, with shame and infamy.
Con. Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now !
Let us, in heaps, go offer up our lives
Unto these English, or else die with fame.
Orl. We are enough, yet living in the field,
To smother up the English in our throngs.
If any order might be thought upon.
Bour, The devil take order now ; I'll to the
throng ;
Let life be short ; else, shame will be too long.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI Another Fart of the Field.
Alarums. EnterKi^cllKVKr,and Forces,- Exeter,
and others.
IT. Hen. Well have we done, thrice valiant coun-
trymen :
But all's not done, yet keep the French the field.
44*8
KING HENRY V.
Act IV.
Exe. The duke of York commends him to your
majesty.
JT. Hen. Lives he, good uncle? thrice, within this
hour,
I saw him down ; thrice up again, and fighting ;
From helmet to the spur, all blood he was.
Exe. In which array, (brave soldier,) doth he lie.
Larding the plain : and by his bloody side,
(Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds,)
The noble earl of Suffolk also lies,
Suffolk first died : and York, all haggled over.
Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteep'd.
And takes him by the beard ; kisses the gashes.
That bloodily did yawn upon his face ;
And cries aloud, — Tarry, dear cousin Suffolk !
My soul shall thine keep company to heaven :
Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, thenjly a-breast ;
As, in this glorious and well-foughten field.
We kept together in our chivalry !
Upon these words I came, and cheer'd him up :
He smil'd me in the face, raught^ me his hand.
And, with a feeble gripe, says, — Dear my lord.
Commend my service to my sovereign.
So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck
He threw his wounded arm, and kiss'd his lips ;
And so, espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd
A testament of noble-ending love.
The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd
Those waters from me, which I would have stopp'd
But I had not so much of man in me,
But all my mother came into mine eyes,
And gave me up to tears.
JT. Hen. I blame you not ;
For, hearing this, I must perforce compound
Witii mistful eyes, or they will issue too. —
\^Alarum.
But, hark ! what new alarum is this same ?
The French have reinforc'd their scatter'd men : —
Then every soldier kill his prisoner ;
Give the word through. [Eieunt.
SCENE VII. Another Part of the Field.
Alarums. Enter Fluellen and Gower.
Flu. Kill the poys and the luggage ! 'tis expressly
against the law of arms : 'tis as arrant a piece of
knavery, mark you now, as can be offer'd in the
'orld: In your conscience now, is it not?
Gow. 'Tis certain, there's not a boy left alive ;
and the cowardly rascals, that ran from the battle,
have done this slaughter : besides, they have burned
and carried away all that was in the king's tent;
wherefore the king, most worthily, hath caused
every soldier to cut his prisoner's throat. O, 'tis a
gallant king !
Flu. Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, captain
Gower. What call you the town's name, where
Alexander the pig was born ?
Gow. Alexander the great.
Flu. Why, I pray you, is not pig, great ? The
pig, or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the
magnanimous, are all one reckonings, save the
phrase is a little variations.
Gow. I think, Alexander the great was born in
Macedon ; his father was called — Philip of Mace-
don ; as I take it.
Flu. I think it is in Macedon, where Alexander
is porn. I tell you, captain, — If you look in the
maps of the 'orld, I warrant, you shall find, in the
8 Reached.
comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth,
that the situations, look you, is both alike. There
is a river in Macedon ; and there is also moreover
a river at Monmouth : it is called Wye, at Mon-
mouth ; but it is out of my prains, what is the
name of the other river ; but 'tis all one, 'tis so like
as my fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons
in both. If you mark Alexander's life well, Harry
of Monmouth's life is come after it indifferent well ; ^H
for there is figures in all things. Alexander, you ^H
know, in his rages, and his furies, and his vn-aths, ^^
and his cholers, and his moods, and his displeasures,
and his indignations, and also being a little intoxi-
cates in his prains, did, in his ales and his angers,
look you, kill his pest friend, Clytus.
Gow. Our king is not like him in that ; he never
killed any of his friends.
Flu. It is not well done, mark you now, to take
tales out of my mouth, ere it is made an end and
finished. I speak but in the figures and compari-
sons of it : As Alexander is kill his friend Clytus,
being in his ales and his cups ; so also Harry Mon-
mouth, being in his right wits and his goot judg-
ments, is turn away the fat knight with the great
pelly-doublet : he was full of jests, and gipes, and
knaveries, and mocks ; I am forget his name.
Gow. Sir John Falstaff.
Flu. That is he : I can tell you there is goot meu
born at Monmouth.
Gow. Here comes his majesty
Alarum. Enter King Henry, vnth a Part of the
English Forces; Warwick, Gloster, Exeter,
and others.
IT. Hen. I was not angry since I came to France
Until this instant. — Take a trumpet, herald ;
Ride thou unto the horseman on yon hill ;
If they will fight with us, bid them come down,
Or void the field ; they do offend our sight ;
If they'll do neither, we will come to them ;
And make them skirr^ away as swift as stones
Enforced from the old Assyrian slings :
Besides, we'll cut the throats of those we have ;
And not a man of them, that we shall take.
Shall taste our mercy : — Go, and tell them so.
Enter Montjoy.
Exe. Here comes the herald of the French, my
liege.
Glo. His eyes are humbler than they us'd to be.
jr. Hen. How now, what means this, herald?
know'st thou not.
That I have fin'd these bones of mine for ransome?
Com'st thou again for ransome ?
Mont. No, great king :
I come to thee for charitable licence,
That we may wander o'er this bloody field.
To book our dead, and then to bury them ;
To sort our nobles from our common men ;
For many of our princes (woe the while !)
Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood ;
(So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs
In blood of princes ;) and tlieir wounded steeds
Fret fetlock deep in gore, and, with wild rage,
Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters,
Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great king,
To view the field in safety, and dispose
Of their dead bodies.
♦ Scour.
Scene VII.
KING HENRY V.
U9
I
IT. Hen. I tell thee truly, herald,
I know not, if the day be ours or no ;
For yet a many of your horsemen peer,
And gallop o'er the field.
Mont. The day is yours.
K. Hen. Praised be God, and not our strength
for it ! —
What is this castle call'd, that stands hard by ?
Mont. They call it — Agincourt.
K. Hen. Then call we this — the fieldof Agincourt,
Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.
Flu. Your grandfather of "famous memory, an't
please your majesty, and your great uncle Edward,
the plack prince of Wales, as I have read in the
chronicles, fought a most prave pattlehere in France.
K. Hen. They did, Fluellen.
Flu. Your majesty says very true : If your ma-
jesty is remembered of it, the Welshmen did goot
service in a garden where leeks did grow, wearing
leeks in their Monmouth caps ; which your ma-
jesty knows, to this hour is an honourable padge of
the service ; and, I do believe, your majesty takes
no scorn to wefu* the leek upon saint Tavy's day.
K. Hen. I wear it for a memorable honour :
For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman.
Flu. All the water in Wye cannot wash your
majesty's Welsh plood out of your pody, I can tell
you that : Got pless it and preserve it, as long as
it pleases his grace, and his majesty too !
K. Hen. Thanks, good my countryman.
Flu. I am your majesty's countryman, I care
not who know it ; I will confess it to all the 'orld :
I need not to be ashamed of your majesty, so long
as your majesty is an honest man.
K. Hen. God keep meso — our heralds go with liim.
Bring me just notice of the numbers dead
On both our parts. — Call yonder fellow hither.
\^Points to Williams. Exeunt Montjot
and others.
Exe. Soldier, you must come to the king.
K. Heiu Soldier, why wear'st thou that glove in
thy cap ?
Will. An't please your majesty, 'tis the gage of
one that I should fight withal, if he be alive.
K. Hen. An Englishman ?
jriU. An't please your majesty, a rascal, that
swagger'd with me last night : who, if 'a live, and
ever dare to challenge this glove, I have sworn to
take him a box o' the ear : or, if I can see my glove
in his cap, (which he swore, as he was a soldier, he
would wear, if alive,'! I will strike it out soundly.
A". Hen. \Miat think you, captain Fluellen ? is it
fit this soldier keep his oath ?
Flu. He is a craven ' and a villain else, an't please
your majesty, in my conscience.
A'. Hen. It may be, liis enemy is a gentleman of
great sort •*, quite from the answer of his degree.
Flu. Though ho be as goot a gentleman as the
tevil is, as Lucifer and Beelzebub himself, it is ne-
cessjiry, look your grace, that he keep his vow and
his oatl) : if he be perjured, see you now, his reput-
ation is as arrant a villain, and a Jack-sauce 3, as
ever his plack shoe trod upon the earth, in my con-
science.
A'. Hen. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou
meet'st the fellow.
Will. So I will, my liege, as I live.
AT. Hen. Who servest thou under?
• Coward.
' High rank.
' For saucy Jack.
JVill. Under captain Gower, my liege.
Flu. Gower is a goot captain : and is good know-
ledge and literature in the wars.
A'. Hen. Call him hither to mc, soldier.
WiU. 1 will, my liege. [Edit.
K. Hen. Here, Fluellen ; wear thou this favour
for me, and stick it in thy cap ; When Alengon and
myself were down together, I plucked this gh>ve
from his helm : if any man challenge this, he is a
friend to Alen9on, and an enemy to our person ; if
thou encounter any such, apprehend liim, an thou
dost love me.
Flu. Your grace does me as great honours as can
be desired in the hearts of his subjects: I would
fain see the man, that has but two legs, that sliall
find himself aggriefed at this glove, that is all ; but
I would fain see it once.
K. Hen. Knowest thou Gower ?
Flu- He is my dear friend, an please you.
K. Hen. Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him
to my tent.
Flu. I will fetch him. \_Exit.
K. Hen. My lord of Wanvick, — and my brother
Gloster,
Follow Fluellen closely at the heels :
The glove, which I have given him for a favour,
May, haply, purchase him a box o' the ear ;
It is the soldier's ; I, by bargain, should
Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick ;
If that the soldier strike him, (as, I judge
By his blunt bearing, he will keep his word,)
Some sudden mischief may arise of it ;
For I do know Fluellen valiant,
And, touch'd with choler, hot as gunpowder,
And quickly will return an injury :
Follow, and see there be no harm between them. —
Go you with me, uncle of Exeter. \Edceui\i,
SCENE VIII. — Before King Henry'* PavUion.
Enter Gower and Williams.
Will. I warrant, it is to knight you, captain.
Enter Fluellen.
Fht. Captain, I peseech you now, come apace io
the king : there is more goot toward you, peradven-
ture, than is in your knowledge to dream of.
Will. Sir, know you this glove ?
Flu. Know the glove; I know the glove is a glove.
Will. 1 know this j and thus I challenge it.
[Strikes hinu
Flu. 'Sblud, an arrant traitor, as any's in the
universal 'orld, or in France, or in England.
Gow. How now, sir ? you villain !
Will. Do you think I'll be forsworn ?
Flu. Stand away, captain Gower ; I will give
treason his payment into plows, I warrant you.
Will. I am no traitor.
Flu. That's a lie in thy throat. — I charge you in
his majesty's name, apprehend him ; he's a friend of
the duke of Alen^on's.
Enter Warwick and Gloster.
War. How now, how now ! what's the matter ?
Flu. My lord of Warwick, here is (praised be
Got for it !) a most contagious treason come to light,
look you, as you shall desire in a summer's day.
Here is his majesty.
Enter Kino Henry and Exxter.
A'. Hen* How now, what's the matter ?
Gg
450
KING HENRY V.
Act V.
Flu. My liege, here is a villain and a traitor, that,
look your grace, has struck the glove which your
majesty is take out of the helmet of Alen9on.
Will. My liege, this was my glove ; here is the
fellow of it : and he, that I gave it to in change,
promised to wear it in his cap ; I promised to strike
him, if he did : I met this man with my glove in
his cap, and I have been as good as my word.
Flu. Your majesty hear now, (saving your ma-
jesty's manhood,) what an arrant, rascally, beggarly,
knave it is : I hope your majesty is pear me testi-
mony, and witness, and avouchments, that this is
the glove of Alen9on, that your majesty is give me,
in your conscience now.
K- Hen. Give me thy glove, soldier ; Look, here
is the fellow of it. 'Twas I, indeed, thou promised'st
to strike ; and thou hast given me most bitter terms.
Flu. An please your majesty, let his neck answer
for it, if there is any martial law in the 'orld.
K. Hen. How canst thou make me satisfaction ?
WUl. All offences, my liege, come from the heart :
never came any from mine, that might offend your
majesty.
K. Hen. It was ourself thou didst abuse.
WUl. Your majesty came not like yourself: you
appeared to me but as a common man ; witness the
night, your garments, your lowliness ; and what
your highness suffered under that shape, I beseech
you, take it for your own fault, and not mine : for
had you been as I took you for, I made no offence ;
therefore, I beseech your highness, pardon me.
JT. Hen. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with
crowns.
And give it to this fellow. — Keep it, fellow ;
And wear it for an honour in thy cap.
Till I do challenge it. — Give him the crowns : —
And, captain, you must needs be friends with him.
Flu. By this day and this light, the fellow has
mettle enough in his pelly : — Hold, there is twelve
pence for you, and I pray you to serve Got, and
keep you out of prawls, and prabbles, and quarrels,
and dissensions, and, I warrant you, it is the petter
for you.
Wm. I will none of your money.
Flu. It is with a goot will ; I can tell you, it will
serve you to mend your shoes : Come, wherefore
should you be so pashful ? your shoes is not so goot :
'tis a goot silling, I warrant you, or I will change it.
Enter an English Herald.
K. Hen. Now, herald ; are the dead number'd ?
Her. Here is the number of the slaughter'd French.
{Delivers a Paper.
K. Hen. "What prisoners of good sort are taken,
uncle ?
Fxe. Charles duke of Orleans, nephew to the king ;
John duke of Boiirbon, and lord Bouciqualt :
Of other lords, and barons, knights, and 'squires,
Full fifteen hundred, besides common men.
K. Hen. This note doth tell me of ten thousand
French,
That in the field lie slain : of princes in this number.
And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead.
One hundred twenty-six : added to these.
Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen.
Eight thousand and four hundred ; of the which.
Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd knights :
So that, in these ten thousand they have lost,
There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries ;
The restare — princes, barons, lords, knights, 'squires.
And gentlemen of blood and quality.
The names of those their nobles that lie dead, —
Charles De-la-bret, high constable of France ;
Jaques of Chatillon, admiral of France ;
The master of the cross-bows, lord Rambures ;
Great-master of France, the brave sir Guischard
Dauphin ;
John duke of Alen9on ; Antony duke of Brabant,
The brother to the duke of Burgundy ;
And Edward duke of Bar ; of lusty earls,
Grandpr^, and Roussi, Fauconberg, and Foix,
Beaumont, and Marie, Vaudemoiit, and I^estrale,
Here was a royal fellowship of death !
Where is the number of our English dead ?
[Herald presents another Paper.
Edward the duke of York, the earl of Suffolk,
Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire:
None else of name : and, of all other men.
But five-and-twenty. O God, thy arm was here.
And not to us, but to thy arm alone.
Ascribe we all. — When, without stratagem,
But in plain shock, and even play of battle.
Was ever known so great and little loss.
On one part and on the other? — Take it. Lord,
For it is only thine !
Exe. 'Tis wonderful !
K. Hen. Come, go we in procession to the village :
And be it death proclaimed through our host,
To boast of this, or take that praise from God,
Which is his only.
Flu. Is it not laAvful, an please your majesty, to
tell how many is killed ?
K. Hen. Yes, captain, but with this acknowledg-
ment, ,
That God fought for us.
Flu. Yes, my conscience, he did us great goot,
K. Hen. Do we all holy rites ;
Let there be sung Non nobis, and 7(6 Deum,
The dead with charity enclos'd in clay.
We'll then to Calais ; and to England then ;
Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy men.
[Exeunt.
ACT V,
Enter Chorus.
Chor. Vouchsafe to those that have not read the
story.
That I may prompt them : and of such as have,
1 humbly pray them to admit the excuse
Of time, of numbers, and due course of things,
Which cannot in their huge and proper life
Be here presented. Now we bear the king
Toward Calais : grant him there ; there seen.
Heave him away upon your winged thoughts.
Athwart the sea : Behold, the English beach
Pales in the flood with men, with wives, and boys.
Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth'd
sea,
Scene I.
KING HENRY V.
4t51
Which, like a mighty whiffler ^ 'fore the king,
Seems to prepare his way : so let him land ;
And, solemnly, see him set on to London.
So swift a pace hath thought, that even now
You may imagine him upon Blackheath :
Where that his lords desire him, to have ^ borne
His bruised helmet, and his bended sword,
Before him, through the city : he forbids it.
Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride ;
Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent.
Quite from himself, to God. But now behold.
In the quick forge and working-house of thought,
How London doth pour out her citizens !
The mayor, and all his brethren, in best sort, —
Like to the senators of the antique Rome,
With the plebeians swarming at their heels, —
Go forth, and fetch their conquering Caesar in :
As, by a lower but by loving likelihood ^,
Were now the general of our gracious empress 7
(As, in good time, he may,) from Ireland coming.
Bringing rebellion broached ^ on his sword,
How many would the peaceful city quit,
To welcome him? much more, and much more cause,
Did they this Harry. Now in London place him ;
(As yet the lamentation of the French
Invites the king of England's stay at home :
The emperor's coming in behalf of France,
To order peace between them ;) and omit
All the occurrences, whatever chanc'd.
Till Harry's back-return again to France ;
There must we bring him ; and myself have play'd
The interim, by remembering you — 'tis past.
Then brook abridgement ; and your eyes advance
After your thoughts, straight back again to France.
[Exit.
SCE NE L — France, ^n English Court of Guard.
Enter Fluellen and Gower.
Gorv. Nay, that's right ; but why wear you your
leek to-day ? Saint Davy's day is past.
Flu. There is occasions and causes why and
wherefore in all things ; I will tell you, as my
friend, captain Gower. The rascally, beggarly,
pragging knave. Pistol, — which you and yourself,
and all the 'orld, know to be no petter than a fellow,
look you now, of no merits, — he is come to me,
and prings me pread and salt yesterday, look you,
and bid me eat my leek : it was in a place where I
could not breed no contentions with him ; but I will
be so pold as to wear it in my cap till I ste him once
again, and then I will tell him a little piece of my
desires.
Enter Pistol.
Goiv. Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-
cock.
Flu. 'Tis no matter for his swellings, nor his tur-
key-cocks. — Pless you, ancient Pistol ! you scurvy
knave, pless you !
Pist. Ha ! art thou Bedlam ? dost thou thirst,
base Trojan,
To have me fold up Parca's fatal web ?
Hence ! I am qualmish at the smell of leek.
Flu. 1 pesecch you heartily, scurvy knave, at my
desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to eat,
look you, this leek ; because, look you, you do not
love it, nor your affections, and your appetites, and
* An offircr who walks first in processions.
* i r To order it to be borno. • Similitude.
' The earl of Fj>.hox in the reign of Elixabcth.
« Si>ittcd, transfixed.
your digestions, does not agree with it, I would
desire you to eat it.
Pist. Not for Cadwallader and all his goats.
Flu. There is one goat for you. [Strikes him."]
Will be so goot, scald knave, as eat it ?
Pist. Base Trojan, thou shalt die.
Flu. You say very true, scald knave, when Got's
will is : I will desire you to live in the mean time,
and eat your victuals ; come, there is sauce for it.
[Striking him again. J You called me yesterday,
mountain-squire ; but I will make you to-day a
squire of low degree. I pray you, fall to j if you
can mock a leek, you can eat a leek.
Gow. Enough, captain ; you have astonished him.
Flu. I say, I will make him eat some part of my
leek, or I will peat his pate four days : — Pite, I
pray you ; it is goot for your green wound, and
your ploody coxcomb.
Pist. Must I bite?
Flti. Yes, certainly ; and out of doubt, and out
of questions too, and ambiguities.
Pist. By this leek, I will most horribly revenge ;
I eat, and eke I swear —
Flu. Eat, I pray you : Will you have some more
sauce to your leek? there is not enough leek to
swear by.
Pist. Quiet thy cudgel ; thou dost see, I eat.
Flu. Much goot do you, scald knave, heartily.
Nay, 'pray you, throw none away ; the skin is goot
for your proken coxcomb. When you take occa-
sions to see leeks hereafter, I pray you mock at
them ; that is all.
Pist. Good.
Flu. Ay, leeks is goot : — Hold you, there is a
groat to heal your pate.
Pist. Me a groat.
Flu. Yes, verily, and in truth, you shall take it ;
or I have another leek in my pocket, which you
shall eat.
Pist. I take thy groat, in earnest of revenge.
Flu. If I owe you any thing, 1 will pay you in
cudgels; you shall be awoodmonger, and buy nothing
of me but cudgels. God be wi' you, and keep you,
and heal your pate. [Exit.
Pist. All hell shall stir for this.
Gow. Go, go; you are a counterfeit cowardly
knave. Will you mock at an ancient tradition, —
begun upon an honourable respect, and worn as a
memorable trophy of predeceased valour, — and dare
not avouch in your deeds any of your words ? I have
seen you gleeking 9 and galling at this gentleman
twice or thrice. You thought, because he could
not speak English in the native garb, he could not
therefore handle an English cudgel: you find it
otherwise ; and hencefortli, let a Welsh correction
teach you a good English condition. ' Fare ye well.
[Eiit.
Pist. Doth fortune play the huswife * with me
now ?
News have I, that my Nell is dead i' the spital ',
And there my rendezvous is quite cut off.
Old I do wax ; and from my weary limbs
Honour is cudgcU'd. Well, pimp will I turn,
And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand.
To England will I steal, and there I'll steal :
And patches will I get unto these scars.
And swear, I got them in the Gallia wars. [Exit.
• Scoffing, sneering.
' For jilt
• Temper.
' Hospital
452
KING HENRY V.
Act V.
SCENE II. — Troy es m Champagne. An Apart-
ment in the French King's Palace,
Enter at one door, Kino Henry, Bedford, Glos-
TER, Exeter, Warwick, Westmoreland, and
other Lords ; at another, the French King, Queen
Isabel, the Princess Katharine, Lords, Ladies,
^c. the Duke of Burgundy, and his Train.
K. Hen. Peace to this meeting, wherefore we are
met !
Unto our brother France, — and to our sister.
Health and fair time of day : — joy and good wishes
To our most fair and princely cousin Katharine ;
And (as a branch and member of this royalty,
By whom this great assembly is contriv'd,)
We do salute you, duke of Burgundy ; —
And, princes French, and peers, health to you all !
Fr. King' Right joyous are we to behold your
face.
Most worthy brother England ; fairly met : —
So are you, princes English, every one.
Q. Isa. So happy be the issue, brother England,
Of this good day, and of this gracious meeting,
As we are now glad to behold your eyes ;
Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them
Against the French, that met them in their bent,
The fatal balls of murdering basilisks ;
The venom of such looks, we fairly hope.
Have lost their quality ; and that this day
Shall change all griefs, and quarrels, into love.
K. Hen. To cry amen to that, thus we appear.
Q. Isa. You English princes all, I do salute you.
Bur. My duty to you both, on equal love.
Great kings of France and England! That I have
labour* d
With all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavours,
To bring your most imperial majesties
Unto this bar'* and royal interview.
Your mightiness on both parts best can witness.
Since them my office hath so far prevail'd,
That face to face, and royal eye to eye.
You have congreeted ; let it not disgrace me.
If I demand, before this royal view.
What rub, or what impediment, there is.
Why, that the naked, poor, and mangled peace,
Dear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births.
Should not, in this best garden of the world.
Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage?
Alas ! she hath from France too long been chas'd ;
And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps.
Corrupting in its own fertility.
Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart,
Unpruned dies : her hedges even-pleached, —
Like prisoners wildly over-grown with hair,
Put forth disorder'd twigs : her fallow leas.
The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory.
Doth root upon ; while that the coulter rusts.
That should deracinate ^ such savagery :
The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth
The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover.
Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank.
Conceives by idleness ; and nothing teems.
But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs.
Losing both beauty and utility.
And as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges.
Defective in their natures, grow to wildness ;
Even so our houses, and ourselves, and children.
Have lost, or do not learn, for want of time.
The sciences that should become our country ;
* Barrier. * Force up by the roots.
But grow, like savages, — as soldiers will.
That nothing do but meditate on blood, —
To swearing, and stern looks, difFus'd^ attire,
And every thing that seems unnatural.
Which to reduce into our former favour',
You are assembled : and my speech entreats,
That I may know the let 8, why gentle peace
Should not expel these inconveniences.
And bless us with her former qualities.
K, Hen. If, duke of Burgundy, you would the
peace.
Whose want gives growth to the imperfections
Which you have cited, you must buy that peace
With full accord to all our just demands;
Whose tenours and particular effects
You have, enschedul'd briefly, in your hands.
Bur. The king hath heard them j to the which,
as yet.
There is no answer made.
K. Hen. Well then, the peace.
Which you before so urg'd, lies in his answer.
Fr. King. I have but with a cursory eye
O'er-glanc'd the articles : pleaseth your grace
To appoint some of your council presently
To sit with us once more, with better heed
To re-survey them, we will, suddenly,
Pass our accept, and peremptory answer.
K. Hen. Brother, we shall. — Go, uncle Exeter, —
And brother Clarence, — and you, brother Gloster, —
Warwick, — and Huntingdon, — go with the king :
And take with you free power to ratify.
Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best
Shall see advantageable for our dignity.
Any thing in, or out of, our demands ;
And we'll consign thereto Will you, fair sister,
Go with the princes, or stay here with us ?
Q. Isa. Our gracious brother, I will go with them;
Haply, a woman's voice may do some good,
When articles, too nicely urg'd, be stood on.
K. Hen. Yet leave our cousin Katharine here
with us ;
She is our capital demand, compris'd
Within the fore-rank of our articles.
Q. Isa. She hath good leave.
[Exeunt all but Henry, Katharine,
and her Gentlewoman.
K. Hen Fair Katharine, and most fair !
Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms.
Such as will enter at a lady's ear.
And plead his love- suit to her gentle heart?
Kath. Your majesty shall mock at me ; I cannot
speak your England.
K. Hen. O fair Katharine, if you will love me
soundly with your French heart, I will be glad to
hear you confess it brokenly with your English
tongue. Do you like me, Kate ?
Kath. Pardonnez may, I cannot tell vat is — like
me.
K. Hen. An angel is like you, Kate; and you are
like an angel.
Kath. Que dit-U? que jesuis semblable dies anges?
Alice. Oiii/, vrayment, (suuf vostre grace) aiiisi
dit-U.
K. Hen. I said so, dear Katharine ; and I must
not blush to affirm it.
Kath. 0 ! les langues des hommes sont pleines des
tromperies.
K. Hen. What says she, fair one? that the tongues
of men are full of deceits ?
6 Extravagant. 7 Appearance. » Hinderance.
I
Scene II.
KING HENRY V.
453
Alice. Oiiy ; flat de tongues of de mans is be full
of deceits : dat is de princess.
K. Hen. The princess is the better English-
woman. I'faith, Kate, my wooing is fit for thy
understanding : I am glad, thou canst speak no
better English ; for, if thou couldst, thou wouldst
find me such a plain king, that thou wouldst think,
I had sold my fann to buy my crown. I know no
ways to mince it in love, but directly to say — I love
you : then, if you urge me further than to say — Do
you, in faith ? I wear out my suit. Give me your
answer ; i'faith, do ; and so clap hands and a bar-
gain : How say you, lady ?
Kath. Sauf vostre homieur , me understand well.
A'. Hen. Marry, if you would put me to verses,
or to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me :
for the one, I have neither words nor measure ; and
for the other, I have no strength in measure 9, yet a
reasonable measure in strength. If I could win a
lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my saddle with
my armour on my back, under the correction of
bragging be it spoken, I should quickly leap for a
wife. Or, if I might buffet for my love, or bound
my horse for her favours, I could lay on like a
butcher, and sit like a jack-an-apes, never off: but,
I cannot look greenly ', nor gasp out my eloquence,
nor I have no cunning in protestation ; only down-
right oaths, which I never use till urged, nor never
break for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of
tliis temper, Kate, whose face is not wortli sun-
burning, that never looks in his glass for love of any
thing he sees there, let thine eye be thy cook. I
speak to thee plain soldier : If thou canst love me
for this, take me : if not, to say to thee — that I
shall die, is true ; but — for thy love, no ; yet I love
thee too. And while thou livest, dear Kate, take
a fellow of plain and uncoined ' constancy ; for he
perforce must do thee right, because he hath not
the gift to woo in other places : for these fellows of
infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into
ladies' favours — they do always reason themselves
out again. What ! a speaker is but a prater ; a
rhjine is but a ballad. A good leg will fall^; a
straight back will stoop ; a black beard will turn
white ; a curled pate will grow bald ; a fair face
will wither ; a full eye will w ax hollow : but a good
heart, Kate, is the sun and moon ; or rather the
sun, and not the moon ; for it shines bi ight, and
never changes, but keeps his course truly. If thou
would have such a one, take me : And take me,
take a soldier; take a soldier, take a king : And
what sayest thou tlien to my love ? speak, my fair,
and fairly, I pray tliee.
Kath. Is it possible dat I should love de enemy
of France ?
A'. Hen, No ; it is not possible, you should love
the enemy of France, Kate ; but in loving me, you
should love the friend of France ; for 1 love France
so well, that I will not part with a village of it ; I
will have it all mine : and, Kate, when France is
mine, and I am yours, then yours is France, and
you are mine.
Kath. I cannot tell vat is dat.
K. Hen. No, Kate ? I will tell thee in French ;
wliich, I am sure, will hang upon my tongue like a
new-married wife about her husband's neck, hardly
to be shook off. Quandjay la possession de France,
' In dancing. ' i. e. Like a young lover, awkwardly.
' He means, resembling a plain piece of metal, which hot
not yet received any imprestioa ' Fall away.
^ quand vous avez la possession de mot, (let me see,
what then? Saint Dennis be my speed!) — done
vostre est France^ ^ vous estes mienne. It is as easy
for me, Kate, to conquer the kingdom, as to speak
so much more French : I shall never move thee in
French, unless it be to laugh at me.
Kath. Sauf vostre honneur, le Franqois que vous
parlez, est meUleur que CAnglois lequelje parle.
K. Hen. No, 'faith, is't not, Kate : but thy speak-
ing of my tongue, and I thine, most truly falsely,
must needs be granted to be much at one. But,
Kate, dost thou understand thus much English?
Canst thou love me ?
Kath. I cannot tell.
K. Hen. Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate ?
I'll ask them. Come, 1 know thou lovest me ; and
at night when you come into your closet, you'll
question this gentlewoman about me ; and I know,
Kate, you will to her, dispraise those parts in me,
that you love with your heart : but, good Kate,
mock me mercifully ; the rather, gentle princess,
because I love thee cruelly. How answer you, la
plus belle Catharine du monde, mon trh chere et divine
deesse f
Kaih. Your majesti 'axefaiisse French enough to
deceive de most sage demoiselle dat is en France.
K. Hen. Now, fye upon my false French ! By
mine honour, in true English, I love thee, Kate : by
which honour I dare not swear, thou lovest me ;
yet my blood begins to flatter me that thou dost,
notwithstanding the poor and untempcring effect
of my visage. Now beshrew my father's ambition !
he was always thinking of civil wars ; therefore was
I created with a stubborn outside, with an aspect
of iron, tliat, when I come to woo ladies, I fright
them. But, in faith, Kate, tlie elder I wax, the
better I shall appear : my comfort is, that old age,
that ill-layer up of beauty, can do no more spoil
upon my face : thou hast me, if thou ha.st me, at
the worst ; and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear
me, better and better ; and therefore tell me, most
fair Katharine, will you have me ? Put off* your
maiden blushes; avouch the thoughts of your heart
with the looks of an empress ; take me by the hand,
and say — Harry of England, I am thine : which
word thou shalt no sooner bless mine ear withal,
but I will tell thee aloud — England is thine. Ire-
land is thine, France is tliine, and Henry Planla-
gcnet is tliine ; who, though I speak it before his
face, if he be not fellow with the best king, thou
shalt find the best king of good fellows. Comt,
your answer in broken musick ; for thy voice is
niusick, and thy English broken : therefore, quein
of all, Katharine, break thy mind to me in broken
English, Wilt thou have me?
Kath. Dat is, as it shall please de rot/ mon pere.
K Hen. Nay, it will please him well, Kate ; it
shall please him, Kate.
Kath. Den it shall also content me.
A'. Hen. Upon that I will kiss your hand, and I
call you — my queen.
Kath. Laissez, mon seifrneiir, laissez, taifsez : ma
foy, je ne veux point que vaus altbav^n'z vostre ^iran-
dfur, en baisant la vwin d'xine tnnlre indif^ne servl-
tfur i exaisez may, je vous svppliCy mon Ires puisaatU
seigneur.
A'. Hen. Then I will kiss your lips, Kate.
Kath. Les dames, ^- demoiselles, pour estre baiseea
devani leur nopces, U nest pas la coutume de France.
K. Hen. Madam my interpreter, what says she?
Gg 3
454.
KING HENRY V.
Act V. Scene II.
^llce- Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies of
France, — I cannot tell what is baiser, en English.
K. Hen. To kiss.
Alice. Your majesty entendre bettre que moy.
K. Hen. It is not the fashion for the maids in
France to kiss before they are married, would she say ?
Alice. Ouy, vrayment.
K. Hen. 6, Kate, nice customs curt'sy to great
kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot be confined
within the weak list^ of a country's fashion : we are
the makers of manners, Kate ; and the liberty that
follows our places, stops the mouths of all find-
faults ; as I will do yours, for upholding the nice
fashion of your country, in denying me a kiss :
therefore, patiently, and yielding. \^Kissing her.]
You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate : there is
more eloquence in a sugar touch of them, than in
the tongues of the French council ; and they should
sooner persuade Harry of England, than a general
petition of mouarchs. Here comes your father.
E7iter the French King and Queen, Burgundy,
Bedforc, Gi-oster, Exeter, "Westmoreland,
and other French and English Lords.
Bur. God save your majesty ! my royal cousin,
teach you our princess English ?
IT. Hen. I would have her learn, my fair cousin,
how perfectly I love her; and that is good English.
JBur. Is she not apt ?
IT. Hen. Our tongue is rough, coz ; and my con-
dition 5 is not smooth : so that, having neither the
voice nor the heart of flattery about me, I cannot so
conjure up the spirit of love in her, that he will
appear in his true likeness. Shall Kate be my wife ?
Fr. King. So please you : — we have consented to
all terms of reason.
K Hen. Is't so, my lords of England ?
West. The king hath granted every article :
His daughter, first ; and then, in sequel, all,
According to their firm proposed natures.
Exe. Only, he hath not yet subscribed this : —
Where your majesty demands, — That the king of
France having any occasion to write for matter of
grant, shall name your highness in this form, and
with this addition, in French, — Notre tres cherjilz
Henry roy d" Angleterre, heritier de France; and
thus in Latin, — Prceclarissimus Jilius noster Hen-
ricus, rex AnglicB, ^ hceres Francice.
Fr. King. Nor this I have not, brother, so denied,
But your request shall make me let it pass.
Slight barrier.
Temper.
K.Hen. I pray you, then, in love and dear alliance.
Let that one article rank with the rest :
And, thereupon, give me your daughter.
Fr. King- Take her, fair son ; and from her blood
raise up
Issue to me : that the contending kingdoms
Of France and England, whose very shores look pale
With envy of each other's happiness,
May cease their hatred ; and this dear conjunction
Plant neighbourhood and Christian-like accord
In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance
His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair France.
All. Amen !
K. Hen. Now welcome, Kate : — and bear me
witness all.
That here 1 kiss her as my sovereign queen.
\Flourish.
Q. Tsa. God, the best maker of all marriages.
Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one !
As man and wife, being two, are one in love.
So be there 'twixt your kingdoms such a spousal,
That never may ill office, or fell jealousy.
Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage.
Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms.
To make divorce of their incorporate league ;
That English may as French, French Englishmen,
Receive each other ! — God speak this Amen ;
All. Amen !
K. Hen. Prepare we for our marriage : — on
which day,
My lord of Burgundy, we'll take your oath.
And all the peers', for surety of our leagues. —
Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me !
And may our oaths well kept and prosp'rous be !
\^Exeunt.
Enter Chorus.
Thus far, with rough, and all unable pen,
Our bending 6 author hath pursu'd the story ;
In little room confining mighty men.
Mangling by starts the full course of their glory.
Small time, but, in that small, most greatly liv'd
This star of England : fortune made his sword ;
By which the world's best garden 7 he achiev'd,
And of it left his son imperial lord.
Henry the sixth, in infant bands crown'd king
Of France and England, did this king succeed ;
Whose state so many had the managing,
That they lost France, and made his England bleed :
Which oft our stage hath shown ; and for their sake.
In your fair minds let this acceptance take. [Exit.
8 i. e. Unequal to the weight of the subject 7 France.
i
u"
«•
H
HRST PART OF
KING HENRY VI.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
King Henry the Sixth.
Duke of Gloster, Uncle to the King, and Pro-
tector,
Duke of Bedford, Uncle to the King, and Regent
of France.
Thomas Beaufort, Duke of Exeter, great Uncle
to the King.
Henry Beaufort, ^'reai Uncle to the King, Bishop
of Winchester, and cflerwurds Cardinal.
John Beaufort, ^aW (^Somerset; afterwards Duke.
Richard Plantagenet, eldest Son of Richard, late
Earl of Cambridge; afterwards Duke of
York.
Earl or Warwick.
Earl of Salisbury.
Earl of Suffolk.
Lord Talbot, afterwards Earl o/" Shrewsbury.
John Talbot, his Son.
Edward Mortimer, Earl of March.
Mortimer's Keeper, and a Lawyer.
Sir John Fastolfe.
Sir William Lucy.
Sir William Glansdale.
Sir Thomas Gargrave.
SCENE, partly in England, and partly in France.
Mayor o/" London.
WooDviLLE, Lieutenant of the Tower.
Vernon, of the White Rose, or York Faction.
Basset, of the Red Rose, or Lancaster Faction.
Charles, Dauphin, and afterwards King of France.
Reignier, DukeofAnjou, and titular Kingqf Naples,
Duke of Burgundy.
Duke of ALEN90N.
Governor of Paris.
Bastard of Orleans.
Master- Gunner of Orleans, and his Son.
General of the French Forces in Bourdeaux.
A French Sergeant.
A Porter.
MARGARE.T, Daughter to Reignier; afterwards mar-
ried to King Henry.
Countess of Auvergne.
Joan la Pucelle, commonly called Joan of Arc.
Lords, Warders of the Tower, Heralds, Officers,
Soldiers, Messengers, and several Attendants
both on the English and French.
HOW BAT TOO. UAUAM? AR» TOO NOW PKRan*.DKD
THAT TALBOT IS BDT SHADOW OP HIMHELF /
FIRST PART OF
KING HENRY VI
ACT L
SCENE I. — Westminster Abbey.
Dend March. Corpse of King Henry the Fifth
discmtered, li/ing in state ; attended on by the Dukes
OK Bedford, Gloster, and Exeter ; the Earl of
Warwick, the Bishop of Winchester, He-
raids, ^c.
lied. Hung be the heavens with black, yield day
to night !
Comets importing change of times and states,
Brandish your crjstal tresses in the sky ;
And with them scourge the bad revolting stars,
That have consented unto Henry's death !
Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long !
England ne'er lost a king of so much worth.
Glo. England ne'er had a king until his time.
Virtue he had, deserving to command :
His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams;
His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings ;
His sparkling eyes replete with wrathful fire,
More dazzled and drove back his enemies.
Than mid-day sun, fierce bent {gainst tlicir faces.
What should I say ? his deeds exceed all speech.
He ne'er lift up his hand, but conquered.
Exe. We mourn in black ; Why mourn we not
in blood ?
Henry is dead, and never shall revive :
Upon a wooden coffin we attend ;
And death's dishonourable victory
We with our stately |»resence glorify,
456
FIRST PART OF
Act I.
Like captives bound to a triumphant car.
What ? shall we curse the planets of mishap,
That plotted thus our glory's overthrow ?
Or shall we think the subtle-witted French
Conjurers and sorcerers, that, afraid of him,
By magick verses ' have contriv'd his end ?
Win. He was a king bless'd of the King of kings.
The battles of the Lord of hosts he fought :
The church's prayers made him so prosperous.
Glo. None do you like but an effeminate prince,
Whom, like a school-boy, you may over-awe.
Win. Gloster, whate'er we like, thou art protector ;
And lookest to command the prince, and realm.
Thy wife is proud ; she holdeth thee in awe.
More than religion or than churchmen may.
Glo. Name not religion, for thou lov'st the flesh.
And ne'er throughout the year to church thou go'st.
Except it be to pray against thy foes.
Bed. Cease, cease, these jars, and rest your minds
in peace !
Let's to the altar : — Heralds, wait on us : —
Instead of gold, we'll offer up our arms ;
Since arms avail not, now that Henry's dead. —
Posterity, await for wretched years.
When at their mothers' moist eyes babes shall suck ;
Our isle be made a nourish 2 of salt tears.
And none but women left to wail the dead. —
Henry the Fifth ! thy ghost I invocate ;
Prosper this realm, keep it from civil broils !
Combat with adverse planets in the heavens !
A far more glorious star thy soul will make,
Than Julius Caesar, or bright
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My honourable lords, health to you all !
Sad tidings bring I to you out of France,
Of loss, of slaughter, and discomfiture :
Guienne, Champaigne, Rheims, Orleans,
Paris, Guysors, Poictiers, are all quite lost.
Bed. What say'st thou, man, before dead Henry's
corse ?
Speak softly ; or the loss of those great towns
Will make him burst his lead, and rise from death.
Glo. Is Paris lost ? is Roiien yielded up ?
If Henry were recall'd to life again.
These news would cause him once more yield the ghost.
Exe. How were they lost? what treachery was us'd?
Mess. No treachery ; but want of men and money.
Among the soldiers this is muttered, —
That here you maintain several factions ;
And, whilst a field should be despatch'd and fought,
You are disputing of your generals.
One would have ling'ring wars with little cost ;
Another would fly swift, but wanteth wings ;
A third man thinks, without expence at all.
By guileful fair words peace may be obtain'd.
Awake, awake, English nobility !
Let not sloth dim your honours, new-begot :
Cropp'd are the flower-de-luces in your arms ;
Of England's coat one half is cut away.
Exe. Were our tears wanting to this funeral.
These tidings would call forth her flowing tides.
Bed. Me they concern ; regent I am of France : —
Give me my steeled coat, I'll fight for France. —
Away with these disgraceful wailing robes !
Wounds I will lend the French, instead of eyes.
To weep their intermissive miseries. 3
• There was a notion long prevalent, that life might be taken
away by metrical charms.
■^ Nurse was anciently so spelt.
3 i.e. Their miseries which have had only a short intermission.
Enter another Messenger.
2 Mess. Jyords, view these letters, full of bad
mischance,
France is revolted from the English quite ;
Except some petty towns of no import :
The dauphin Charles is crowned king in Rheims ;
The bastard of Orleans with him is join'd ;
Reignier, duke of Anjou, doth take his part
The duke of Alen9on flieth to his side.
Exe. The dauphin crowned king ! all fly to him
O, whither shall we fly from this reproach ?
Glo. We will not fly, but to our enemies' throats
Bedford, if thou be slack, I'll fight it out.
Bed. Gloster, why doubt'st thou of my forward
ness?
An army have I muster'd in my thoughts.
Wherewith already France is over-run.
Enter a third Messenger.
3 Mess. My gracious lords, — to add to your laments,
Wherewith you now bedew king Henry's hearse, —
I must inform you of a dismal fight,
Betwixt the stout lord Talbot and the French.
JVin. AVhat ! wherein Talbot overcame? is'tso?
3 Mess. O, no; wherein lord Talbot was o'er-
thrown ;
The circumstance I'll tell you more at large.
The tenth of August last, this dreadful lord,
Retiring from the siege of Orleans,
Having full scarce six thousand in his troop,
By three and twenty thousand of the French
Was round encompassed and set upon ;
No leisure had he to enrank his men ;
He wanted pikes to set before his archers ;
Instead whereof, sharp stakes, pluck'd out of hedges.
They pitched in the ground confusedly,
To keep the horsemen off from breaking in.
More than three hours the fight continued ;
Where valiant Talbot, above human thought,
Enacted wonders with his sword and lance.
Hundreds he sent to death, and none durst stand him ;
Here, there, and every where, enrag'd he slew :
The French exclaim'd, the devil was in arms ;
All the whole army stood agaz'd on him :
His soldiers, spying his undaunted spirit,
A Talbot ! a Talbot ! cried out amain,
And rush'd into the bowels of the battle.
Here had the conquest fully been sealed up.
If sir John Fastolfe had not play'd the coward
He being in the vaward (plac'd behind
With purpose to relieve and follow them,)
Cowardly fled, not having struck one stroke.
Hence grew the general wreck and massacre ;
Enclosed were they with their enemies :
A base Walloon, to win the dauphin's grace.
Thrust Talbot with a' spear into the back ;
Whom all France, withtheir chief assembled strengthj^ J
Durst not presume to look once in the face.
Bed. Is Talbot slain ? then I will slay myself,
For living idly here, in pomp and ease.
Whilst such a worthy leader, wanting aid,
Unto his dastard foe-men is betray d.
3 Mess O no, he lives ; but is took prisoner,
And lord Scales with him, and lord Hungerford ;
Most of the rest slaughter'd, or took likewise.
Bed. His ransome there is none but I shall pay ;
I'll hale the dauphin headlong from his throne.
His crown shall be the ransome of my friend ;
Four of their lords I'll change for one of ours. —
1
Scene II.
KING HENRY VI.
457
k
Farewell, my masters ; to my task will I ;
Bonfires in France forthwith I am to make,
To keep our great saint George's feast withal :
Ten thousand soldiers with me I will take,
"Whose bloody deeds shall make all Europe quake.
3 Mess. So you had need; for Orleans is besieg'd ;
The English army is grown weak and faint :
The earl of Salisbury craveth supply,
And hardly keeps his men from mutiny,
Since they, so few, watch such a multitude.
Exe. Remember, lords, your oaths to Henry sworn;
Either to quell the dauphin utterly.
Or bring him in obedience to your yoke.
Bed. I do remember it ; and here take leave.
To go about my preparation. [Exii.
Glo. I'll to the Tower, with all the haste 1 can.
To view the artillery and munition ;
And then I will proclaim young Henry king. [^Exit.
Exe. To Eltham will I, where the young king is,
Being ordain'd his special governor ;
And for his safety there I'll best devise. \^Exit.
Win. Each hath his place and function to attend :
I am left out ; for me nothing remains.
But long I will not be Jack-out-of-office ;
The king from Eltham I intend to send.
And sit at chiefest stern of public weal. [^Exii.
J SCENE II. — France. Before Orleans.
Enter Charles, xvith his Forces i ALEN90N,
Reignier, and others.
Char. Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens,
So in the earth, to this day is not known :
Late did he shine upon the English side ;
Now we are victors, upon us he smiles.
What towns of any moment, but we have ?
At pleasure here we lie, near Orleans ;
Thewhiles, the famish'd English, like pale ghosts.
Faintly besiege us one hour in a month.
Alen. They want their porridge, and their fat
bull-beeves :
Either they must be dieted like mules.
And have their provender tyed to their mouths.
Or piteous they will look, like drowned mice.
Reig. Let's raise the siege : Why live we idly here?
Talbot is taken, whom we wont to fear :
Remaineth none but mad-brain'd Salisbury ;
And he may well in fretting spend his gall,
Nor men, nor money, hath he to make war.
Char. Sound, sound alarum ; wewill rush on them.
Now for the honour of the forlorn French :
Him I forgive my death, that killeth me.
When he sees me go back one foot, or fly. [Exeunt.
Alarums ; Excursions ; afterwards a Retreat.
Re-enter CuAKLEs, ALEN90K, Reignier, anrf o//jer5.
Char. Who ever saw the like? what men have I ? —
Dogs ! cowards ! dastards ! — I would ne'er have fled,
But that they left me 'midst my enemies.
Reig. Salisbury is a desperate homicide ;
He fighteth as one weary of his life.
The other lords, like lions wanting food,
Do rush upon us as their hungry prey. *
Alcn. Froissard, a countryman of ours, records,
England all Olivers and Rowlands bred.
During the time Edward the third did reign.
More truly now may this be verified ;
For none but Samsons, and Goliasses,
It scndeth forth to skirmisti. One to ten !
* i.e. The prey for which they arc hungry.
Lean raw-bon'd rascals ! who would e'er suppose
They had such courage and audacity ?
Char. Let's leave this town ; for they are haii-
brain'd slaves.
And hunger will enforce them to be more eager :
Of old I know them ; rather with their teeth
The walls they'll tear down, than forsake the siege.
Reig. I think by some odd gimmals ^ or device,
Their arms are set, like clocks, still to strike on ;
Else ne'er could they hold out so, as they do.
By my consent, we'll e'en let them alone.
Alen. Be it so.
Enter the Bastard of Orleans.
Bast. Where's the prince dauphin ? I have news
for him.
Char. Bastard " of Orleans, thrice welcome to us.
Bast. Methinks, your looks are sad, your cheer ^
appall'd ;
Hath the late overthrow wrought this offence ?
Be not dismay'd, for succour is at hand :
A holy maid hither with me I bring,
Which, by a vision sent to her from heaven,
Ordained is to raise this tedious siege.
And drive the English forth the bounds of France.
The spirit of deep prophecy she hath.
Exceeding the nine sibyls of old Rome ;
What's past, and what's to come, she can descry.
Speak, shall I call her in ? Believe my words.
For they are certain and unfallible.
Ckar. Go, call her in : [Exit Bastard.] But,
first, to try her skill,
Reignier, stand thou as dauphin in my place :
Question her proudly, let thy looks be stern : —
By this means shall we sound what skill she hath.
[Retires.
Enter La Pucelle, Bastard of Orleans, and others.
Reig. Fair maid, is't thou wilt do these wond'rous
feats ?
Puc. Reignier, is't thou that thinkest to beguile
me ? —
Where is the dauphin ? — come, come from behind ;
I know thee well, though never seen before.
Be not amaz'd, there's nothing hid from me :
In private will I talk with thee apart : —
Stand back, you lords, and give us leave a while.
Reig. She takes upon her bravely at first dash.
Puc. Dauphin, I am by birth a shepherd's
daughter.
My wit untrain'd in any kind of art.
Heaven, and our lady gracious, hath it pleas'd
To shine on my contemptible estate :
Lo, whilst I waited on my tender lambs.
And to sun's parching heat display'd my cheeks,
Our lady deigned to appear to me ;
And, in a vision full of majesty,
Will'd me to leave my base vocation.
And free my country from calamity :
Her aid she promis'd and assui 'd success :
In complete glory she reveal'd herself;
And, whereas I was black and swart before.
With those clear rays which she infus'd on me.
That beauty am I bless'd with, which you see.
Ask me what question thou canst possible,
And I will answer unpremeditated :
* A gimmal is a piece of jointc<l work, where one piece
moves within another ; here it is taken at large for an engine.
« This was not in former times a term of reproach.
■ Countenance
458
FIRST PART OF
Act L
My courage try by combat, if thou dar'st,
And thou shalt find that I exceed my sex.
Resolve on this » : Thou shalt be fortunate,
If thou receive me for thy warlike mate.
Char. Thou hast astonish'd me with thy high
terms ;
Only this proof I'll of thy valour make, —
In single combat thou shalt buckle with me :
And, if thou vanquishest, thy words are true;
Otherwise, I renounce all confidence.
Puc. I am prepared: here is my keen-edg'd sword,
Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side ;
The which at Touraine, in saint Katharine's church-
yard.
Out of a deal of old iron I chose forth.
Char. Then come on, damsel, I fear no woman.
Puc. And, while I live, I'll ne'er fly from a man.
[^Theyfght.
Char. Stay, stay thy hands ; thou art an Amazon,
And fightest with the sword of Deborah.
Puc. Christ's mother helps me, else I were too
weak.
Char. Whoe'er helps thee, 'tis thou that must
help me :
My heart and hands thou hast at once subdu'd.
Excellent Pucelle, if thy name be so,
Let me thy servant, and not sovereign, be;
'Tis the French dauphin sueth to thee thus.
Puc. I must not yield to any thoughts of love.
For my profession's sacred from above :
When I have chased all thy foes from hence.
Then will I think upon a recompence.
Char. Meantime, look gracious on thy prostrate
thraU.
Reig. My lord, methinks, is very long in talk.
Alen. He may mean more than we poor men do
know.
Reig. My lord, where are you? what devise you on ?
Shall we give over Orleans, or no ?
Puc. Why, no, I say, distrustful recreants !
Fight till the last gasp ; I will be your guard.
Char. What she says, I'll confirm ; we'll fight it out.
Puc. Assign'd am 1 to be the English scourge.
This night the siege assuredly I'll raise :
Expect saint Martin's summer 9 halcyon days.
Since I have entered into these wars.
Glory is like a circle in the water.
Which never ceaseth to enlarge itself,
Till, by broad spreading, it disperse to nought.
With Henry's death, the English circle ends ;
Dispersed are the glories it included.
Now am I like that proud insulting ship,
Which CiEsar and his fortune bare at once.
Char. Was Mahomet inspired with a dove ?
Thou with an eagle art inspired then.
Helen, the mother of great Constantine,
Nor yet saint Philip's daughters ', were like thee.
Bright star of Venus, fall'n down on the earth,
How may I reverently worship thee?
Alen. Leave off delays, and let us raise the siege.
Reig. Woman, do what thou canst to save our
honours ;
Drive them from Orleans, and be immortaliz'd.
Char. Presently we'll try : — Come, let's away
about it :
No prophet will I trust if she prove false, {^Exeunt.
8 Be firmly persuaded of it
9 Expect prosperity after misfortune.
' Meaning the four daughters of Pliilip mentioned in Acts,
XX L 9.
SCENE III. — London. HUl before the Tower.
Enter, at the Gates, the Duke of Gloster, with his
Serving- men, in blue Coats.
Glo. I am come to survey the Tower this day ;
Since Henry's death, I fear, there is conveyance. "^
Where be these warders, that they wait not here ?
Open the gates ; Gloster it is that calls.
[Servants knock.
1 Ward. [Within.'\ Who is there that knocks so
imperiously ?
1 Serv. It is the noble duke of Gloster.
2 Ward' \^Wilhin.'] Whoe'er he be, you may not]
be let in.
Serv. Answer you so the lord protector, villains ? \
1 Ward. \^Within.'\ The Lord protect him ! so we
answer him :
We do no otherwise than we are will'd.
Glo. Who willed you ? or whose will stands, but
mine?
There's none protector of the realm but I. —
Break up the gates, I'll be your warrantize :
Shall I be flouted thus by dunghill grooms ?
Servants rush at the Tower Gates. Enter, to the
Gates, WooDViLLE, the Lieutenant.
Wood. {^Within.l What noise is this? what trai-
tors have we here ?
Glo. Lieutenant, is it you, whose voice I hear ?
Open the gates ; here's Gloster, that would enter.
Wood. \_Within.'] Have patience, noble duke ; 1
may not open ;
The cardinal of Winchester forbids :
From him I have express commandment,
That thou, nor none of thine, shall be let in.
Glo. Faint-hearted Woodville, prizest him 'fore me ?
Arrogant Winchester ? that haughty prelate.
Whom Henry, our late sovereign, ne'er could brook?
Thou art no friend to Heaven, or to the king :
Open the gates, or I'll shut thee out shortly.
1 Serv. Open the gates unto the lord protector ;
Or we'll burst them open, if that you come not quickly.
Enter Winchester, attended by a Train of Ser'
vants in tawny Coats.
Win. How now, ambitious Humphrey ? what
means this ?
Glo, Piel'd priest -% dost thou command me to be
shut out?
Win. I do, thou most usurping proditor ^,
And not protector of the king or realm.
Glo. Stand back : thou manifest conspirator ;
Thou that contriv'dst to murder our dead lord :
I'll canvass ^ thee in thy broad cardinal's hat,
If thou proceed in this thy insolence.
Win. Nay, stand thou back, I will not budge a foot.
Glo. I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back :
Thy scarlet robes, as a child's bearing-cloth
I'll use, to carry thee out of this place.
Win. Do what thou dar'st ; I beard thee to thy face.
Glo. What? am I dar'd, and bearded to my face? —
Draw, men, for all this privileged place ;
Blue-coats to tawny coats. Priest, beware your beard ;
[Gloster and his men attack the Bishop.
I mean to tug it, and to cuff you soundly :
Under my feet I stamp thy cardinal's hat ;
In spite of pope or dignities of church.
Win. Gloster, thou'lt answer this before the pope.
2 Theft.
" Traitor.
3 Alluding to his shaven crown.
» Sift.
Scene IV.
KING HENRY VI.
Glo. Now beat them hence, Why do you let them
stay ? —
Thee I'll chase hence, thou wolf in sheep's array. —
Out, tawny coats ! — out, scarlet 6 hypocrite !
Here a peat Tumvlt. In the midst ofitf enter the
Mayor c/" London, and Officers.
Mai/. Fye, lords ! that you, being supreme ma-
gistrates.
Thus contumtliously should break the peace !
Glo. Peace, mayor; thou know'st little of my
wrongs :
Here's Beaufort, that regards nor God nor king.
Hath here distrain'd the Tower to his use.
jrin. Here's Gloster too, a foe to citizens ;
One that still motions war, and never peace,
O'ercharging your free purses with large fines ;
That seeks to overthrow religion.
Because he is protector of tlie realm ;
And would have armour here out of the Tower,
To crown himself king, and suppress the prince.
Glo. I will not answer thee with words, but
blows. [Here they skirmish again.
May. Nought rests forme, in this tumultuous strife.
But to make open proclamation : —
Come, officer j as loud as e'er thou canst.
Ort. All manner of men, assembled here in arms this
day, afiainst God's peace and the king's, we charge
find command yon, in his highness' name, to repair
to your several dwelling-places; and not to wear,
handle, or use, any sword, weapon, or dagger,
henceforward, vpon pain of death.
Glo. Cardinal, I'll be no breaker of the law :
But we shall meet, and break our minds at large.
Win. Gloster, we'll meet; to thy dear cost, be sure:
Thy heart-blood I will have, for this day's work.
May. I'll call for clubs 7, if you will not away :
This cardinal is more haughty than the devil.
Glo. Mayor, farewell ; thou dost but what thou
mayst.
Win. Abominable Gloster ! guard thy head ;
For I intend to have it ere long. {Exeunt.
May. See the coast clear'd, and then we will
depart. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV. ~ France. Before Orleans.
Enter on the Walls, the Master- Gunner and his Son.
M. Gun. Sirrah, thou know'st how Orleans is
besieg'd ;
And how the English have the suburbs won.
Son. Father, I know ; and oft have shot at them,
Howe'er, unfortunate, I miss'd my aim.
M. Gun. But now thou shalt not. Be thou rul'd
by me :
Chief master-gunner am I of this town ;
Something I must do, to procure me grace :
The prince's espials » have informed me.
How the English, in the suburbs close intrench 'd.
Wont, through a secret grate of iron bars
In yonder tower, to overpeer tlie city ;
And tlience discover, how, with most advantage,
They may vex us, with shot, or with assault.
To intercept tliis inconvenience,
A piece of ordnance 'gainst it I have plac'd ;
And fully even these three days have 1 watch'd,
* An allusion to the bishop'* habit
' That ia for peaccotliccrt armed with club* or stavei.
459
boy, do thou watch.
If I could see them. Now
For I can stay no longer.
If thou spy'st any, run and bring me word ;
And thou shalt find me at the governor's. [Exit.
Son. Fatiier, I warrant you ; take you no care ;
I'll never trouble you, if I may spy them.
Enter, in an upper Chamber of a Tower the Lords
Salisbury and Talbot, Sir William Glans-
UALE, Sib Thomas Gargrave, and others.
Sal. Talbot, my life, my joy, again returned !
How wert thou handled, being prisoner ?
Or by what means got'st thou to be releas'd ?
Discourse, I pr'ythee, on this turret's top.
Tal. The duke of Bedford Iiad a prisoner.
Called — the brave lord Ponton de Santrailles ;
For him I was exchang'd and ransomed.
But with a baser man of arms by far.
Once, in contempt, they would have barter'd me :
Which I, disdaining, scorn'd ; and craved death
Rather than I would be so pil'd esteem'd. 9
In fine, redeem'd I was as I desir'd.
But, O ! the treacherous Fastolfe wounds my heart !
Whom with my bare fists I would execute,
If I now had him brought into my power.
Sal. Yet tell'stthou not, how thou wert entertain'd.
Tal. With scoffs, and scorns, and contumelious
taunts.
In open market-place produc'd they me,
To be a public spectacle to all ;
Here, said they, is the terror of the French,
The scare-crow that affrights our children so.
Then broke I from the officers that led me ;
And with my nails digg'd stones out of the ground.
To hurl at the beholders of my shame.
My grisly countenance made others fly ;
None durst come near for fear of sudden death.
In iron walls they deem'd me not secure ;
So great fear of my name 'mongst them was spread.
That they suppos'd, I could rend bars of steel.
And spurn in pieces posts of adamant :
Wherefore a guard of chosen shot I had,
That walk'd about me every minute-while ;
And if I did but stir out of my bed.
Ready they were to shoot me to the heart.
Sal. I grieve to hear what tonnents you endur'd j
But we will be reveng'd sufficiently.
Now is it supper-time in Orleans :
Here through this grate, I can count every one.
And view the Frenchmen how they fortify ;
Let us look in, the sight will much delight thee. —
Sir Thomas Gargrave, and sir William Glansdale,
Let me have your express opinions.
Where is best place to make our battery next.
Gar. I think at the north gate; for there stand lords.
Glan. And I, here, at the bulwark of tlie bridge.
Tal. For aught I see, this city must be famish'd.
Or with light skirmishes enfeebled.
[Shot from the 2'oum. Salisbury and
Sir Thomas Gargrave yh^
Sal. O Lord, have mercy on us, wretched sinners!
Gar. O Lord, have mercy on me, woeful man !
Tal. What chance is this, that suddenly hath
cross'd us?
Speak, Salisbury ; at least, if thou canst speak ;
How far'st thou, mirror of all martial men ?
One of thy eyes, and thy cheek's side struck off! —
Accursed tower ! accursed fatal hand.
That hath contriv'd this woeful tragedy I
» So strii^)cd of honours.
4^0
FIRST PART OF
Act I.
In tliirtcen l)attlcs Salisbury o'ercame :
Henry the fifth he first train'd to the wars ,
Whilst any trump did sound, or drum struck up,
His sword did ne'er leave striking in the field.
Yet liv'st thou, Salisbury? though thy speech doth fail.
One eye thou hast, to look to heaven for grace :
Tlie sun with one eye vieweth all the world. —
Heaven, be thou gracious to none alive,
If Salisbury wants mercy at thy hands ! —
Bear hence his body, I will help to bury it. —
Sir Thomas Gargrave, hast thou any life ?
Speak unto Talbot ; nay, look up to him.
Salisbury, cheer thy spirit with this comfort ;
Thou shalt not die, whiles
He beckons with his hand, and smiles on me ;
As who should say, When I am dead and gone,
Remember to avenge me on the French. —
Plantagenet, I will ; and Nero-like,
Play on the lute, beholding the towns bum :
Wretched shall France be only in my name.
[Thunder heard ; afterwards an Alarum.
What stir is this ? What tumult's in the heavens ?
Whence cometh this alarum, and the noise ?
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My lord, my lord, the French have ga-
ther'd head :
The dauphin, with one Joan la Pucelle join'd, —
A holy prophetess, new risen up, —
Is come with a great power to raise the siege.
[Salisbury groans.
Tal. Hear, hear, how dying Salisbury doth groan !
It irks his heart, he cannot be reveng'd.
Frenchmen, I'll be a Salisbury to you : —
Your hearts I'll stamp out with my horse's heels.
And make a quagmire of your mingled brains.
Convey me Salisbury into his tent.
And then we'll try what dastard Frenchmen dai-e.
[^Exeunt, bearing out the Bodies,
SCEN E V Before one of the Gates of Orleans.
Alarum. Skirmishings. Talbot pursueth the Dau-
PHiK, and driveth him in : then enter Joan la
Pucelle, driving Englishmen before her. Then
enter Talbot.
Tal. Where is my strength, my valour, and my
force ?
Our English troops retire, I cannot stay them ;
A woman, clad in armour, chaseth them.
Enter La Pucelle.
Here, here she comes : I'll have a bout with
thee;
Blood will I draw on thee, thou art a witch.
And straightway give thy soul to him thou serv'st.
Puc. Come, come, 'tis only I that must disgrace
thee. [Theyfght.
Tal. My breast I'll burst with straining of my
courage.
And from my shoulders crack my arms asunder.
But I will chastise this high-minded strumpet.
Puc. Talbot, farewell ; thy hour is not yet come :
I must go victual Orleans forthwith.
O'ertake me, if thou canst ; I scorn thy strength.
Go, go, cheer up thy hunger-starved men ;
Help Salisbury to make his testament :
This day is ours, as many more shall be.
[Pucelle enters the Town, with Soldiers.
Tid. My thoughts are whirled like a potter's wheel;
I know not where I am, nor what I do ;
A witch, by fear, not force, like Hannibal,
Drives back out troops, and conquers as she lists :
So bees with smoke, and doves with noisome stench,
Are from their hives, and houses, driven away.
They called us, for our fierceness, English dogs ;
Now, like to whelps, we crying run away.
[A short Alarum.
Hark, countrymen ! either renew the fight,
Or tear the lions out of England's coat ;
Renounce your soil, give sheep in lions' stead :
Slieep run not half so timorous from the wolf.
Or horse, or oxen, from the leopard.
As you fly from your oft-subdued slaves.
[Alarum. Another Skirmish.
It will not be : — Retire into your trenches :
You all consented unto Salisbury's death.
For none would strike a stroke in his revenge. —
Pucelle is entered into Orleans,
In spite of us, or aught that we could do.
O, would I were to die with Salisbury !
The shame hereof will make me hide my head.
[Alarum. Retreat. Exeunt Talbot and his
Forces, ^c.
SCENE VI. — The same.
Enter on the Walls, Pucelle, Charles, Reignier,
ALEN90N, and Soldiers.
Puc. Advance our waving colours on the walls ;
Rescu'd is Orleans from the English wolves : — i
Thus Joan la Pucelle hath perform'd her word.
Char. Divinest creature, bright Astraea's daughter,
How shall I honour thee for this success ?
Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens,
That one day bloom 'd, and fruitful were the next.
France, triumph in thy glorious prophetess ! —
Recover'd is the town of Orleans :
More blessed hap did ne'er befall our state.
Reig. Why ring not out the bells throughout the
town ?
f)auphin, command the citizens make bonfires.
And feast and banquet in the open streets,
To celebrate the joy that heaven hath given us.
Alen. All France will be replete with mirth and joy.
When they shall hear how we have play'd the men.
Char. ' Tis Joan, not we, by whom the day is won ;
For which, I will divide my crown with her :
And all the priests and friars in my realm
Shall, in procession, sing her endless praise.
A statelier pyi-amis to her I'll rear.
Than Rhodope's, or Memphis', ever was :
In memory of her, when she is dead,
Her ashes, in an urn more precious
Than the rich jewel'd coflTer of Darius,
Transported shall be at high festivals
Before the kings and queens of France.
No longer on saint Denis will we cry.
But Joan la Pucelle shall be France's saint.
Come in ; and let us banquet royally.
After this golden day of victory.
[Floui-ish. Exeunt,
Act II. Scene I.
KING HENRY VI.
461
ACT IL
SCENE I The same.
Enter to the Gales, a French Sergeant, a7id two
Sentinels.
Serg. Sirs, take your places, and be vigilant :
If any noise, or soldier, you perceive,
Near to the walls, by some apparent sign.
Let us have knowledge at the court of guard.'
1 Sent. Sergeant, you shall. [Exit Sergeant.
Thus are poor servitors
(When others sleep upon their quiet beds)
Constrained to watch in darkness, rain, and cold.
Enter Talbot, Berford, Burgundy, and Forces,
u'ith scaling Ladders ; their Drums beating a dead
March.
Tal. Lord regent, — and redoubted Burgundy, —
By whose approach, the regions of Artois,
Walloon, and Picardy, are friends to us. —
This happy night the Frenchmen are secure,
Having all day carous'd and banqueted :
Embrace we then this opportunity ;
As fitting best to quittance their deceit,
Contriv'd by art and baleful sorcery.
Bed. Coward of France ! — how much he wrongs
his fame,
Despairing of his own arm's fortitude,
To join with witches, and the help of hell.
Bur. Traitors have never other company. —
But what's that Pucelle, whom they term so pure ?
Tal. A maid, they say.
Bed. A maid ! and be so martial !
Bur. Pray heaven, she prove not masculine ere
long;
If underneath the standard of the French,
She carry armour, as she hath begun.
Tal. Well, let them practise and converse with
spirits :
God is our fortress ; in whose conquering name,
Let us resolve to scale their flinty bulwarks.
Bed. Ascend, brave Talbot ; we will follow thee.
Tal. Not all together ; better far, I guess,
That we do make our entrance several ways ;
That, if it chance the one of us do fail,
The other yet may rise against their force.
Bed. Agreed ; I'll to yon corner.
Bur. And I to this.
2'al. And here will Talbot mount, or make his
grave. —
Now, Salisbury ! for thee, and for the right
Of English Henry, shall this night appear
How much in duty I am bound to both.
[ The English scale the walls, cri/ing St. George !
a Talbot ! a7ul all enter by the Toum.
Sejit. [^'ithin.] Arm, arm ! the enemy doth make
assault !
The French leap over the Walls in their Shirts. Enter,
several ways, BASTARn, Alkn^on, IIeignier, //a//"
ready, and half unready.
Alen. How now, my lords? what, all unready so?
Bast. Unready ? ay, and glad we 'scap'd so well.
Beig. 'Twas time, I trow, to wake and leave our
l>eds.
Hearing alarums at our chamber doors.
• The saroe as guard- room.
Alen. Of all exploits, since first I follow 'd arms.
Ne'er heard I of a warlike enterprize
More venturous, or desperate than this.
Bast. I think, this Talbot be a fiend of hell.
Reig. If not of hell, the heavens, sure, favour him.
Alen. Here Cometh Charles; I marvel how he sped.
Enter Charles and La Pucelle.
Bast. Tut ! holy Joan was his defensive guard.
Char. Is this thy cunning, thou deceitful dame ?
Didst thou at first, to flatter us withal,
Make us partakers of a little gain.
That now our loss might be ten times so much ?
Puc. Wherefore is Charles impatient with his
friend ?
At all times will you have my power alike ?
Sleeping, or waking, must 1 still prevail,
Or will you blame and lay the fault on me ? —
Improvident soldiers ! had your watch been good.
This sudden mischief never could have fall'n.
Char. Duke of Alengon, this was your default ;
That, being captain of the watch to-night,
Did look no better to that weighty charge.
Alen. Had all your quarters been as safely kept,
As that whereof I had the government,
We had not been tlms shamefully surpriz'd.
Bast. Mine was secure.
Reig. And so was mine, my lord.
Char. And, for myself, most part of all this ni^ht,
Within her quarter, and mine own precinct,
I was employ'd in passing to and fro,
About relieving of the sentinels :
Then how, or which way, should they first break in ?
Puc. Question, my lords, no further of the case,
How, or which way ; 'tis sure, they found some place
But weakly guarded, where the breach was made.
And now there rests no other shift but this, —
To gather our soldiers, scatter'd and dispers'd,
And lay new platforms ^ to endamage them.
Alarum. Enter an English Soldier, crying A Talbot !
A Talbot ! Theyjly, leaving their Clothes behind.
Sold. I'll be so bold to take what they have left.
The cry of Talbot serves me for a sword ;
For I have loaden me with many spoils.
Using no other weapon but his name. [Exit.
SCENE II. — Orleans. Within the Totcn.
Enter Talbot, BEBFORn, Burgundy, a Captain,
and others.
Bed. The day begins to break, and night is fled,
Whose pitchy mantle over-veil'd the cartJ).
Here sound retreat, and cease our hot pursuit.
[Retreat sounded.
Tal. Bring forth the body of old Salisbury ;
And here advance it in the market-place,
The middle centre of this cursed town. —
Now I have paid my vow unto his soul ;
For every drop of blood was drawn from him,
There hath at least five Frenchmen died to-night.
And, that hereafter ages may behold
What ruin happen'd in revenge of him,
Within their chiefest temple I'll erect
• Plans, schemes.
462
FIRST PART OF
Act IJ.
A tomb, wherein his corpse shall be interr'd :
Upon the which, that every one may read,
Shall be engrav'd the sack of Orleans ;
The treacherous manner of his mournful death,
And what a terror he had been to France.
But, lords, in all our bloody massacre,
I muse 3 we met not with the dauphin's grace ;
His new-come champion, virtuous Joan of Arc ;
Nor any of his false confederates.
Bed. *Tis thought, lord Talbot, when the fight
began,
Rous'd on the sudden from their drowsy beds,
They did, amongst the troops of armed men.
Leap o'er the walls for refuge in the field.
Bur. Myself (as far as I could well discern.
For smoke, and dusky vapours of the niglit,)
Am sure I scar'd the dauphin and his trull ;
When arm in arm they both came' swiftly running,
Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves,
That could not live asunder day or night.
After that things are set in order here,
We'll follow them with all the power we have.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. All hail, my lords ! which of this princely
train
Call ye the warlike Talbot, for his acts
So much applauded through the realm of PVance?
Ted. Here is the Talbot ; who would speak with
him?
Mess. The virtuous lady, countess of Auvergne,
With modesty admiring thy renown,
By me entreats, good lord, thou wouldst vouchsafe
To visit her poor castle where she lies ^ ;
That she may boast she hath beheld the man
Whose glory fills the world with loud report.
Bur. Is it even so ? Nay, then, I see, our wars
Will turn into a peaceful comick sport.
When ladies crave to be encounter'd with. —
You may not, my lord, despise her gentle suit.
Tal. Ne'er trust me then ; for, when a world of men
Could not prevail with all their oratory,
Yet hath a woman's kindness over-rul'd : —
And therefore tell her, I return great thanks ;
And in submission will attend on her. —
Will not your honours bear me company ?
Bed. No, truly, it is more than manners will :
And I have heard it said, — Unbidden guests
Are often welcomest wlien they are gone.
Tal. Well then, alone, since there's no remedy,
I mean to prove this lady's courtesy.
Come hither, captain. [Whispers.] — You perceive
my mind.
Capt. I do, my lord, and mean accordingly.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IIL — Auvergne. Court of the Castle.
Enter the Countess atid her Porter.
Count. Porter, remember what I gave in charge ;
And, when you have done so, bring the keys to me.
Port. Madam, I will. [Exit.
Count. The plot is laid : if all things fall out right,
I shall as famous be by this exploit,
As Scythian Thomyris by Cyrus' death.
Great is the rumour of this dreadful knight,
And his achievements of no less account :
Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears.
To give their censure ^ of these rare reports.
Wonder
* Or'"ion.
Enter Messenger and Talbot.
Mess. Madam,
According as your ladyship desir'd,
By message crav'd, so is lord Talbot come. •
Count. And he is welcome. What ! is thistheman?
Mess. Madam, it is.
Count. Is this the scourge of France ?
Is this the Talbot, so much fear'd abroad.
That with his name the mothers still their babes ?
I see report is fabulous and false :
I thought, I should have seen some Hercules,
A second Hector, for his grim aspect.
And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs.
Alas ! this is a child, a silly dwarf :
It cannot be, this weak and writhled ^ shrimp
Should strike such terror to his enemies.
Tal. Madam, I have been bold to trouble you :
But, since your ladyship is not at leisure,
I'll sort some other time to visit you.
Count. What means he now ? — Go, ask him whi-
ther he goes.
Mess. Stay, my lord Talbot ; for my lady craves
To know the cause of your abrupt departure.
Tal. Marry, for that she's in a wrong belief,
I go to certify her, Talbot's here.
Re-enter Porter, mkh Keys.
Count. If thou be he, then art thou prisoner.
Tal. Prisoner ! to whom ?
Count. To me, blood-thirsty lord ;
And for that cause I train'd thee to my house.
Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me.
For in my gallery thy picture hangs :
But now the substance shall endure the like ;
And I will chain these legs and arms of thine.
That hast by tyranny, these many years,
Wasted our country, slain our citizens.
And sent our sons and husbands captivate.
Tal. Ha, ha, ha !
Count. Laughest thou, wretch ? thy mirth shall
turn to moan.
Tal. I laugh to see your ladyship so fond 7,
To think that you have aught but Talbot's shadow.
Whereon to practise your severity.
Count. Why, art not thou the man ?
T'al. I am indeed.
Count. Then have I substance too.
Tal. No, no, 1 am but shadow of myself :
You are deceiv'd, my substance is not here ;
For what you see, is but the smallest part
And least proportion of humanity :
I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here,
It is of such a spacious lofty pitch.
Your roof were not sufficient to contain it.
Count. This is a riddling merchant for the nonce ^ ;
He will be here, and yet he is not here :
How can these contrarieties agree ?
2'al. That will I show you presently.
He vAnds a Horn. Drums heard ; then a Peal of
Ordnance. The Gates being forced, enter Soldiers.
How say you, madam ? are you now persuaded.
That Talbot is but shadow of himself?
These are his substance, sinews, arms, and strength.
With which he yoketh your rebellious necks ;
Razeth your cities, and subverts your towns.
And in a moment makes them desolate.
Count. Victorious Talbot ! pardon my abuse :
7 Foolish.
8 For a purpose.
Scene IV.
KING HENRY VI.
463
I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited^,
And more than may be gather'd by thy shape.
Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath ;
For I am sorry, that with reverence
I did not entertain thee as thou art.
Tal. Be not dismay'd, fair lady ; nor misconstrue
The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake
The outward composition of his body.
What you have done, hath not ofiended me :
No other satisfaction do I crave,
But only (with your patience) that we may
Taste of your wine, and see what cates you have ;
For soldiers' stomachs always serve them well.
Count. With all my heart : and think me honoured
To feast so great a warrior in my house. [^Exeunt.
SCENE IV.— London. The T^m^le Garden.
Enter the Earls of Somerset, Suffolk, arid War-
wick ; Richard Plantagenet, Veknon, and
another Lawyer.
Vlan. Great lords, and gentlemen, what means
this silence ?
Dare no man answer in a case of truth ?
Snf. Within the Temple hall we were too loud ;
The garden here is more convenient.
Plan. Then say at once, If I maintained the truth ;
Or, else, was wrangling Somerset in the error?
Suf. ' Faith, I have been a truant in the law ;
And never yet could frame my will to it ;
And, therefore, frame the law unto my will.
Som. Judge you, my lord of Warwick, then be-
tween us.
War. Between two hawks, which flies the higher
pitch.
Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth,
Between two blades, which bears the better temper.
Between two horses, which dotii bear him best.
Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye,
I have, perhaps, some shallow spirit of judgment :
But in these nice sharp quillets of the law.
Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw.
Flan. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance :
The truth appears so naked on my side.
That any purblind eye may find it out.
Sum. And on my side it is so well apparell'd.
So clear, so shining, and so evident.
That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye.
Plan. Since you are tongue-ty'd and so loath to
speak.
In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts :
Let him, that is a true-born gentleman.
And stands upon the honour of his birth.
If he suppose that I have pleaded truth.
From off this briar pluck a white rose with me.
Som. Let him that is no coward, nor no flatterer.
But dare maintain the party of the truth.
Pluck a red rose from oflTthis thorn with me.
War. I love no colours ' ; and, without all colour
Of base insinuating flattery,
I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.
Snf. I pluck this red rose, with young Somerset ;
And say withal, I think he held the right.
Ver. Stay, lords and gentlemen : and pluck no
more,
Till you conclude — that he, upon whose side
The fewest roses are cropp'd from the tree,
Shall yield tlie other in the right opinion.
• Noise*!, reported.
Som. Good master Venion, it is well objected ' ;
If I have fewest I subscribe in silence.
Plan. And I.
Ver. Then, for the truth and plainness of the case,
I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here,
Giving my verdict on the white rose side.
Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it oflf";
Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red,
And fall on my side so against your will.
Ver. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed.
Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt.
And keep me on the side where still I am.
Som^ Well, well, come on : Who else ?
Law. Unless my study and my books be false,
The argument you held, was wrong in you ;
[^To Somerset.
In sign whereof, I phick a white rose too.
Plan. Now, Somerset, where is your argument ?
Som. Here, in my scabbard, meditating that.
Shall die your white rose in a bloody red.
Plan. Mean time, your cheeks do coimterfeit our
Deceits ; a play on the word.
For pale they look with fear, as witnessing
The truth on our side.
Som. No, Plantagenet,
'Tis not for fear ; but anger, — that thy cheeks
Blush for pure shame, to counterfeit our roses ;
And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error.
Plan. Hath not tliy rose a canker, Somerset ?
Som. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet ?
P/an. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain histruth ;
Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood.
Som. Well, I'll find friends to wear my bleeding
roses,
Tliat shall maintain what I have said is true,
Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen.
Plan. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand,
I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy.
Suf. Turn not thy scorns this way, IMantagenct.
Plan. Proud Poole, I will j and scorn both him
and thee.
Suf. I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat.
Som. Away, away, good William De-la- Poole !
We grace the yeoman, by conversing with him.
War, Now, by my life, thou wrong'st him, Somer-
set ;
His grandfather was Lionel, dnke of Clarence,
Third son to the third Edward king of England j
Spring crestless yeomen 3 from so deep a root ?
Plan. He bears him on the place's privilege *,
Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus.
Som. By him that made me, I'll maintain n)y words
On any plot of ground in Christendom :
Was not thy father, Richard, earl of Cambridge,
For treason executed in our late king's days ?
And, by his treason, stand'st not thou attainted.
Corrupted, and exempt * from ancient gentiy ?
His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood :
And, till thou be restor'd, thou art a yeoman.
Plan. My father was attached, not attainted ;
Condemn'd to die for treason, but no ti-aitor ;
And that I'll prove on better men than Somerset,
Were growing time once ripen'd to my will.
For your partaker Poole, and you yourself,
I'll note you in my book of memory.
To scourge you for tliis apprehension ^ :
Look to it well ; and say you are well warn'd.
' Proposed. * t e. Tho«e who have no right to arms.
< The Temple, being a religious house, was a sanctuary.
^ Excluded ^ Opinion.
464f
FIRST PART OF
Act U.
Som. Ay, thou shall find us ready for thee still :
And know us, by these colours, for thy foes ;
For these my friends, in spite of thee, shall wear.
Plan. And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose,
As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate,
Will I for ever, and my faction, wear ;
Until it wither with me to my grave,
Or flourish to the height of my degree.
Suf. Go forward, and be chok'd with thy ambition !
And so farewell, until 1 meet thee next. \^Exit.
Som. Have with tliee, Poole. — Farewell, ambi-
tious Richard. [^Exit.
Plan. How I am brav'd, and must perforce en-
dure it !
War. This blot, that they object against your house,
Shall be wip'd out in the next parliament,
C'all'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloster :
And, if thou be not then created York,
1 will not live to be accounted Warwick.
Mean time, in signal of my love to thee.
Against proud Somerset, and William Poole,
Will I upon thy party wear this rose :
And here I prophesy. — This brawl to-day.
Grown to this faction, in the Temple garden,
Shall send, between the red rose and the white,
A thousand souls to death and deadly night.
Plan. Good master Vernon, I am bound to you.
That you on my behalf would pluck a flower.
Ver. In your behalf still will I wear the same.
Laiu. And so will I.
Plan. Thanks, gentle sir.
Come, let us four to dinner : I dare say,
1'his quarrel will drink blood another day. [ Exeunt.
SCENE v. — A Room in tJie Tower.
Enter Mortimer, brought in a Chair by two Keepers.
Mor. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age,
Let dying Mortimer here rest himself. —
Even like a man new haled from the rack.
So fare my limbs with long imprisonment :
And these grey locks, the pursuivants 7 of death,
Nestor-like aged, in an age of care,
Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer.
These eyes — like lamps whose wasting oil is spent,
Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent s ;
Weak shoulders, overborne with burd'ning grief,
And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine
That droops his sapless branches to the gi-ound : —
Yet are these feet — whose strengthless stay is numb.
Unable to support this lump of clay, —
Swift-winged with desire to get a grave.
As witting I no other comfort have. —
But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come ?
1 Keep. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come.
We sent unto the Temple, to his chamber ;
And answer was return'd, that he will come.
Mor. Enough ; my soul shall then be satisfied. —
Poor gentleman ! his wrong doth equal mine.
Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign,
(Before whose glory 1 was great in arms,)
This loathsome sequestration have I had ;
And even since then hath Richard been obscur'd,
Depriv'd of honour and inheritance :
But now, the arbitrator of despairs,
Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries,
With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence ;
I would, his troubles likewise were expir'd,
That so he might recover what was lost.
7 Pursuivants are officers who attend upon heralds.
8 End.
Enter Richard Plantagenet.
1 Keep. My lord, your loving nephew now is come.
Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my friehd ? Is he come ?
Plan. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly us'd.
Your nephew, late-despised Richard, comes.
Mor. Direct mine arms, I may embrace his neck,
And in his bosom spend my latter gasp :
O, tell me, when my lips do touch his cheeks,
That I may kindly give one fainting kiss. —
And now declare, sweet stem from York's great stock.
Why didst thou say — of late thou wert despis'd ?
Plan. First, lean thine aged back against mi ne arm ?
And, in that ease, I'll tell thee my disease. 9
This day, in argument upon a case,
Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me :
Among which terms he used his lavish tongue,
And did upbraid me with my father's death ;
Which obloquy set bars before my tongue,
Else with the like I had requited him :
Therefore, good uncle, — for my father's sake,
In honour of a true Plantagenet,
And for alliance' sake, — declare the cause
My father, earl of Cambridge, lost his head.
Mor. That cause, fair nephew, that imprison'd me,
And hath detain'd me, all my flow'ring youth.
Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine.
Was cursed instrument of his decease.
Plan. Discover more at large what cause that was :
For I am ignorant, and cannot guess.
Mor. I will ; if that my fading breath permit,
And death approach not ere my tale be done.
Henry the fourth, grandfather to this king,
Depos'd his cousin Richard ; Edward's son.
The first-begotten, and the lawful heir
Of Edward king, the third of that descent :
During whose reign, the Percies of the north.
Finding his usurpation most unjust,
Endeavour'd my advancement to the throne :
The reason mov'd these warlike lords to this,
Was — for that (young king Richard thus remov'd,
Leaving no heir begotten of his body,)
I was the next by birth and parenta^ ;
For by my mother I derived am
From Lionel duke of Clarence, the third son
To king Edward the third, whereas he.
From John of Gaunt doth bring his pedigree.
Being but fourth of that heroick line.
But mark ; as, in this haughty great attempt.
They laboured to plant the rightful heir,
I lost my liberty, and they their lives.
Long after this, when Henry the fifth, —
Succeeding his father Bolingbroke, — did reign,
Thy father, earl of Cambridge, — then deriv'd.
From famous Edmund Langley, duke of York, —
Marrying my sister, that my mother was.
Again, in pity of my hard distress.
Levied an army ; weening ' to redeem.
And have install'd me in the diadem :
But, as the rest, so fell that noble earl.
And was beheaded. Thus the Mortimers,
In whom the title rested, were suppress'd.
Plan. Of which, my lord, your honour is the last.
Mor. True ; and thou seest, that I no issue have j
And that my fainting words do warrant death :
Thou art my heir ; the rest, I wish thee gather :
But yet be wary in thy studious care.
Plan. Thy grave admonishments prevail with me:
But yet, methinks, my father's execution
Was nothing less than bloody tyranny.
9 Uneasiness, discontent. ' Thinking.
Act III. Scene I.
KING HENRY VI.
^65
Mor. With silence, nephew, be thou politick ;
Strong-fixed is the house of Lancaster,
And, like a mountain, not to be remov'd.
But now thy uncle is removing hence ;
As princes do their courts, when they are cloy'd
With long continuance in a settled place.
Plan. O, uncle, 'would some part of my young
years
Might but redeem the passage of your age !
Mor. Thou dost then wrong me ; as the slaught'rer
doth,
Which giveth many wounds, when one will kill.
Mourn not, except thou sorrow for my good ;
Only, give order for my funeral ;
And so farewell ; and fair be all thy hopes !
And prosperous be thy life, in peace, and war. \^Dies.
. Plan. And peace, no war, befall thy parting soul !
In prison hast thou spent a pilgrimage.
And like a hermit overpass'd thy days. —
Well, I will lock his counsel in my breast ;
And what I do imagine, let that rest. —
Keepers, convey him hence ; and I myself
Will see his burial better than his life. —
[Exeunt Keepers, bearing out Mortimer.
Here dies the dusky torch of Mortimer,
Chok'd with ambition of the meaner sort : —
And, for those wrongs, those bitter injuries.
Which Somerset hath ofFer'd to my house, —
I doubt not, but with honour to redrew ;
And therefore haste I to the parliament;
Either to be restored to my blood.
Or make my ill the advantage of my good. \^Exit.
ACT III.
SCENE I. — The Parliament House.
Flourish. Enter King Henry, Exeter, Gloster,
Warwick, Somerset, and Suffolk ; the Bishop
OF Winchester, Richard Plantagenet, and
others. G loster o^ers to put up a Bill ^ s Win-
chester snatches it, and tears it.
Win. Com'st thou with deep premeditated lines.
With written pamphlets studiously devis'd,
Humphrey of Gloster? if thou canst accuse.
Or aught intend'st to lay unto my charge,
Do it without invention suddenly ;
As I with sudden and extemporal speech
Purpose to answer what thou canst object.
Glo. Presumptuous priest ! this place commands
my patience.
Or thou shouldst find thou hast dishonour'd me.
Think not, although in writing I preferr'd
The manner of thy vile outrageous crimes,
That therefore I have forg'd or am not able
Verbatim to rehearse the method of my pen :
No, prelate ; such is thy audacious wickedness.
Thy vile, pestiferous, and dissentious pranks,
Tliat very infants prattle of thy pride.
Thou art a most pernicious usurer :
Fro ward by nature, enemy to peace ;
Lascivious, wanton, more than well beseems
A man of thy profession, and degree ;
And for thy treachery. What's more manifest?
In that thou laid'st a trap to take my life.
As well at London bridge, as at the Tower ?
Beside, I fear me, if thy thoughts were sifted,
Tlie king, thy sovereign, is not quite exempt
From envious malice of tliy swelling heart.
frin. Gloster, I do defy thee. — Lords, vouchsafe
To give me hearing what I shall reply.
If 1 were covetous, ambitious, or perverse.
As he >%'ill have me. How am I so poor ?
Or how haps it, I seek not to advance
Or raise myself, but keep my wonted calling?
And for dissension, Who prcferretli peace
More than I do, — except I be provok'd?
No, my good lords, it is not that offends;
It is not tliat, that hath incens'd the duke :
It is, because no one should sway but he ;
No one, but he, should be about the king ;
' i. e. Articlet of Accusation.
And that engenders thunder in his breast.
And makes him roar these accusations forth.
But he shall know, I am as good .
Glo. As good :
Thou bastard of my grandfather ! —
Will. Ay, lordly sir ; For what are you, I pray,
But one imperious in another's throne ?
Glo. Am 1 not the protector, saucy priest?
JVin. And am I not a prelate of the church?
Glo. Yes, as an outlaw in a castle keeps,
And useth it to patronage his theft.
fVin. Unreverent Gloster !
Glo. Thou art reverent
Touching thy spiritual function, not thy life.
Win. This Rome shall remedy.
War. Roam thither, then.
Som. My lord, it were your duty to forbear.
War. Ay, see the bishop be not overborne.
Som. Methinks, my lord should be religious.
And know the office that belongs to such.
War. Methinks his lordship should be humbler;
It fitteth not a prelate so to plead.
Som. Yes, when his holy state is touch'd so near.
War. State holy, or unhallow'd, what of that ?
Is not his grace protector to the king?
Plan. Plantagenet, I see, must hold his tongue;
Lest it be said, Speak, sirrah, when you should ,-
Must your bold verdict enter talk with lords 9
Else would I have a fling at Winchester. [^side.
IT. Hen. Uncles of Gloster, and of Winchester,
The special watchmen of our English weal ;
I would prevail, if prayers might prevail.
To join your hearts in love and amity.
O, what a scandal is it to our crown.
That two such noble peers as ye should jar !
Believe me, lords, my tender years can tell.
Civil dissension is a viperous worm.
That gnaws the bowels of the commonwealth. —
[A noise within ; Down with tije tawny coats !
What tumult's this?
War. An uproar, I dare warrant.
Begun through malice of the bishop's men.
[A noise again ; Stones ! Stones !
Enter tlie Mayor of I-ondon, attended.
May. O, my good lords, — and virtuous Henry,
Pity the city of London, pity us !
The bishop's and the duke of Gloster's men,
Hh
466
FIRST PART OF
Act III.
Forbidden late to carry any weapon,
Have fill'd their pockets full of pebble-stones ;
And, banding themselves in contrary parts,
Do pelt so fast at one another's pate,
That many have their giddy brains knock'd out.
Our windows are broke down in every street.
And we, for fear, compell'd to shut our shops.
Enter, skirmishing, the Retainers of Gloster and
Winchester, with bloody pates.
K. Hen. We charge you, on allegiance to ourself,
To hold your slaught'ring hands, and keep the peace.
Pray, uncle Gloster, mitigate this strife.
1 Serv. Nay, if we be
Forbidden stones, we'll fall to it with our teeth.
2 Serv. Do what ye dare, we are as resolute.
{^Skirmish again.
Glo. You of my household, leave tlus peevish broil,
And set this unaccustom'd fight aside.
3 Serv- My lord, we know your grace to be a man
Just and upright ; and, for your royal birth,
Inferior to none, but to his majesty :
And ere that we will suffer such a prince,
So kind a father of the commonweal,
To be disgraced by an inkhorn mate,
We, and our wives, and children, all will fight,
And have our bodies slaughter'd by thy foes.
1 Serv. Ay, and the very parings of our nails
Shall pitch a field, when we are dead.
[^Skirmish again.
Glo. Stay, stay, I say !
And, if you love me, as you say you do,
Let me persuade you to forbear a while.
K. Hen. O, how this discord doth afflict my soul !
Can you, my lord of Winchester, behold
My sighs and tears, and will not once relent ?
Who should be pitiful, if you be not?
Or who should study to prefer a peace.
If holy churchmen take delight in broils ?
War. My lord protector, yield ; — yield Win-
chester J ■ —
Except you mean, with obstinate repulse.
To slay your sovereign, and destroy the realm.
You see what mischief, and what murder too.
Hath been enacted through your enmity ;
Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood.
Win. He shall submit, or I will never yield.
Glo. Compassion on the king commands me stoop !
Or, I would see his heart out, ere the priest
Should ever get that privilege of me.
War. Behold, my lord of Winchester, the duke
Hath banish'd moody discontented fury,
As by his smoothed brows it doth appear :
Why look you still so stern, and tragical ?
Glo. Here, Winchester, I offer thee my hand.
K. Hen. Fye, uncle Beaufort ! I have heard you
preach,
That malice was a great and grievous sin :
And vdll not you maintain the thing you teach.
But prove a chief offender in the same ?
War. Sweet king ! — the bishop hath a kindly gird. 3
For shame, my lord of Winchester ! relent ;
What, shall a child instruct you what to do ?
Win. Well, duke of Gloster, I will yield to thee;
Love for thy love, and hand for hand t give.
Glo. Ay ; but, I fear me, with a hollow heart
See here, my friends, and loving countrymen ;
This token serveth for a flag of truce.
Betwixt ourselves, and all our followers ;
So help me God, as I dissemble not !
3 Feels an emotion of kindness.
Win. So help me God, as I intend it not! [^ Aside.
K. Hen. O loving uncle, kind duke of Gloster,
How joyful am I made by this contract ! —
Away, my masters ! trouble us no more ;
But join in friendship, as your lords have done.
1 Serv. Content ! I'll to the surgeon's.
2 Serv. And so will I.
3 Serv. And I will see what physick the tavern
affords. \_Exeunt Servants, Mayor, ^c.
War. Accept this scroll, most gracious sovereign,
Which in the right of Richard Plantagenet,
We do exhibit to your majesty.
Glo. Well urg'd, my lord of Warwick ; — for,
sweet prince,
And if your grace mark every circumstance.
You have great reason to do Richard right :
Especially, for those occasions
At Eltham-place I told your majesty.
K. Hen. And those occasions, uncle^ were of force:
Therefore, my loving lords, our pleasure is,
That Richaj-d be restored to his blood.
War. Let Richard be restored to his blood ;
So shall his father's wrongs be recompens'd.
Win. As will the rest, so willeth Winchester.
K, Hen. If Richard will be true, not that alone,
But all the whole inheritance I give.
That doth belong unto the house of York,
From whence you spring by lineal descent.
Tlan. Thy humble servant vows obedience,
And humble service, till the point of death.
K. Hen. Stoop then, and set your knee against
my foot ;
And, in reguerdon •* of that duty done,
I girt thee with the valiant sword of York.
Rise, Richard, like a true Plantagenet ;
And rise created princely duke of York.
Plan, And so thrive Richard, as thy foes may fall !
And as my duty springs so perish they
That grudge one thought against your majesty !
AU. Welcome, high prince, the mighty duke of
York!
Sam. Perish, base prince, ignoble duke of York !
[Aside.
Glo. Now will it best avail your majesty.
To cross the seas, and to be crown'd in France :
The presence of a king engenders love
Amongst his subjects, and his loyal friends ;
As it disanimates his enemies.
IT. Hen. When Gloster says the word, king Henry
goes J
For friendly counsel cuts off many foes.
Glo. Your ships already are in readiness.
[Exeunt all but Exeter.
Exe. Ay, we may march in England, or in France,
Not seeing what is likely to ensue :
This late dissension, grown betwixt the peers,
Burns under feigned ashes of forg'd love,
And will at last break out into a flame :
As fester 'd members rot but by degrees.
Till bones, and flesh, and sinews fall away.
So vdll this base and envious discord breed.
And now I fear that fatal prophecy,
Which, in the time of Henry, aam'd the fifth.
Was in the mouth of every sucking babe,
That Henry, born at Monmouth, should win all j
And Henry, born at Windsor, should lose all ;
Which is so plain, that Exeter doth wish
His days may finish ere that hapless time. [Exit.
1 Recompense.
Scene II.
KING HENRY VI.
467
I
SCENE II.— France. Before Rouen.
Enter La Pucelle disguised, and Soldiers dressed
like Countrymen, vdtli Sacks upon their backs.
Puc. These are the city gates, the gates of RoUen.
Through which our policy must make a breach :
Take lieed, be wary how you place your words ;
Talk like the vulgar sort of market-men,
That come to gather money for their corn.
If we have entrance, (as, I hope, we shall,)
And that we find the slothful watch but weak,
I'll by a sign give notice to our friends,
That Charles the dauphin may encounter tliem.
1 Sold. Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city.
And we be lords and rulers over Roilen ;
Therefore we'll knock. [^Knocks.
Guard. [Within.] Qui est Id 9
Puc. Paisatis, pauvres gens de France :
Poor market-folks, that come to sell their corn.
Guard. Enter, go in : the market-bell is rung.
[^Opens the Gates.
Puc. Now Roiten, I'll shake thy bulwarks to the
ground.
[PucELLE, <^c. enter the City.
Enter Charles, Bastard of Orleans, ALEN90N,
and Forces.
Char. Saint Denis bless this happy stratagem !
And once again we'll sleep secure in Roiien.
Bast. Here enter'd Pucelle, and her practisants * j
Now she is there, how will she specify
Where is the best and safest passage in ?
AUn. By thrusting out a torch from yonder tower ;
Which once discern'd shows that her meaning is, —
No way to that®, for weakness, which she enter'd.
Enter La Pucelle on a Battlement ; holding out a
Torch burning.
Puc. Behold, this is the happy wedding torch.
That joineth Roiien unto her countrymen ;
But burning fatal to the Talbotites.
Bast. See, noble Cheu-les ! the beacon of our
friend,
The burning torch in yonder turret stands.
Char. Now shine it like a comet of revenge,
A prophet to tlie fall of all our foes !
Alen. Defer no time. Delays have dangerous ends ;
Enter, and cry — The Daiiphinf — presently.
And then to execution on the watch. [They enter.
Alarums* Enter Talbot, and certain English.
Tal. France, thou shalt rue this treason with thy
tears,
If Talbot but survive thy treachery. —
Pucelle, that witch, that cursed sorceress.
Hath wrought this hellish mischief unawares,
Tliat hardly we escap'd the pride of France.
[Exeunt to the Town.
Alarum : Excursions. Enter from the Town, Bed-
ford, brought in sick, in a Chair, with Talbot,
Burgundy, and the English Forces. Then enter,
on tlie Walls, La Pucelle, Charles, Bastard,
ALEN90N, arvd others.
Puc. Good morrow, gallants ! want ye corn for
bread ?
I think, the duke of Burgundy will fast,
Before he'll buy again at such a rate :
'Twas full of darnel ; Do you like the taste ?
» Confederate* in stratagems. • 1. e. No way equal to that
Bur. Scoffon, vile fiend, and shameless courtezan !
I trust, ere long, to choke thee with thine own.
And make thee curse the harvest of that com.
Char. Your grace may starve, perhaps, before
that time.
Bed. O, let no words, but deeds, revenge this
treason !
Puc. What will you do, good grey-beard ? break
a lance.
And run a tilt at death within a chair ?
Tal. Foul fiend of France, and hag of all despite,
Becomes it thee to taunt his valiant age.
And twit with cowardice a man half dead ?
Damsel, I'll have a bout with you again.
Or else let Talbot perish with this shame.
Puc. Arc you so hot, sir ? — Yet, Pucelle, hold
thy peace ;
If Talbot do but thunder, rain will follow. —
[Talbot, and the rest consult together.
Tal. Dare ye come forth and meet us in the field ?
Puc. Belike, your lordship takes us then for fools.
To try if that our own be ours, or no.
Tal. I speak not to that railing Hecate,
But unto thee, Alen9on, and the rest;
Will ye, like soldiers, come and fight it out ?
Alen. Signior, no.
Tal. Signior, hang ! — base muleteers of France !
Like peasant foot-boys do they keep the walls ;
And dare not take up arms like gentlemen.
Puc. Captains, away : let's get us from the walls ;
For Talbot means no goodness, by his looks. —
We came, sir, but to tell you we are here.
[ExeurU La Pucelle, ^c.from the WaUs.
Tal. And there will we be too, ere it be long.
Or else reproach be Talbot's greatest fame ! —
Vow, Burgundy, by honour of thy house,
( Prick 'd on by publick wrongs, sustain 'd in France,)
Either to get the town again, or die :
And I, — as sure as English Henry lives.
And as his father here was conqueror ;
As sure as in this late betrayed town
Great Coeur-de-lion's heart was buried ;
So sure I swear to get the town, or die.
Btir. My vows are equal partners with thy vows.
Tal. But, ere we go, regard this dying prince,
The valiant duke of Bedford : — Come, my lord.
We will bestow you in some better place,
Fitter for sickness, and for crazy age.
Bed. Lord Talbot, do not so dishonour me :
Here will I sit before the walls of Roiien,
And will be partner of your weal, or woe.
Bur. Courageous Bedford, let us now persuade
you.
Bed. Not to be gone from hence ; for once I read.
That stout Pendrj^on, in his litter, sick,
Came to the field, and vanquished his foes :
Methinks, I should revive the soldiers' hearts.
Because I ever found them as myself.
Tal. Undaunted spirit in a dying breast ! —
Then be it so : — Heavens keep old Bedford safe ! —
And now no more ado, brave Burgundy,
But gather we our forces out of hand,
And set upon our boasting enemy.
[Exeunt Burgundy, Talbot, andForcett
leaving Bedford, and others.
Alarums: Excursions. Enter Sib. J oHV Fkstoltk,
and a Captain.
Cap. Whither away, sir John Fastolfe, in such
haste ?
Hh 2
468
FIRST PART OF
Act III.
Fast. Whither away ? to save myself by flight ;
We are like to have tlie overthrow again.
Cap. What! will you fly, and leave lord Talbot?
Fast. Ay,
All the Talbots in the world to save my life. [Ex-it.
Cap. Cowardly knight ! ill fortune follow thee !
[ErU.
Retreat: Excursions. Enter from the Town, La
PucELLE, ALEN50N, Charles, ^c. arid exeunt,
flying-
Bed. Now, quiet soul, depart when heaven please ;
For I have seen our enemies' overthrow.
What is the trust or strength of foolish men ?
They, that of late were daring with their scoffs.
Are glad and fain by flight to save themselves.
[Dies, and is carried off in Ms Chair.
Alarum : Enter Talbot, Burgundy, and others.
Tal. Lost, and recover'd in a day again !
This is a double honour. Burgundy:
Yet, heavens have glory for this victory !
Bur. Warlike and martial Talbot, Burgundy
Enshrines thee in his heart ; and there erects
Thy noble deeds, as valour's monument.
Tal. Thanks, gentle duke. But where is Pucelle
now?
I think, her old familiar is asleep :
Now Where's the Bastard's braves, and Charles his
gleeks?7
What, all a-mort ? 8 Rolien hangs her head for grief,
That such a valiant company are fled.
Now will we take some order 9 in the town,
Placing therein some expert officers ;
And then depart to Paris, to the king :
For there young Harry, with his nobles, lies.
Bur. What wills lord Talbot, pleaseth Burgundy.
Tal. But yet, before we go, let's not forget
The noble duke of Bedford, late deceas'd.
But see his exequies ' fulfiU'd in RoUen ;
A braver soldier never couched lance,
A gentler heart did never sway in court :
But kings, and mightiest potentates, must die ;
For that's the end of human misery. [Exeunt.
SCENE III. — The Plains near the City.
Enter Charles, the Bastard, ALEN90N, La
Pucelle, and Forces.
Puc. Dismay not, princes, at this accident,
Nor grieve that Roiien is so recovered :
Care is no cure, but rather corrosive,
For things that are not to be remedied.
Let frantick Talbot triumph for a while.
And like a peacock sweep along his tail ;
We'll pull his plumes, and take away his train.
If dauphin, and the rest, will be but rul'd.
Char. We have been guided by thee hitherto.
And of thy cunning had no diffidence ;
One sudden foil shall never breed distrust.
Bast. Search out thy wit for secret policies.
And we will make thee famous through the world.
Alen. We'll set thy statue in some holy place.
And have thee reverenc'd like a blessed saint ;
Employ thee then, sweet virgin, for our good.
Puc. Then thus it must be ; this doth Joan devise:
By fair persuasions, mix'd with sugar'd words,
We will entice the duke of Burgundy
To leave the Talbot, and to follow us.
7 Scoffs. * 8 Quite dispirited.
9 Make soiti« necessary dispositions. ' Funeral rites.
Char. Ay, marry, sweeting, if we could do that,
France were no place for Henry's warriors ;
Nor should that nation boast it so with us.
But be extirped from our provinces.
Alen. For ever should they be expuls'd^ from
France,
And not have title to an earldom here.
Puc. Your honours shall perceive how I will work,
To bring this matter to the wished end.
[Drums heard.
Hark ! by the sound of di-um, you may perceive
Their powers are marching unto Paris-ward.
An English March. Enter, and pass over at a dis-
tance, Talbot and his Forces.
There goes the Talbot, with his colours spread ;
And all the troops of English after liim.
A French March. Enter the Duke of Burgundy,
and Forces.
Now in the rearward comes the duke, and his ;
Fortune, in favour, makes him lag behind.
Summon a parley, we will talk with him.
[A parley sounded.
Char. A parley with the duke of Burgundy.
Bur. Who craves a parley with the Burgundy ?
Puc. Tlie princely Charles of France, thy country-
man.
Bur. What say'st thou, Charles ? for I am march-
ing hence.
Char. Speak, Pucelle ; and enchant him with thy
words.
Puc. Brave Burgundy,undoubted hope of France !
Stay, let thy humble handmaid speak to thee.
Bur. Speak on ; but be not over-tedious.
Puc. Look on thy country, look on fertile France,
And see the cities and the towns defac'd
By wasting ruin of the cruel foe !
As looks the mother on her lowly babe.
When death doth close his tender dying eyes,
See, see, the pining malady of France ;
Behold the wounds, the most unnatural wounds,
Which thou thyself hast given her woeful breast !
O, turn thy edged sword another way ;
Strike those that hurt, and hurt not those that help !
One drop of blood, drawn from thy country's bosom,
Should grieve thee more than streams of foreign
gore;
Return thee, therefore, with a flood of tears.
And wash away thy country's stained spots !
Bur. Either she hath bewitch'd me with her
words,
Or nature makes me suddenly relent.
Puc. Besides, all French and France exclaims on
thee.
Doubting thy birth and lawful progeny.
Who join'st thou with, but with a lordly nation.
That will not trust thee, but for profit's sake ?
When Talbot hath set footing once in France,
And fashion'd thee that instrument of ill.
Who then, but English Henry, will be lord.
And thou be thrust out, like a fugitive ;
Call we to mind, — and mark but this, for proof j —
Was not the duke of Orleans thy foe?
And was he not in England prisoner ?
But, when they heard he was thine enemy,
They set him free, without his ransome paid.
In spite of Burgundy, and all his friends.
See then ! thou fight'st against thy countrymen,
2 Expelled.
Act IV. Scene 1.
KING HENRY VI.
469
And join'st with them will be thy slaughter-men.
Come, come, return ; return, thou wand'ring lord ;
Cliarles, and the rest, will take thee in their arms.
Bur. I am vanquished; thesehaughty words of hers
Have batter'd me like roaring cannon-shot,
And made me almost yield upon my knees. —
Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen !
And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace :
My forces and my power of men are yours ; —
So, farewell, Talbot ; I'll no longer trust thee.
Puc. Done like a Frencliman, turn, and turn again !
Char. Welcome, brave duke ! thy friendship makes
us fresh.
Bast. And doth beget new courage in our breasts.
^llen. I'ucelle hath bravely play'd her part in this.
And dotli deserve a coronet of gold.
Char. Now let us on, my lords, and join our powers ;
And seek how we may prejudice the foe. lExeunt.
SCENE IV. — Paris. A Boom in the Palace.
Enter King Henry, Gloster, and other Lords,
Vernon, Basset, ^c. To them Talbot, awrf some
of his Officers.
Tal. My gracious prince, — and honourable peers, —
Hearing of your arrival in this realm,
I have a while given truce unto my wars,
'I'o do my duty to my sovereign :
In sign whereof, this arm — that hath reclaim'd
To your obedience fifty fortresses,
Twelve cities, and seven walled towns of strength,
Beside five hundred prisoners of esteem, —
Lets fall liis sword before your highness' feet ;
And, with submissive loyalty of heart,
Ascribes the glory of his conquest got,
First to my God, and next unto your grace.
K. Hen. Istliisthe fam'd lord Talbot, uncle Gloster,
That hath so long been resident in France ?
Glo. Yes, if it please your majesty, my liege.
K. Hen. Welcome, brave captain, and victorious
lord !
When I was young, (as yet I am not old,)
I do remember how my father said,
A stouter champion never handled sword.
Long since we were resolved" of your truth.
Your faithful service, and your toil in war ;
Yet never have you tasted our reward.
Or been reguerdon'd 8 with so much as thanks,
Because till now we never saw your face :
Therefore, stand up ; and, for these good deserts.
We here create you earl of Shrewsbury ;
And in our coronation take your place.
[Exeunt King Henry, Gloster, Talbot,
and Nobles.
Ver. Now, sir, to you, that were so hot at sea.
Disgracing of tliese colours that I wear
In honour of my noble lord of York. —
Dar'st thou maintain the former words thou spak'st?
JBas. Yes, sir ; as well as you dare patronage
The envious barking of your saucy tongue
Against my lord the duke of Somerset.
Ver. Sirrah, thy lord I honour as he is.
Bus. Why, what is he ? as good a man as York.
Ver. Hark ye j not so : in witness, take ye tliat.
[Strikes him.
Bast. Villain, thou know'stthelawof arms is such.
That, whoso draws a sword, 'tis present death ;
Or else this blow should broach thy dearest blood.
But I'll unto his majesty, and crave
I may have liberty to venge tliis wrong ;
When thou shalt see, I'll meet thee to tliy cost.
Ver. Well, miscreant, I'll be there as soon as you ;
And, after, meet you sooner than you would.
[Exeunt.
ACT IV.
SCENE I. — Paris. A Room of State.
EnterKiJiG Henry, Gloster, Exeter, York, Suf-
folk, Somerset, Winchester, Warwick, Tal-
bot, the Governor of Paris, and others.
Glo, Lord bishop, set the crown upon his head.
IViji, God save king Henry, of thatname the sixth!
Glo. Now, governor of Paris, take your oath, —
[Governor hieels.
That you elect no other king but him :
Esteem none friends, but such as are his friends ;
And none your foes, but such as shall pretend ^
Malicious practices against his state.
[Exeunt Gov. and his Train.
Enter Sir John Fastolfb.
Fast. My gracious sovereign, as I rode from Calais,
To hasten unto your coronation,
A letter was deliver'd to my hands.
Writ to your grace from the duke of Burgundy.
Tat. Shame to the duke of Burgundy, and thee !
I vow'd, base knight, when I did meet tliee next.
To tear tlie garter from thy craven's ^ leg,
[Plucking it off.
(Wliich I have done,) because unworthily
Thou wast installed in that high degree. —
Design.
* Mean, dastardly.
Pardon me, princely Henry, and the rest :
This dastard at the battle of Patay,
When but in all I was six thousand strong.
And that the French were almost ten to one, —
Before we met, or that a stroke was given.
Like to a trusty squire, did run away ;
In which assaidt we lost twelve hundred men ;
Myself, and divers gentlemen beside.
Were there surpriz'd, and taken prisoners.
Then judge, great lords, if I have done amiss ;
Or whether that such cowards ought to wear
This ornament of knighthood, yea, or no.
Glo. To say the truth, this fact was infamous.
And ill beseeming any common man ;
Much more a knight, a captain, and a leader
Tal. When first this order was ordain'd, my lords,
Knights of the garter were of noble birth ;
Valiant and virtuous, full of haughty 9 courage,
Such as were grown to credit by the wars ;
Not fearing death, nor shrinking for distress.
But always resolute in most extremes.
He then, that is not furnish'd in this sort.
Doth but usurp tlie sacred name of knight.
Profaning this most honourable order ;
And should (if I were worthy to be judge)
Be quite degraded, like a hedge-bom swain
That doth presume to boast of gentle blood
^ Cuofirmcd in opinion. " Rewarded. * High.
H h 3
470
FIRST PART OF
Act IV
K. Hen, Stain to thy countrymen ! thou hear'st
thy doom :
Be packing, therefore, thou that wast a knight ;
Henceforth we banish thee, on pain of death. —
[Exit Fastolfe.
And now, my lord protector, view the letter
Sent f»'om our uncle duke of Burgundy.
Glo. What means his grace, that he hath chang'd
his style ? [ Viewing the superscription.
No more but, plain and bluntly, — To the king ?
Hath he forgot, he is his sovereign ?
Or doth this churlish superscription
Pretend some alteration in good will ?
What's here ? — / have, upon especial cause, —
[Reads.
Movd with compassion of my country's wreck,
Together with the pitiful complaints
Of siich as your oppression feeds upon, —
Forsaken your pernicious faction.
And join d with Charles, the rightful king of France.
0 monstrous treachery ! Can this be so ;
That in alliance, amity, and oaths.
There should be found such false dissembling guile ?
JT. Hen. What ! doth my uncle Burgundy revolt ?
Glo. He doth, my lord ; and is become your foe.
IT. Hen. Is that the worst, this letter doth contain ?
Glo. It is the worst, and all, my lord, he writes.
JT. Hen. Why then, lord Talbot there shall talk
with him,
And give him chastisement for this abuse : —
My lord, how say you ? are you not content ?
Tal. Content, my liege ? Yes ; but that I am
prevented ^,
1 should have begg'd I might have been employed.
JT. Hen. Then gather strength, and march unto
him straight :
Let him perceive, how ill we brook his treason ;
And what offence it is, to flout his friends.
Tal. I go, my lord ; in heart desiring still.
You may behold confusion of your foes. [Exit.
Enter Vernon and Basset.
Ver. Grant me the combat, gracious sovereign !
Has. And me, my lord, grant me the combat too !
York. This is my servant ; Hear him, noble prince ;
Som. And this is mine ; Sweet Henry, favour him!
iT. Hen. Be patient, lords ; and give them leave
to speak. —
Say, gentlemen. What makes you thus exclaim ?
And wherefore crave you combat ? or with whom ?
Ver. With him,my lord ; for he hath done me wrong.
Bas. And I with him ; for he hath done me wrong.
A'. Hen. What is that wrong whereof you both
complain ?
First let me know, and then I'll answer you.
Bas. Crossing the sea from England into France,
This fellow here, with envious carping tongue.
Upbraided me about the rose I wear ;
Saying — the sanguine colour of the leaves
Did represent my master's blushing cheeks,
When stubbornly he did repugn 9 the truth.
About a certain question in the law,
Argu'd betwixt the duke of York and him ;
With other vile and ignominious terms :
Jn confutation of which rude reproach.
And in defence of my lord's worthiness,
I crave the benefit of law of arms.
Ver. And that is my petition, noble lord :
For though he seem, with forged quaint conceit,
» Anticipated s Resist.
To set a gloss upon his bold intent.
Yet know, my lord, I was provok'd by him ;
And he first took exceptions at this badge.
Pronouncing — that the paleness of this flower
Bev^'ray'd the faintness of my master's heart.
York. Will not this malice, Somerset, be left ?
Som. Your private grudge, my lord of York, will
out.
Though ne'er so cunningly you smother it.
JT. Hen. Alas ! what madness rules in brain-sick
men !
When, for so slight and frivolous a cause,
Such factious emulations shall arise !
Good cousins both, of York and Somerset,
Quiet yourselves, I pray, and be at peace.
York. Let this dissension first be tried by fight ;
And then your highness shall command a peace.
Som. The quarrel toucheth none but us alone ;
Betwixt ourselves let us decide it then.
York. There is my pledge ; accept it, Somerset.
Ver. Nay, let it rest where it began at first.
Bas. Confirm it so, mine honourable lord.
Glo. Confirm it so ? confounded be your strife,
And perish ye, with your audacious prate !
Presumptuous vassals ! are you not asham'd.
With this immodest clamorous outrage
To trouble and disturb the king and us ?
And you, my lords, — methinks, you do not well.
To bear with their perverse objections ;
Much less, to take occasion from their mouths
To raise a mutiny betwixt yourselves ;
Let me persuade you take a better course.
Exe. It grieves his highness ; — Good my lords,
be friends.
£^. Hen. Come hither, you that would be com-
batants :
Henceforth, I charge you, as you love our favour.
Quite to forget this quarrel, and the cause. —
And you, my lords, remember where we are ;
In France, amongst a fickle wavering nation :
If they perceive dissension in our looks.
And that within ourselves we disagree,
Hovv will their grudging stomachs be provok'd
To wilful disobedience, and rebel ?
Beside, what infamy will there arise.
When foreign princes shall be certified,
That, for a toy, a thing of no regard.
King Henry's peers, and chief nobility,
Destroy'd themselves, and lost the realm of France ?
O, think upon the conquest of my father.
My tender years ; and let us not forego
That for a trifle, that was bought with blood !
Let me be umpire in this doubtful strife.
I see no reason, if I wear this rose,
[Putting on a red Rose.
That any one should therefore be suspicious
I more incline to Somerset, than York :
Both are my kinsmen, and I love them both :
As well they may upbraid me with my crown.
Because, forsooth, the king of Scots is crown'd.
But your discretions better can persuade.
Than I am able to instruct or teach :
And therefore, as we hither came in peace,
So let us still continue peace and love. —
Cousin of York, we institute your grace
To be our regent in these parts of France : —
And good my lord of Somerset, imite
Your troops of horsemen with his bands of foot ; —
And, like true subjects, sons of your progenitors.
Go cheerfully together, and digest
i
Scene II.
KING HENRY VI.
471
Your angry choler on your enemies.
Ourself, my lord protector, and the rest,
After some respite, will return to Calais ;
From thence to England ; where I hope ere long
To be presented, by your victories.
With Charles, Alen9on, and that traitorous rout.
[Flourish. Exeunt King Henry, Glo. Som.
Win. Suf. and Basset.
War. My lord of York, I promise you, the king
Prettily, raethought, did play the orator.
York. And so he did ; but yet I like it not,
In that he wears the badge of Somerset.
War. Tush ! that was but his fancy, blame him not;
I dare presume, sweet prince, he thought no harm.
York. And, if I wist he did, — But let it rest ;
Other affairs must now be managed.
[Exeunt York, Warwick, and Vernon.
Exe. Well didst thou, Richard, to suppress thy
voice ;
For, had the passions of thy heart burst out,
I fear we should have seen decipher'd there
More rancorous spite, more furious raging broils,
Than yet can be imagin'd or suppos'd
But howsoe'er, no simple man that sees
This jarring discord of nobility.
This should 'ring of each other in the court,
This factious bandying of their favourites,
But that it doth presage some ill event.
'Tis much, when scepters are in children's hands ;
But more, when envy breeds unkind division ;
There comes the ruin, there begins confusion. [Exit.
SCENE II France. Before Bourdeaux.
Enter Talbot, with his Forces.
Tal. Go to the gates of Bourdeaux, trumpeter,
Summon their general unto the wall.
Trumpet sounds a Parley. Enter, on the Walls, the
General of the French Forces, and others.
English John Talbot, captains, calls you forth.
Servant in arms to Harry king of England ;
And thus he would, — Open your city gates,
Be humble to us ; call my sovereign yours.
And do him homage as obedient subjects.
And I'll withdraw me and my bloody power :
But, if you frown upon this proffer'd peace.
You tempt the fury of my three attendants,
Lean famine, quartering steel, and climbing fire ;
Who, in a moment, even with the earth
Shall lay your stately and air-braving towers,
If you forsake the offer of their love.
Gen. Thou ominous and fearful owl of death.
Our nation's terror, and their bloody scourge !
The period of thy tyranny approacheth.
On us thou canst not enter but by death :
For, I protest, we are well fortified,
And strong enough to issue out and fight :
If thou retire, the dauphin, well appointed.
Stands with the snares of war to tangle thee :
On either hand thee there are squadrons pitch'd.
To wall thee from the liberty of flight ;
And no way canst thou turn thee for redress.
But death doth front thee with apparent spoil,
And pale destruction meets thee in the face.
Ten thousand French have ta'en the sacrament.
To rive thi'ir dangerous artillery
Upon no Christian soul but English Talbot.
Lo ! tiierc tliou stand'st, a breathing valiant man,
Of an invincible unconqucr'd spirit :
This is the latest glory of thy praise.
That I, thy enemy, due ' thee withal ;
For ere the glass, that now begins to run,
Finish the process of this sandy hour.
These eyes, that see thee now well coloured,
Shall see thee wither' d, bloody, pale, and dead.
[Drum afar off".
Hark ! hark ! the dauphin's drum, a warning bell,
Sings heavy musick to thy timorous soul ;
And mine shall ring thy dire departure out.
[Exeunt General, ^c.from the Walls.
Tal. He fables not, I hear the enemy ; —
Out, some light horsemen, and peruse their wings. —
O, negligent and heedless discipline !
How are we park'd, and bounded in a pale ;
A little herd of England's timorous deer,
Maz'd with a yelping kennel of French curs !
If we be English deer, be then in blood 3 :
Not rascal-like *, to fall down with a pinch ;
But rather moody-mad, and desperate stags.
Turn on the bloody hounds with heads of steel,
And make the cowards stand aloof at bay :
Sell every man his life as dear as mine.
And they shall find dear deer of us, my friends. —
God, and saint George ! Talbot,and England's right !
Prosper our colours in this dangerous fight !
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. — Plains in Gascony.
Enter York, unih Forces ; to him a Messenger.
York. Are not the speedy scouts return 'd again.
That dogg'd the mighty army of the dauphin ?
Mess. They are return' d, my lord ; and give it out.
That he is march'd to Bourdeaux with his power,
To fight with Talbot : As he march'd along.
By your espials ^ were discovered
Two mightier troops than that the dauphin led ;
Which join'd with him, and made their march for
Bourdeaux.
York. A plague upon that villain Somerset ;
That thus delays my promised supply
Of horsemen, that were levied for this siege !
Renowned Talbot doth expect my aid ;
And I am lowted 6 by a traitor villain,
And cannot help the noble chevalier :
God comfort him in his necessity !
If he miscarry, farewell wars in France.
Enter Sir William Lucy.
Lucy. Thou princely leader of our English strength,
Never so needful on the earth of France,
Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot ;
Who now is girdled with a waist of iron.
And hemm'd about with grim destruction :
To Bourdeaux, warlike duke ! to Bourdeaux, York I
Else, farewell Talbot, France, and England's honour.
York. O, would that Somerset — who in proud
heart
Doth stop my comets — were in Talbot's place !
So should we save a valiant gentleman.
By forfeiting a traitor and a coward.
Mad ire, and wrathful fury, makes me weep.
That thus we die, while remiss traitors sleep.
iMcy. 0,send some succour to the distress'd lord !
York. He dies, we lose ; I break my warlike word:
We mourn, France smiles ; we lose, they daily get ;
All 'long of this vile traitor Somerset.
Lucy. Then, God take mercy on brave Talbot's
soul !
» Endue, honour. ' In high spiriU
* A rascal deer is the term of chase for lean jkkif deer.
* Spies. « Vanquished, baffled.
H h 4
472
FIRST PART OF
Act IV
And on his son, young John; whom two hours since,
I met in travel toward his warlike father.
These seven years did not Talbot see his son ;
And now they meet where both their lives are done.
York. Alas ! what joy shall noble Talbot have,
To bid his young son welcome to his grave ?
Away ! vexation almost stops my breath,
That sunder'd friends greet in the hour of death. —
Lucy, farewell : no more my fortune can,
But curse the cause I cannot aid the man. —
Maine, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, are won away.
'Long all of Somerset, and his delay. [^Exit-
Lucy. Thus, while the vulture of sedition
Feeds in the bosom of such great commanders.
Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss
The conquest of our scarce-cold conqueror,
That ever-living man of memory,
Henry the fifth : — Whiles they each other cross.
Lives, honours, lands, and all, hurry to loss. \^Exit.
SCENE IV. — Other Plains of Gascony.
Enter Somerset, with his Forces; an Officer of
Talbot's with him.
Som. It is too late ; I cannot send them now :
This expedition was by York, and Talbot,
Too rashly plotted ; all our general force
Might with a sally of the very town
Be buckled with : the over-daring Talbot
Hath sullied all his gloss of former honour.
By this unheedful, desperate, wild adventure ;
York set him on to fight, and die in shame.
That, Talbot dead, great York might bear the name.
0^. Here is sir William Lucy, who with me
Set from our o'er-match'd forces forth for aid.
Enter Sir William Lucr.
Som. How now, sir William ? whither were you
sent?
Eucy. Whither, my lord? from bought and sold
lord Talbot ;
Who, ring'd about 7 with bold adversity,
Cries out for noble York and Somerset,
To beat assailing death from his weak legions.
And whiles the honourable captain there
Drops bloody sweat from his war-wearied limbs.
And, in advantage ling'ring, looks for rescue.
You, his false hopes, the trust of England's honour,
Keep oflP aloof with worthless emulation.
Let not your private discord keep away
The levied succours that should lend him aid,
While he, renowned noble gentleman.
Yields up his life unto a world of odds :
Orleans the Bastard, Charles, and Burgundy,
Alen^on, Reignier, compass him about.
And Talbot perisheth by your default.
Som. York set him on, York should have sent
him aid.
Eucy. And York as fast upon your grace exclaims j
Swearing that you withhold his levied horse.
Collected for this expedition.
Som. York lies ; he might have sent and had the
horse :
I owe him little duty, and less love ;
And take foul scorn, to fawn on him by sending.
Eucy. The fraud of England, not the force of
France,
Hath now entrapp'd the noble-minded Talbot :
Never to England shall he bear his life ;
But dies, betray'd to fortune by your strife.
7 Encircled.
Som. Come, go ; I will despatch the horsemen
straight :
Within six hours they will be at his aid.
Lucy. Too late comes rescue : he is ta'en or slain :
For fly he could not, if he would have fled ;
And fly would Talbot never, though he might.
Som. If he be dead, brave Talbot then adieu !
Lucy. His fame lives in the world, his shame in you.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V. — The English Camp,near Bourdeaux.
Enter Talbot, and John his Son.
Tal. O young John Talbot ! I did send for thee,
To tutor thee in stratagems of war ;
That Talbot's name might be in thee reviv'd.
When sapless age, and weak unable limbs,
Should bring thy father to his drooping chair.
But, — O malignant and ill-boding stars ! —
Now thou art come unto a feast of death,
A terrible and unavoided ^^ danger :
Therefore, dear boy, mount on my swiftest horse ;
And I'll direct thee how thou shalt escape
By sudden flight : come, dally not ; begone.
John. Is my name Talbot ? and am I your son ?
And shall I fly ? O, if you love my mother,
Dishonour not her honourable name.
To make a bastard, and a slave of me :
The world will say — He is not Talbot's blood,
Tliat basely fled, when noble Talbot stood.
Tal. Fly, to revenge my death, if I be slain.
John. He, that flies so, will ne'er return again.
Tal. If we both stay, we both are sure to die.
John. Then let me stay ; and, father, do you fly :
Your loss is great, so your regard 9 should be ;
My worth unknown, no loss is known in me.
Upon my death the French can little boast ;
In yours they will, in you all hopes are lost.
Flight cannot stain the honour you have won ;
But mine it will, that no exploit have done :
You fled for vantage every one will swear ;
But, if I bow, they'll say — it was for fear.
There is no hope that ever I will stay.
If, the first hour, I shrink, and run away.
Here, on my knee, I beg mortality.
Rather than life preserv'd with infamy.
Tal. Shall all thy mother's hopes lie in one tomb ?
John. Ay, rather than I'll shame my mother's womb.
Tal. Upon my blessing, I command thee go.
John. To fight I will, but not to fly the foe.
Tal. Part of thy father may be sav'd in thee.
John. No part of him, but will be shame in me.
Tal. Thou never hadst renown, nor canst not lose it.
John. Yes, your renowned name; Shall flight
abuse it ?
Tal. Thy father's charge shall clear thee from that
stain.
John. You cannot witness for me, being slain.
If death be so apparent, then both fly.
Tal. And leave my followers here, to fight and die?
My age was never tainted with such shame.
John. And shall my youth be guilty of such blame?
No more can I be severed from your side,
Than can yourself yourself in twain divide :
Stay, go, do what you will, the hke do I ;
For live I will not, if my father die.
Tal. Then here I take my leave of thee, fair son,
Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon.
Come, side by side together live and die ;
And soul with soul from France to heaven fly.
[Exeunt.
8 For unavoidable. 9 Your care of your own safety.
Scene VI.
KING HENRY VI.
473
SCENE VI. _ A Field of BattU.
Alarum: Excursions, wherein Talbot* sSonis hemmed
about, and Talbot rescues him.
Tal. Saint George and victory ! fight, soldiers, fight :
The regent hath with Talbot broke his word,
And left us to the rage of France's sword.
Wliere is John Talbot? — pause, and take thy breath;
I gave thee life, and rescu'd thee from death.
John. O twice my father ! twice am I thy son :
The life thou gav'st me first, was lost and done ;
Till with thy warlike sword, despite of fate,
To my deterrain'd ' time thou gav'st new date.
Tal. When from the dauphin's crest thy sword
struck fire.
It warm'd thy father's heart with proud desire
Of bold-fac'd victory. Then leaden age,
Quicken'd with youthful spleen, and warlike rage,
Beat down Alen9on, Orleans, Burgundy,
And from the pride of Gallia rescu'd thee.
The ireful bastard Orleans — that drew blood
From thee, my boy ; and had the maidenhood
Of thy first fight — I soon encountered ;
And, interchanging blows, I quickly shed
Some of his bastard blood ; and, in disgrace,
Bespoke him thus : Contaviinated, base.
And misbegotten blood I spill of thine,
Mean and right poor ; for that pure blood of mine.
Which thou didst force frorn Talbot, my brave boy : —
Here, purposing the Bastard to destroy.
Came in strong rescue. Speak thy father's care ;
Art not thou weary, John? How dost thou fare?
Wilt thou yet leave the battle, boy, and fly,
Now thou art seal'd tlie son of chivalry?
Fly, to revenge my death, when I am dead ;
The help of one stands me in little stead.
O, too much folly is it, well I wot.
To hazard all our lives in one small boat.
If I to-day die not with Frenchmen's rage.
To-morrow I shall die with mickle age :
By me they nothing gain, and if I stay,
'Tis but the short'ning of my life one day :
In thee thy mother dies, our household's name.
My death's revenge, thy youth, and England's fame :
All these, and more, we hazard by thy stay ;
All these are sav'd, if thou wilt fly away.
John. The sword of Orleans hath not made me
smart,
These words of yours draw life-blood from my heart :
On that advantage, bought with such a shame,
(To save a paltry Life, and slay bright fame,)
Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly.
The coward horse, that bears me, fall and die :
And like ^ me to the peasant boys of France ;
To be shame's scorn, and subject of mischance !
Surely, by all the glory you have won.
An if I fly, I am not Talbot's son :
Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot ;
If son to Talbot, die at Talbot's foot.
Tal. Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete,
Thou Icarus ; tliy life to me is sweet :
If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father's side ;
And, commendable prov'd, let's die in pride.
{Exeunt.
SCENE VII. — Another Part of the same.
Alarum : Excursions. Enter Talbot woundedt
supported by a Servant.
Tal. Whore is my other life? mine own is gone; —
O, Where's young Talbot? where Is valiant John? —
•Ended. » Make me like.
Triumphant death, smear'd with captivity !
Young Talbot's valour makes me smile at thee : — .
When he perceiv'd me shrink, and on my knee.
His bloody sword he brandish'd over me.
And, like a hungry lion did commence
Rough deeds of rage, and stern impatience ;
But when my angry guardant stood alone,
Tend'ring my ruin 3, and assail'd of none,
DIzzy-ey'd fury, and great rage of heart.
Suddenly made him from my side to start
Into the clust'ring battle of the French :
And in that sea of blood my boy did drench
His overmounting spirit ; and there died
My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride.
Enter Soldiers, bearing t/ie Body o/" JohnTalbot.
Serv. O, my dear lord! lo, where your son is
borne !
Tal. Thou antick death, which laugh'st us here to
scorn.
Anon, from thy insulting tyranny,
Coupled in bonds of perpetuity.
Two. Talbots, winged through the lither '' sky.
In thy despite, shall 'scape mortality. —
O thou whose wounds become hard-favour'd death.
Speak to thy father, ere thou yield thy breath :
Brave death by speaking, whether he will, or no ;
Imagine him a Frenchman, and thy foe. —
Poor boy ! he smiles, methinks; as who should say —
Had death been French, then death had died to-day.
Come, come, and lay him in his father's arms ;
My spirit can no longer bear these harms.
Soldiers, adieu ! I have what I would have.
Now my old arms are young John Talbot's grave.
iDies.
Alarums. Exeunt Soldiers and Servant, leaving the
two Bodies. Enter Charlks, ALEN90N, Bur-
gundy, Bastard, La Pucellk, and Forces.
Char. Had York and Somerset brought rescue in.
We should have found a bloody day of this.
Bast. How the young whelp of Talbot's, raging
wood *,
Did flesh his puny sword in Frenchmen's blood !
Puc. Once I encounter'd him, and thus I said,
T/tou maiden youth, be vanquished by a maid :
But — with a proud, majestical, high scorn, —
He answer'd thus ; Young Talbot was not bom
To be tfie pillage of a giglot ^ wench :
So, rushing in the bowels of tlie French,
He left me proudly, as unworthy fight.
Bur. Doubtless,he would have made anoble knight.
See, where he lies inhersed in the arms
Of the most bloody nurser of his harms.
Bast. Hew them to pieces, hack their bones asun-
der;
Whose life was England's glory, Gallia's wonder.
Char. O, no ; forbear : for that which we have fled
During the life, let us not wrong it dead.
Enter Sir William Lucy, attended s a Frendi
Herald preceding.
Lucy. Herald,
Conduct me to the dauphin's tent ; to know
Who hath obtain'd the glory of the day.
Char. On what submissive message art thou sent ?
Lucy. Submission, daupliin ? 'tis a mere French
word ;
3 «• Watching me with tenderness in my ialL"
* Flexible, yielding. > Raving mad. « Wanton.
474?
FIRST PART OF
Act V.
We English warriors wot not what it means,
I come to know what prisoners tliou hast ta'en,
And to survey the bodies of the dead.
Char. For prisoners ask'st thou? hell our prison is.
But tell me whom thou seek'st.
Lucy. Where is the great Alcides of the field,
Valiant lord Talbot, earl of Shrewsbury ?
Created, for his rare success in arms,
Great earl of Washford, Waterford, and Valence ;
Lord Talbot of Goodrig and Urchinfield,
Lord Strange of Blackmere, lord Verdun of Alton,
Lord Cromwell of Wingfield, lord Furnival of Shef-
field,
The thrice victorious lord of Falconbridge ;
Knight of the noble order of saint George,
Worthy saint Michael, and the golden fleece ;
Great mareshal to Henry the sixth,
Of all his wars within the realm of France ?
Puc. Here is a silly stately style indeed !
The Turk, that two-and-fifty kingdoms hath,
Writes not so tedious a style as this. —
Him, that thou magnifiest with all these titles.
Bloody and breathless lies here at our feet.
Lucy. Is Talbot slain; the Frenchmen's only
scourge,
Your kingdom's terrour and black Nemesis ?
O, were mine eye-balls into bullets turn'd,
That I, in rage, might shoot them at your faces !
O, that I could but call these dead to life !
It were enough to fright the realm of France :
Were but his picture left among you here,
It would amaze the proudest of you all.
Give me their bodies ; that I may bear them hence,
And give them burial as beseems their worth.
Puc. I think, this upstart is old Talbot's ghost.
He speaks with such a proud commanding spirit.
But let him have 'em.
Char. Take their bodies hence.
Lucy. I'll bear them hence :
But from their ashes shall be rear'd
A phoenix that shall make all France afeard.
Char. So we be rid of them, do with 'em what
thou wilt.
And now to Paris, in this conquering vein ;
All will be ours, now bloody Talbot's slain.
{^Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I. — London. A Room in the Palace.
Enter King Henry, Gloster, and Exeter.
K. Hen. Have you perus'd the letters from the
pope.
The emperor, and the earl of Armagnac ?
Glo. I have, my lord ; and their intent is this, —
They humbly sue unto your excellence,
To have a godly peace concluded of,
Between the realms of England and of France.
K. Hen. How doth your grace affect their motion ?
Glo. Well, my good lord ; and as the only means
To stop effusion of our Christian blood,
And 'stablish quietness on every side.
K. Hen. Ay, marry, uncle ; for I always thought,
It was both impious and unnatural.
That such immanity 7 and bloody strife
Should reign among professors of one faith.
Glo. Beside, my lord, — the sooner to effect.
And surer bind, this knot of amity, —
The earl of Armagnac — near knit to Chailes,
A man of great authority in France, —
Proffers his only daughter to your grace
In marriage, with a large and sumptuous dowry.
K. Hen. Marriage, uncle ! alas ! my years are
young ;
And fitter is my study and my books.
Than wanton dalliance with a paramour.
Yet, call the ambassadors ; and, as you please,
So let them have their answers every one :
I shall be well content with any choice,
Tends to God's glory, and my country's weal.
Enter a Legate, and two Ambassadors, with Win-
chester, in a CardinaVs Habit.
Exe. What ! is my lord of Winchester install'd.
And call'd unto a cardinal's degree !
Then, I perceive, that will be verified,
Henry the fifth did sometime prophecy, —
• Inhumanity.
If once he came to be a cardinal,
He'll make his cap co-equal with the crown.
K. Hen. My lords ambassadors, your several suits
Have been consider'd and debated on.
Your purpose is both good and reasonable :
And, therefore, are we certainly resolv'd
To draw conditions of a friendly peace ;
Which, by my lord of Winchester, we mean
Shall be transported presently to France.
Glo. And for the proffer of my lord your master, —
I have inform'd his highness so at large.
As — liking of the lady's virtuous gifts.
Her beauty, and the value of her dower, —
He doth intend she shall be England's queen.
K. Hen. In argumentand proof of which contract.
Bear her this jewel, \Tq the Amb.} pledge of my
affection.
And so, my lord protector, see them guarded.
And safely brought to Dover ; where, inshipp'd.
Commit them to the fortune of the sea.
[Exeu7it King Henry and Train; Gloster,
Exeter, and Ambassadors.
Win. Stay, my lord legate ; you shall first receive
The sum of money, which I promised
Should be deliver'd to his holiness
For clothing me in these grave ornaments.
Leg. I will attend upon your lordship's leisure.
JFin. Now, Winchester will not submit, I trow.
Or be inferior to the proudest peer.
Humphrey of Gloster, thou shalt well perceive,
That, neither in birth, or for authority.
The bishop will be overborne by thee :
I'll either make thee stoop, and bend thy knee,
Or sack this country with a mutiny. ^Exeunt.
SCENE IL — France. Plains in Anjou.
Enter Charles, Burgundy, ALEN90N, La Pucelle,
and Forces, marching.
Char, These news, my lords, may cheer oui
drooping spirits :
Scene III.
KING HENRY VI.
475
'Tis said, the stout Parisians do revolt,
And turn again unto the warlike French.
Alen. Then march to Paris, royal Charles of
France,
And keep not back your powers in dalliance.
Puc. Peace be amongst them, if they turn to us ;
Else, ruin combat witli their palaces !
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Success unto our valiant general.
And happiness to his accomplices!
Char. What tidings send our scouts ? I pr'ythee,
speak.
Mess. The English army, that divided was
Into two parts, is now conjoin'd in one ;
And means to give you battle presently.
Cliar. Somewhat too sudden, sirs, the warning is ;
But we will presently provide for them.
Bio'. I trust, the ghost of Talbot is not there ;
Now he is gone, my lord, you need not fear.
Puc. Of all base passions, fear is most accurs'd : —
Command tlie conquest, Charles, it shall be thine ;
Let Henry fret, and all the world repine.
Char. Then on, my lords ; And France be for-
tunate ! \_Exeunt.
SCENE III. — jff^ore Anglers.
Alarums : Excursions. Enter La Pucelle.
Puc. The regent conquers, and the Frenchmen
fly.-
Now help, ye charming spells, and periapts 8 ;
And ye choice spirits that admonish me,
And give me signs of future accidents !
You speedy helpers, that are substitutes
Under the lordly monarch of the north ^,
Appear, and aid me in this enterprize ! —
No, they forsake me. Then tlie time is come.
That France must vail • her lofty-plumed crest.
And let her head fall into England's lap.
My ancient incantations are too weak.
And hell too strong for me to buckle with :
Now, France, thy glory droopeth to the dust.
[EiU.
Alarums. Enter French and "EngWsh fighting. La
Pucelle and York fight hand to hand. La Pu-
celle is taken. The French fiy.
York. Damsel of France, I think I have you fast :
Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms,
And try if they can gain your liberty. —
See how the ugly witch doth bend her brows,
As if, with Circe, she would change my shape.
Puc. Chang'd to a worser shape thou canst not be.
York. O, Charles the dauphin is a proper man :
No shape but his can please your dainty eye.
Puc. A plaguing mischief light on Charles, and
thee !
And may ye both be suddenly surpriz'd
By bloody hands, in sleeping on your beds !
York. Fell, banning'Z hag! enchantress, hold thy
tongue.
Puc. I pr'ythee, give me leave to curse a while.
York. Curse, miscreant, when thou coraest to the
stake. [Exeunt.
Alarums. Enter Suffolk, leading in Ladt
Margaret.
Suf. Be what thou wilt, thou art my prisoner.
[Gazes on her.
" Charms worn about the person.
' Tlie north was supposed to be the i>articular habitation of
bad sjiirits.
' Lower. ' To ban is to curse.
0 fairest beauty, do not fear, nor fly ;
For I will touch thee but witli reverent hands,
And lay them gently on thy tender side.
1 kiss these fingers [ITissing her hand.'\ for eternal
peace :
Who art thou ? say, that I may honour thee.
Mar. Margaret my name; and daughter to a king,
The king of Naples, whosoe'er thou art.
Suf. And earl I am, and Suffolk am I call'd.
Be not offended, nature's miracle,
Thou art allotted to be ta'en by me:
So doth the swan her downy cygnets save,
Keeping them prisoners underneath her wings,
Yet, if this servile usage once offend,
Go, and be free again as Suffolk's friend.
[She turns away as going.
O, stay! — I have no power to let her pass;
My hand would free her, but my heart says — no.
As plays the sun upon the glassy streams,
Twinkling another counterfeited beam.
So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes.
Fain would I woo her, yet I dare not speak :
I'll call for pen and ink, and write my mind :
Fye, De la Poole ! disable not thyself 3 ;
Hast not a tongue ? is she not here thy prisoner ?
Wilt thou be daunted at a woman's sight?
Ay ; beauty's princely majesty is such.
Confounds the tongue, and makes the senses rough.
Mar. Say, earl of Suffolk, — if thy name be sa» —
What ransome must I pay before I pass ?
For, I perceive, I am thy prisoner.
Sufi How canst thou tell, she will deny thy suit.
Before thou make a trial of her love ? [Aside.
Mar. Why speak'st thou not? what ransome
must I pay ?
Sufi She's beautiful ; and therefore to be woo'd :
She IS a woman ; therefore to be won. [Aside.
Mar. Wilt thou accept of ransome, yea, or no ?
Sufi. Fond man ! remember that thou hast a wife ;
Then how can Margaret be thy paramour ? [Aside.
Mar. I were best leave him, for he will not hear.
Sifi. There all is marr'd ; there lies a cooling card.
Mar. He talks at random ; sure the man is mad.
Siif. And yet a dispensation may be had.
Mar. And yet I would that you would answer me,
Sufi. I'll win this lady Margaret for my king,
And so my fancy"* may be satisfied.
And peace established between these realms.
But there remains a scruple in that too :
For though her father be the king of Naples,
Duke of Anjou and Maine, yet is he poor.
And our nobility will scorn the match. [Aside.
Mar. Hear ye, captain ? Are you not at leisure ?
Sufi. It shall be so, disdain they near so much :
Henry is youtliful, and will quickly yield. —
[Aside.
Madam, I have a secret to reveal.
Mar. What though I be enthrall'd ? he seems a
knight.
And will not any way dishonour me. [Aside.
Sufi. Lady, vouchsafe to listen what I say.
Mar. Perhaps, I shall be rescued by the French ;
And then I need not crave his courtesy. [Aside.
Sufi. Sweet madam, give me hearing in a cause —
Mar. Tush ! women have been captivate ere now.
[Aside.
Sufi. Lady, wherefore talk you so ?
Mar. I cry you mercy, 'tis but quid for quo.
3 " Do not represent thyself so weak."
< Lovfc
476
FIRST PART OF
Act V.
Svf. Say, gentle princess, would you not suppose
Your bondage happy, to be made a queen ?
Mar. To be a queen in bondage, is more vile,
Than is a slave in base servility ;
For princes should be free.
Suf. And so shall you
If happy England's royal king be free.
Mar. Why, what concerns his freedom unto me ?
Suf. I'll undertake to make thee Henry's queen j
To put a golden scepter in thy hand,
And set a precious crown upon thy head.
If tliou wilt condescend to be my —
Mar. What ?
Siif. His love.
Mar. I am unworthy to be Henry's wife.
Suf. No, gentle madam ; I unworthy am
To woo so fair a dame to be his wife,
And have no portion in the choice myself.
How say you, madam ; are you so content.
Mar. An if my father please, I am content.
Sif. Then call our captains, and our colours, forth :
And, madam, at your father's castle walls
We'll crave a parley, to confer with him.
[ Troops come forward.
A Varley sounded. Enter Reignier, on the Walls.
Snf. See, Reignier, see, thy daughter prisoner.
Jteig. To whom?
Sif. To me.
Rt^' Suffolk, what remedy ?
I am a soldier ; and unapt to weep.
Or to exclaim on fortune's fickleness.
Sif. Yes, there is remedy enough, my lord:
Consent, (and for thy honour, give consent,)
Thy daughter shall be wedded to my king ;
Whom I with pain have woo'd and won thereto ;
And this her easy held imprisonment
Hath gain'd thy daughter princely liberty.
Beig. Speaks Suflfolk as he thinks ?
Sif. Fair Margaret knows,
That Suffolk doth not flatter, face^, or feign.
Reig. Upon thy princely warrant, I descend.
To give thee answer of thy just demand.
[Exit from the Walls.
Svf. And here I will expect thy coming.
Trumpets sounded. Enter Reignier, below.
Reig. Welcome, brave earl, into our territories ;
Command in Anjou what your honour pleases.
Svf Thanks, Reignier, happy for so sweet a child,
Fit to be made companion with a king :
What answer makes your grace unto my suit ?
Reig. Since thou dost deign to woo her little worth,
To be the princely bride of such a lord j
Upon condition I may quietly
Enjoy mine own, the county Maine, and Anjou,
Free from oppression, or the stroke of war,
My daughter shall be Henry's if he please.
Suf. That is her ransome, I deliver her ;
And those two counties, I will undertake.
Your grace shall well and quietly enjoy.
Reig. And I again, — in Henry's royal name,
As deputy unto that gracious king.
Give thee her hand, for sign of plighted faith.
Suf Reignier of France, I give thee kingly thanks,
Because tliis is in traffick of a king:
And yet, methinks, I could be well content
To be mine own attorney in this case. [Aside.
I'll over then to England with this news,
* Play the hypocrite.
And make this marriage to be solemniz'd ;
So, farewell, Reignier ! Set this diamond safe
In golden palaces, as it becomes.
Reig. I do embrace thee, as I would embrace
The Christian prince, king Henry, were he here.
Mar. Farewell, my lord! Good wishes, praise,
and prayers.
Shall Suffolk ever have of Margaret. [Going.
Sif. Farewell, sweet madam ! But hark you,
Margaret ;
No princely commendations to my king?
Mnr. Such commendations as become a maid,
A virgin, and his servant, say to him.
Sif. Words sweetly plac'd, and modestly directed.
But, madam, I must trouble you again, —
No loving token to his majesty ?
Mar. Yes, my good lord ; a pure unspotted heart,
Never yet taint with love, I send the king.
Sif. And this withal. [Xisses her.
Mar. That for thyself; — I will not so presume,
To send such peevish ^ tokens to a king.
[Exeunt Reignier and Margaret.
Sif. 0,wert thou for myself! — But, Suffolk, stay j
Thou mayst not wander in that labyrinth ;
There Minotaurs, and ugly treasons, lurk.
Solicit Henry with her wond'rous praise :
Bethink thee on her virtues that surmount ;
Her natural graces that extinguish art ;
Repeat their semblance often on the seas,
Tliat, when thou com'st to kneel at Henry's feet,
Thou mayst bereave him of his wits with wonder.
[Exit.
SCENE IV.— Camp of the Duke of York in Anjou.
Enter York, Warwick, and Cardinal Beaufort,
attended.
Car. Lord regent, I do greet your excellence
With letters of commission from the king.
For know, my lords, the states of Christendom,
Mov'd with remorse 7 of these outrageous broils.
Have earnestly implor'd a general peace
Betwixt our nation and the aspiring French ;
And here at hand the dauphin, and his train,
Approacheth, to confer about some matter.
Yort. Is all our travail turn'd to this effect ?
After the slaughter of so many peers.
So many captains, gentlemen, and soldiers.
That in this quarrel have been overthrown.
And sold their bodies for their country's benefit.
Shall we at last conclude effeminate peace ?
Have we not lost most part of all the towns.
By treason, falsehood, and by treachery,
Our great progenitors had conquered? —
O, Warwick, Warwick ! 1 foresee with grief.
The utter loss of all the realm of France.
War. Be patient, York : if we conclude a peace.
It shall be with such strict and severe covenants.
As little shall the Frenchmen gain thereby.
Enter Charles, attended; ALEN90N, Bastard,
Reignier, and others.
Char. Since, lords of England, it is thus agreed.
That peaceful truce shall be proclaim'd in France,
We come to be informed by yourselves
What the conditions of that league must be.
York. Speak, Winchester; for boiling choler chokes
The hollow passage of my poison'd voice,
By sight of these our baleful enemies.
Childish.
7 Compassion.
Scene V.
KING HENRY VI.
477
Car. Charles, and the rest, it is enacted thus :
That — in regard king Henry gives consent,
Of mere compassion, and of lenity.
To ease your country of distressful war,
And suffer you to breathe in fruitful peace, —
You shall become true liegemen to his crown :
And Charles, upon condition thou wilt swear
To pay him tribute, and submit thyself.
Thou shalt be plac'd as viceroy under him.
And still enjoy thy regal dignity.
Alen. Must he be then a shadow of himself?
Adorn his temples with a coronet 8 ;
And yet, in substance and authority.
Retain but privilege of a private man ?
This proffer is absurd and reasonless.
Char. 'Tis known, already that I am possess'd
With more than half the Gallian territories,
And therein reverenc'd for their lawful king :
Shall I, for lucre of the rest unvanquish'd.
Detract so much from that prerogative.
As to be called but viceroy of the whole ?
No, lord ambassador ; I'll rather keep
That which I have, than, coveting for more.
Be cast from possibility of all.
York. Insulting Charles! hastthou by secret means
Used intercession to obtain a league ;
And, now the matter grows to compromise,
Stand'st thou aloof upon comparison ?
Either accept the title thou usurp'st.
Of benefits proceeding from our king.
And not of any challenge of desert.
Or we will plague thee with incessant wars.
Iteig. My lord, you do not well in obstinacy
To cavil in the course of this contract :
If once it be neglected, ten to one,
We shall not find like opportunity.
Alen. To say the truth, it is your policy,
To save your subjects from such massacre.
And ruthless slaughters, as are daily seen
By our proceeding in hostility :
And therefore take this compact of a truce.
Although you break it when your pleasure serves.
[Aside to Charles.
War. How say'st thou, Charles ? shall our con-
dition stand ?
C/iar. It shall :
Only reserv'd, you claim no interest
In any of our towns of garrison.
York. Then swear allegiance to his majesty ;
As thou art knight never to disobey,
Nor be rebellious to the crown of England,
Thou nor thy nobles, to the crown of England. —
[Charles, and the rest, give tokens offefdty.
So now dismiss your army when you please ;
Hang up your ensigns, let your drums be still.
For here we entertain a solemn peace. [Exeunt.
SCENE V. — London. A Room in the Palace.
Enter Kino Henry in conference mth Siffolk ;
Gloster, and 'ExETER,J'uUou-iiig.
K. Hen. Your wond'rous rare description, noble
earl.
Of beauteous Margaret liath astonish'd me :
Her virtues, graced with external gifts.
Do breed love's settled passions in my heart :
And like as rigour in tempestuous gusts
Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide ;
* Coronet is here used for crown.
9 " Be content to live M the beneficiary of our king."
So am I driven, by breath of her renown,
Either to suffer shipwreck, or arrive
Where I may have fruition of her love.
Suf. Tush ! my good lord ! this superficial tale
Is but a preface of her worthy praise :
The chief perfections of that lovely dame,
(Had I sufficient skill to utter them,)
Would make a volume of enticing lines.
Able to ravish any dull conceit.
And, which is more, she is not so divine.
So full replete with choice of all delights.
But, with as humble lowliness of mind.
She is content to be at your command ;
Command, I mean, of virtuous chaste intents.
To love and honour Henry as her lord.
K. Hen. And otherwise will Henry ne'er presume.
Therefore, my lord protector, give consent.
That Margaret may be England's royal queen.
Glo. So should I give consent to flatter sin.
You know, my lord, your highness is betroth'd
Unto another lady of esteem ;
How shall we then dispense with that contr^t,
And not deface your honour with reproach ?
Svf. As doth a ruler with unlawful oaths ;
Or one, that, at a triumph ' having vow'd
To try his strength, forsaketh yet the lists
By reason of his adversary's odds :
A poor earl's daughter is unequal odds.
And therefore may be broke without offence.
Glo. Why, what, I pray, is Margaret more than that ?
Her father is no better than an earl.
Although in glorious titles he excel.
Suf. Yes, my good lord, her father is a king,
The king of Naples, and Jerusalem ;
And of such great authority in France,
As his alliance will confirm our peace,
And keep the Frenchmen in allegiance.
Glo. And so the earl of Armagnac may do.
Because he is near kinsman unto Charles.
Exe. Beside, his wealth doth warrant liberal dower ;
While Reignier sooner will receive, than give.
S^f. A dower, my lords ! disgrace not so your king,
That he should be so abject, base, and poor.
To choose for wealth, and not for perfect love.
Henry is able to enrich his queen.
And not to seek a queen to make him rich :
So worthless peasants bargain for their wives.
As market-men for oxen, sheep, or horse,
Marriage is a matter of more worth.
Than to be dealt in by attorneyship ;
Not whom we will, but whom his grace affects,
Must be companion of his nuptial bed :
And therefore, lords, since he affects her most.
It most of all these reasons bindeth us.
In our opinions she should be preferr'd.
For what is wedlock forced, but a hell.
An age of discord and continual strife?
Whereas the contrary bringetli forth bliss.
And is a pattern of celestial peace.
Whom should we match with Henry, being a king.
But Margaret, that is daughter to a king ?
Her peerless feature, joined with her birth.
Approves her fit for none, but for a king ;
Her valiant courage, and undaunted spirit,
(More tlian in women commonly is seen,)
Will answer our hope in issue of a king ;
For Henry, son unto a conqueror,
Is likely to beget more conquerors,
I A triumph then (ignified a public exhibition ; such as a
mask, or revel
478
FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI.
Act V.
If with a lady of so high resolve,
As is fair Margaret, he be link'd in love.
Then yield, my lords ; and here conclude with me.
That Margaret shall be queen, and none but she.
K, Hen. Whether it be through force of your
report,
My noble lord of Suffolk ; or for that
My tender youth was never yet attaint
With any passion of inflaming love,
I cannot tell ; but this I am assur'd,
I feel such sharp dissension in my breast,
Such fierce alarums both of hope and fear.
As I am sick with working of my thoughts.
Take, therefore, shipping; post, my lord, to France;
Agree to any covenants ; and procure
That lady Margaret do vouchsafe to come
To cross the seas to England, and be crown'd
King Henry's faithful and anointed queen :
For your expenses and sufficient charge,
Among the people gather up a tenth.
Begone, I say ; for, till you do return,
I rest perplexed with a thousand cares. —
And you, good uncle, banish all offence :
If you do censure'^ me by what you were,
Not what you are, I know it will excuse
This sudden execution of my will.
And so conduct me, where from company,
I may revolve and ruminate my grief. \Exit.
Glo. Ay, grief, I fear me, both at first and last.
\Exeunt Glostek. and Exeter.
Suf. Thus Suffolk hath prevail'd: and thus he goes.
As did the youthful Paris once to Greece ;
With hope to find the like event in love.
But prosper better than the Trojan did.
Margaret shall now be queen, and rule the king ;
But I will rule both her, the king, and realm.
2 Judge.
a^
SECOND PART OF
KING HENRY VL
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
King Henry the Sixth.
Humphrey, Duke of Gloster, his Uncle.
Cardinal Beaufort, ^is/iop o/" Winchester, great
Uncle to the King.
Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York.
Edward and Richard, his Sons.
Duke of Somerset,
^of the ITing's Party.
■ the York Faction.
Duke of Suffolk,
Duke of Buckingham,
Lord Clifford,
Young Clifford, his Son,^
Earl of Salisbury, ") ~
Earl of Warwick, J -^
Lord Scales, Governor of the Tower.
Lord Say.
Sir Humphrey Stafford, and his Brother.
Sir John Stanley.
ul Sea- Captain, Master, and Masters Mate,
Walter Whitmore.
Two Gentlemen, Prisoners with Suffolk.
^ Herald,
Vaux.
aJid
Hume and Southwell, ^u>o Priests.
BoLiNGBROKE, a ConjurcT.
A Sjnrit raised by him.
Thomas Horner, an Armourer.
Peter, his Man.
Clerk of Chatham.
Mayor of Saint Alban's.
SiMPCox, an Impostor.
Two Murderers.
Jack Cade, a Rebel.
George, John, Dick, Smith the Weaver, Michael,
^c. his Followers.
Alexander Iden, a Kentish Gentleman.
Margaret, Queen to King Henry.
Eleanor, Duchess of Gloster.
Margery Jourdain, a Witch.
Wife to Simpcox.
Lords, Ladies, and Attendants; Petitioners, Alder-
men, a Beadle, Sheriff", and Officers, Citizens, Pren-
tices, Falconers, Guards, Soldiers, Messengers, c^c
SCENE, dispersedly in various Parts of England .
w
n
^
HKNCIt WJLI, I DRAO THBK HKAULONO BY IHE BtKIM.
SECOND PART OF
KING HENRY VI,
ACT I.
SCENE I. — London. ^ Room of Stale in the
Palace.
FUnivish of Truntpets; then Hautboys. Enter, on
one side. King Henry, Duke or Gloster, Salis-
bury, Warwick, and Cardinal Beaufort; on
t/ie other. Queen Margaret, led in hy Suffolk ;
York, Somerset, Buckingham, and others, fol-
lowing.
Suff. As hy your high imperial majesty
I had in charge, at my depart for France,
As procunitor to your excellence.
To marry ])rincess IVIargiu-et for your grace ;
vSo in the famous ancient city. Tours, —
In presence of the kings of France and Sicil,
The dukes of Orleans, Calaher, Bretaigne, Alen(;on,
Seven earls,twel ve harons, twenty reverend hishops, —
I have perform'd my task, and was espous'd :
And humhly now upon my hended knee.
In sight of England, and her lordly peers.
Deliver up my title in the queen
To your most gracious hands, that are the substance
Of that great shadow I did represent ;
The happiest gift that ever marquess gave,
The fairest queen that ever king receiv'd.
K. Hen. Suffolk, arise. — Welcome, queen Mar-
garet :
I can express no kinder sign of love.
Than this kind kiss. — O Lord, that lends me life,
I^end me a heart replete with thankfulness !
For thou hast given me, in this l>eauteous face,
A world of earthly blessings to my soul.
If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.
Q. Mar. Great king of England, and my gracious
lord;
The mutual conference tliat my mind hath liad —
By day, by night, waking, and in my dreams ;
In courtly company, or at my beads, —
With you, mine alder-liefest ' sovereign,
' Holovot) abovi' nil thin^.
480
SECOND PART OF
Act 1.
Makes me the bolder to salute my king
With ruder terms ; such as my wit affords,
And over-joy of heart doth minister.
K. Hen. Her sight did ravish : but her grace in
speech,
Her words y-clad with wisdom's majesty,
Makes me, from wondering, fall to weeping joys ;
Such is the fulness of my heart's content. —
Lords with one cheerful voice welcome my love.
All. Long live queen Margaret, England's hap-
piness !
Q.. Mar. We thank you all. \^Flourish.
Suf. My lord protector, so it please your grace.
Here are the articles of contracted peace,
Between our sovereign and the French king Charles,
For eighteen months concluded by consent.
Glo. [Reads.] Imprimh, It is agreed, between the
French king, Charles, and Willi'im de la Poole, mar-
quess of Stiff'olk, ambassador for Henry king of Eng-
land, — that the said Henry shall espouse the lady
Margaret, daughter unto Reignier king of Naples,
Sicilia, and Jerusalem ; and crown her queen of Eng-
land, ere the thirtieth of May next ensuing.
Item, — That the duchy of Anjou and the county of
Maine, shall he released and delivered to the king her
father
K. Hen. Uncle, how now ?
Glo. Pardon me, gracious lord ;
Some sudden qualm hath struck me at the heart,
And dimm'd mine eyes, that I can read no furtlier.
K. Hen. Uncle of Winchester, I pray read on.
Car. Itein, — It is further agreed between them, —
that the duchies of Anjou and Maine shall be released
and delivered over to the king her father ; and she sent
over of the king of England's own proper cost and
charges, without having dowry.
K. Hen. They please us well. — Lord marquess
kneel down ;
We here create thee the first duke of Suffolk,
And girt thee with the sword. —
Cousin of York, we here discharge your grace
From being regent in the parts of France,
Till term of eighteen months be full expir'd. —
Thanks, uncle Winchester, Gloster, York, and
Buckingham,
Somerset, Salisbury, and Warwick ;
We thank you all for this great favour done.
In entertainment to my princely queen.
Come, let us in, and with all speed provide
To see her coronation be perform'd.
[Exeunt King, Queen, aiid Suffolk.
Glo. Brave peers of England, pillars of the state,
To you duke Humphrey must unload his grief,
Your grief, the common grief of all the land.
What ! did my brother Henry spend his youth.
His valour, coin, and people in the wars ?
Did he so often lodge in open field.
In winter's cold, and summer's parching heat,
To conquer France, his true inheritance ?
And did my brother Bedford toil his wits.
To keep by policy what Henry got ?
Have you yourselves, Somerset, Buckingham,
Brave York, Salisbury, and victorious Warwick,
Receiv'd deep scars in France and Normandy ?
Or hath my uncle Beaufort, and myself.
With all the learned council of the realm,
Studied so long, sat in the council-house,
Early and late, debating to and fro
How France and Frenchmen might be kept in awe ?
And hath his highness in his infancy
Been crown'd in Paris, in despite of foes ?
And shall these labours, and these honours, die?
Shall Henry's conquest, Bedford's vigilance,
Your deeds of war, and all our counsel, die ?
0 peers of England, shameful is this league !
Fatal this marriage, cancelling your tame :
Blotting your names from books of memory :
Razing the characters of your renown ;
Defacing monuments of conquer'd France ;
Undoing all, as all had never been !
Car, Nephew, what means this passionate dis-
course ?
This peroration with such circumstance ? '^
For France, 'tis ours ; and we will keep it still.
Glo. Ay, uncle, we will keep it, if we can ;
But now it is impossible we should :
Suflfblk, the new-made duke that rules the roast.
Hath given the duchies of Anjou and Maine,
Unto the poor king Reignier, whose large style
Agrees not with the leanness of his purse.
Sal. Now, by the death of him that died for all.
These counties were the keys of Normandy : —
But wherefore weeps Warwick, my valiant son ?
War, For grief, that they are past recovery :
For, were there hope to conquer them again.
My sword should shed hot blood, mine eyes no tears,
Anjou and Maine, myself did win them both ;
Those provinces these arms of mine did conquer :
And are the cities, that I got with wounds,
Deliver'd up again with peaceful words ?
York. For Suffolk's duke — may he be suffocate,
That dims the honour of this warlike isle !
France should have torn and rent my very heart.
Before I would have yielded to this league.
1 never read but England's kings have had
Large sums of gold, and dowries, with their wives :
And our king Henry gives away his own.
To match with with her that brings no vantages.
Glo. A proper jest, and never heard before.
That Suffolk should demand a whole fifteenth.
For cost and charges in transporting her !
She should have staid in France, and starv'd in
France,
Before
Car. My lord of Gloster, now you grow too hot ;
It was the pleasure of my lord the king.
Glo. My lord of Winchester, I know your mind ;
'Tis not my speeches that you do mislike.
But 'tis my presence that doth trouble you.
Rancour will out : Proud prelate, in thy face
I see thy fury : if 1 longer stay.
We shall begin our ancient bickerings. 3 —
Lordings farewell ; and say, when I am gone,
I prophesied — France will be lost ere long. [ Exit.
Car. So, there goes our protector in a rage.
'Tis known to you, he is mine enemy :
Nay, more, an enemy unto you all ;
And no great friend, I fear me, to the king.
Consider, lords, he is the next of blood,
And heir apparent to the English crown ;
Had Henry got an empire by his marriage.
And all the wealthy kingdoms of the west.
There's reason he should be displeas'd at it.
Look to it, lords ! let not his smoothing words-^
Bewitch your hearts ; be wise, and circumspect. '
What though the common people favour him.
Calling him — Humphrey, the good duke of Gloster;
Clapping their hands, and crying with loud voice —
2 This speech, crowded with so many circumstances ol
aggravation. ^ Skirmishings.
Scene I.
KING HENRY VI.
481
May lieaven preserve the good duke Humphrey /
I fear me, lords, for all this flattering gloss,
He will be found a dangerous protector.
Buck. Why should he then protect our sovereign.
He being of age to govern of himself?
Cousin of Somerset, join you with me,
And all together — with the duke of Suffolk, —
We'll quickly hoise duke Humphrey from his seat.
Car. This weighty business will not brook delay ;
I'll to tlie duke of Suflblk presently. [Exit.
Som. Cousin of Buckingham, though Humphrey's
pride,
And greatness of his place, be grief to us,
Yet let us watch the haughty cardinal ;
His insolence is more intolerable
Than all princes in the land beside ;
If Gloster be displac'd, he'll be protector.
Buck. Or thou, or I, Somerset, will be protector,
Despite duke Humphrey, or the cardinal.
[Exeunt Buckingham and Somerset.
Sal. Pride went before, ambition follows him.
While these do labour for their own preferment.
Behoves it us to labour for the realm.
I never saw but Humphrey duke of Gloster
Did bear him like a noble gentleman.
Oft have I seen the haughty cardinal —
More like a soldier, than a man o'the church.
As stout, and proud, as he were lord of all, —
Swear like a ruflSan, and demean liimself
Unlike the ruler of a commonweal. —
Warwick, my son, the comfort of my age !
Thy deeds, thy plainness, and thy house-keeping,
Hath won the greatest favour of the commons,
Excepting none but good duke Humphrey. —
And, brother York, thy acts in Ireland,
In bringing them to civil discipline ;
Thy late exploits, done in the heart of France,
When thou wert regent for our sovereign,
Have made thee fear'd, and honour'd, of the peo-
ple : —
Join we together, for the public good ;
In what we can to bridle and suppress
The pride of Suffolk, and the cardinal,
With Somerset's and Buckingham's ambition ;
And, as we may, cherish duke Humphrey's deeds,
While they do tend the profit of the land.
]\^ar. So God help Warwick, as he loves the land,
And common profit of his country !
York, A nd so says York, for he hath greatest cause.
Sal. Then let's make haste away, and look unto
the main.
[Exeunt Warwick and Salisbury.
York. Anjou and Maine are given to the French ;
Paris is lost ; the state of Normandy
Stands on a tickle •* point, now they are gone :
Suffolk concluded on the articles ;
The peers agreed ; and Henry was well pleas'd.
To change two dukedoms for a duke's fair daughter.
I cannot blame them all ; What is't to them ?
'Tis thine they give away, and not their own.
I'irates may make cheap penny worths of their pillage.
And purchase friends, and give to courtezans.
Still revelling, like lords, till all be gone;
While as the silly owner of the goods
Weeps over them, and wrings his hapless hands.
And shakes his head, and trembling stands aloof,
While all is shar'd, and all is borne away ;
Ready to starve, and dare not touch his own.
So York must sit, and fret, and bite his tongue,
* For ticklish.
While his own lands are bargain'd for, and sold.
Methinks, the realms of England, France, and Ire-
land,
Bear that proportion to my flesh and blood,
As did the fatal brand Althea burn'd,
Unto tlie prince's heart of Calydon.^
Anjou and Maine, both given unto the French!
Cold news for me ; for I had hope of France,
Even as I have of fertile England's soil.
A day will come, when York shall claim his own ;
And therefore I will take the Nevils' paits.
And make a show of love to proud duke Humphrey,
And, when I spy advantage, claim the crown.
For that's the golden mark I seek to hit :
Nor shall proud Lancaster usurp my right,
Nor hold his scepter in his childish fist,
Nor wear the diadem upon his head.
Whose church-like humours fit not for a crown.
Then, York, be still awhile, till time do serve :
W^atch thou, and wake, when others be asleep.
To pry into the secrets of the state ;
Till Henry, surfeiting in joys of love,
With his new bride, and England's dear-bought queen,
And Humphrey with the peers be fall'n at jars :
Then will I raise aloft the milk-white rose,
With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfum'd ;
And in my standard bear the arms of York,
To grapple with the house of Lancaster ;
And, force perforce, I'll make him yield the crown.
Whose bookish rule hath puU'd fair England down.
[Exit.
SCENE II. — ^ Room in the Duke of Gloster'*
House.
Enter Gloster and the Duchess.
Duch. Why droops my lord, like over-ripen'd corn,
Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load ?
Why doth the great duke Humphrey knit his brows,
As frowning at the favours of the world ?
Why are thine eyes fix'd to the sullen earth.
Gazing on that which seems to dim thy sight ?
What scest thou there ? king Henry's diadem,
Enchas'd with all the honours of the world ?
If so, gaze on, and grovel on thy face.
Until thy head be circled with the same.
Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold : —
What, is't too short? I'll lengthen it with mine :
And, having both together heav'd it up.
We'll both together lift our heads to heaven ;
And never more abase our sight so low,
As to vouchsafe one glance unto the ground.
Glo. O Nell, sweet Nell, if thou dost love thy lord,
Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts :
And may that thought, when I imagine ill
Against my king and nephew, virtuous Henry,
Be my last breathing in this mortal world !
My troublous dream this night doth make me sad.
Duch. What dream'd my lord ? tell me, and I'll
requite it
With sweet rehearsal of my morning's dream.
Glo. Methought, tlus staflT, mine office-badge in
court.
Was broke in twain, by whom, I have forgot.
But, as I think, it was by the cardinal ;
And on the pieces of the broken wand
Were plac'd the heads of Edmond duke of Somerset,
And William de la Poole first duke of Suffolk.
> Meleager ; whose life was to continue only so long as a
certain firebrand should last. His mother Althea having
thrown it into the fire, he expired in torment.
482
SECOND PART OF
Act I.
This was my dream ; what it doth bode, Heaven
knows.
Duch. Tut, this was nothing but an argument,
That he that breaks a stick of Gloster's grove,
Shall lose his head for his presumption.
But list to me, my Humphrey, my sweet duke :
Methought, I sat in seat of majesty,
In the cathedral church of Westminster,
And in that chair where kings and queens are crown'd;
Where Henry, and dame Margaret, kneel'd to me.
And on my head did set the diadem.
Glo. Nay, Eleanor, then must 1 chide outright :
Presumptuous dame, ill-nurtur'd Eleanor !
Art thou not second woman in the realm ;
And the protector's wife, belov'd of him?
Hast thou not worldly pleasure at command,
Above the reach or compass of thy thought ?
And wilt thou still be hammering treachery,
To tumble down thy husband, and thyself.
From top of honour to disgrace's feet ?
Away from me, and let me hear no more.
Duch. What, what, my lord ! are you so choleric
With Eleanor for telling but her dream?
Next time, I'll keep my dreams unto myself.
And not be check'd.
Glo. Nay, be not angry, I am pleas'd again.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My lord protector, 'tis his highness' pleasure.
You do prepare to ride unto Saint Alban's,
Whereas ^ the king and queen do mean to hawk.
Glo. I go. — Come, Nell, thou wilt ride with us ?
Duch. Yes, good my lord, I'll follow presently.
[Exeunt Gloster and Messenger.
Follow I must, I cannot go before.
While Gloster bears this base and humble mind.
Were I a man, a duke, and next of blood,
I would remove these tedious stumbling-blocks,
And smooth my way upon their headless necks :
And, being a woman, I would not be slack
To play my part in fortune's pageant.
Where are you there? sir John ! ^ nay, fear not, man,
We are alone ; here's none but thee, and I.
Enter Hume.
Hume. May Heaven preserve your royal majesty !
Duch. What say'st thou, majesty ! I am but grace.
Hume. But, by the grace of Heaven, and Hume's
advice,
Your grace's title shall be multiplied.
Duch. What say'st thou, man ? hast thou as yet
conferr'd
With Margery Jourdain, the cunning witch ;
And Roger Boiingbroke, the conjurer ?
And will they undertake to do me good?
Hume. This they have promised, — to show your
highness
A spirit rais'd from depth of under ground.
That shall make answer to such questions,
As by your grace shall be propounded him.
Duch. It is enough ; I'll think upon the questions :
When from Saint Alban's we do make return.
We'll see these things effected to the full.
Here, Hume, take this reward ; make merry, man.
With thy confederates in this weighty cause.
\^Exit DccHEss.
Hume. Hume must make merry with the duchess'
gold;
Marry, and shall. But how now, sir John Hume?
6 Where. 7 A title frequently bestowed on the clergy.
Seal up your lips, and give no words but — mum !
I'he business asketh silent secrecy.
Dame Eleanor gives gold, to bring the witch :
Gold cannot come amiss, were she a devil.
Yet have I gold, flies from another coast :
I dare not say from the rich cardinal.
And from tlie great and new-made duke of Suffolk j
Yet I do find it so : for, to be plain.
They, knowing Eleanor's aspiring humour,
Have hired me to undermine the duchess.
And buz these conjurations in her brain.
They say, a crafty knave does need no broker ;
Yet am I Suffolk and the cardinal's broker.
Hume, if you take not heed, you shall go near
To call them both a pair of crafty knaves.
Well, so it stands : And thus, I fear, at last,
Hume's knavery, will be the duchess' wreck ;
And her attainture will be Humphrey's fall :
Sort 8 how it will, I shall have gold for all. \_Exit*
SCENE II I. — ^ Room in the Palace.
Enter Peter, and others, with Petitions.
1 Pet. My masters, let's stand close ; my lord
protector will come this way by-and-by, and then
we may deliver our supplications in the quill. 9
2 Pet. Marry, the lord protect him, for he's a
good man ! Heaven bless him !
Enter Suffolk, and Queen Margaret.
1 Pet. Here 'a comes, methinks, and the queen
with him : I'll be the first, sure.
2 Pet. Come back, fool ; this is the duke of
Suffolk, and not my lord protector.
Suf. How now, fellow? wouldst any thing with me?
1 Pet. I pray my lord, pardon me ! 1 took ye for
my lord protector.
Q. Mar. [Reading the superscription.] To my
lord protector ! are your supplications to his lord-
ship ? Let me see them : What is thine ?
1 Pet. Mine is, an't please your grace, against
John Goodman, my lord cardinal's man, for keep-
ing my house, and lands, and wife and all, from me.
Suf. Thy wife too? that is some wrong, indeed. —
What's yours? — What's here! [Reads.'] Against tlie
duke of Suffolk, for enclosing the commons of Melford.
— How now, sir knave ?
2 Pet. Alas, sir, I am but a poor petitioner of our
whole township.
Peter. [Presenting his petition.} Against my
master, Thomas Horner, for saying, That the duke
of York was rightful heir to the crown.
Q. Mar. What say'st thou? Did the duke of
York say, he was rightful heir to the crown ?
Peter. That my master was ? No, forsooth : my
master said, That he was ; and that the king was an
usurper.
Suf. Who is there? [Enter Servants.} — Take
this fellow in, and send for his master with a pur-
suivant presently : — we'll hear more of your matter
before the king. [Exeunt Servants, with Peter.
Q. Mar. And as for you, that love to be protected
Under the wings of our protector's grace,
Begin your suits anew, and sue to him.
[Tears the Petition.
Away, base cullions ! ' Suffolk, let them go.
All. Come, let's be gone. [Exeunt Petitioners.
^ Happen.
9 With great exactness and observance of form
1 Scoundrels.
I
Scene III.
KING HENRY VI.
iS3
Q. Mar. My lord of Suffolk, say, is this the guise,
Is this the fashion in tlie court of England ?
Is this the government of Britain's isle.
And this the royalty of Albion's king?
What, shall king Henry be a pupil still.
Under the surly Gloster's governance ?
Am I a queen in title and in style.
And must be made a subject to a duke?
I tell thee, Poole, when in the city Tours
Thou ran'st a tilt in honour of my love,
And stol'st away the ladies' hearts of France ;
I thought king Henry had resembled thee.
In courage, courtsliip, and proportion :
But all his mind is bent to holiness,
To number Ave-Maries on his beads ;
His cham])ions are — the prophets and apostles :
His weapons, holy saws "^ of sacred writ ;
His study is his tilt-yard, and his loves
Are brazen images of canonized saints.
I would, the college of cardinals
Would choose him pope, and carry him to Rome,
And set tJie triple crown upon his head;
Tliat were a state fit for his holiness.
Suf. Madam, be patient : as I was cause
Your highness came to England, so will I
In England work your grace's full content.
Q. Mar. Beside the haught protector, have we
Beaufort,
Tlie imperious churchman; Somerset, Buckingham,
And grumbling York : and not the least of these.
But can do more in England than the king.
Suf. And ho of these that can do most of all,
Cannot do more in England than the Nevils :
Salisbury, and Warwick, are no simple peers.
Q. Mar. Notall these lords dovex me half so much.
As that proud dame, the lord protector's wife.
She sweeps it through the court with troops of ladies,
More like an empress than duke Humphrey's wife ;
Strangers in court do take her for the queen :
She bears a duke's revenues on her back,
And in her heart she scorns her poverty:
Shall I not live to be aveng'd on her?
She vaunted 'mongst her minions t'other day,
The very train of her worst wearing-gown
Was better worth than all my father's lands,
Till Suffolk gave two dukedoms for his daughter.
Suf. Madam, myself have lim'd a bush for her ;
And plac'd a quire of such enticing birds,
That she will light to listen to the lays.
And never mount to trouble you again.
So, let her rest : and, madam, list to me ;
For I am bold to counsel you in this.
Although we fancy not the cardinal,
Yet must we join with him, and with the lords.
Till we have brought duke Humphrey in disgrace.
As for the duke of York, — this late complaint »
Will make but little for his benefit:
So, one by one, we'll weed them all at last.
And you yourself shall steer the happy helm.
Enter King Henry, York, and Somkrset, con-
versing with him ; Duke and Duchkss of Glostf.r,
Cardinal Beaufort, Buckingham, Salisbury,
and Warwick.
K. Hen. For ray part, noble lords, I care not which ;
Or vSomerset, or York, all's one to me.
York. If York have ill demean'd himself in France,
Tlien let him be denay'd * the regentsbip.
« Sayings.
3 I. e. The complaint of Peter, the armourer's man, against
his master. < Denied.
Som, If Somerset be unworthy of the place,
Let York be regent, I will yield to him.
War. Whether your grace be worthy, yea, or no,
Dispute not that : York is the wortliier.
Car. Ambitious Warwick, let thy betters speak.
War. The cardinal's not my better in the field.
Buck. All in this presence, are thy betters, Warwick.
War. Warwick may live to be the best of all.
Sal. Peace, son ; and show some reason,
Buckingham,
Why Somerset should be preferr'd in this.
Q. Mar. Because the king, forsooth, will have it so.
Glo. Madam, the king is old enough himself
To give his censure ^ ; these are no woman's matters.
Q. Mar. If he be old enough, what needs your grace
To be protector of his excellence?
Glo. Madam, I am protector of the realm ;
And, at his pleasure, will resign my place.
Suf. Resign it then, and leave thine insolence.
Since thou wert king, (as who is king but thou ?)
The commonwealth hath daily run to wreck :
The dauphin hath prevail'd beyond the seas ;
And all the peers and nobles of the realm
Have been as bondmen to thy sovereignty.
Car. The commons hast thou rack'd ; the clergy's
bags
Are lank and lean with thy extortions.
Som. Thy sumptuous buildings, and thy wife's
attire.
Have cost a mass of public treasury.
Buck. Thy cruelty in execution.
Upon offenders, hath exceeded law.
And left thee to the mercy of the law.
Q. Mar. Thy sale of offices, and towns in France, —
If they were known, as the suspect is great, —
Would make thee quickly hop without thy head.
[Exit Gloster. Tne Queen drops her fan.
Give me my fan : what, minion ! can you not ?
\_Gives tfte Duchess a box on the ear.
I cry you mercy, madam ; Was it you ?
Duch. Was't I ? yea, I it was, proud Frenchwoman !
IT. Hen. Sweetaunt, be quiet: 'twas against her will.
Duch. Against her will ! Good king, look to't in
time;
She'll hamper thee, and dandle thee like a baby :
But shall not strike dame Eleanor unreveng'd.
[Exit Duchess.
Buck. Lord Cardinal, I will follow Eleanor,
And listen after Humphrey, how he proceeds :
She's tickled now ; her fume can need no spurs.
She'll gallop fast enough to her destruction.
[Exit Buckingham.
lie-enter Gloster.
Glo. Now, lords, my choler being over-blown,
With walking once about the quadrangle,
I come to talk of commonwealth aflTairs.
As for your spiteful false objections.
Prove them, and I lie open to the law:
But Heaven in mercy so deal with my soul.
As I in duty love my king and country !
But, to tlie matter that we liave in hand : —
I say, my sovereign, York is meetest man
To be your regent in the realm of France.
Suf. Before we make election, give me leave
To show some reason, of no little force.
That York is most unmeet of any man.
York. I'll tell thee, Suflblk, why I am unmeet.
First, for I cannot flatter tliee in pride :
^ Censure here means simple judgment or opinioa
I i 2
4.8-i
SECOND PART OF
Act I.
Next, if I be appointed for tlie place,
My lord of Somerset will keep me here,
Without discharge, money, or furniture,
Till France be won into the dauphin's hands.
Last time, I danc'd attendance on his will,
Till Paris was besieg'd, famish'd, and lost.
War. Tliat I can witness, and a fouler fact
Did never traitor in the land commit.
Svf. Peace, head-strong Warwick !
War. Image of pride, why should I hold my
peace ?
Enter Servants of Suffolk, bringing in Horner
and Peter.
Suf. Because here is a man accus'd of treason :
Pray heaven the duke of York excuse himself !
York. Doth any one accuse York for a traitor ?
A". Hen. What mean'st thou, Suffolk ? tell me :
What are these ?
Suf. Please it your majesty, this is the man
That doth accuse his master of high treason :
His words were these ; — that Richard, duke of York,
Was rightful heir unto the English crown ;
And that your majesty was an usurper.
JT. Hen. Say, man, were these thy words ?
Hor. An't shall please your majesty, I never said
nor thought any such matter : I am falsely accused
by the villain.
Pet. By these ten bones, my lords, [Holding up
his hands.'} he did speak them to me in the garret
one night, as we were scouring my lord of York's
armour.
York. Base dunghill villain, and mechanical,
I'll have thy head for this thy traitor's speech : —
I do beseech your royal majesty,
Let him have all the rigour of the law.
Hor. Alas, my lord, hang me, if ever I spake the
words. My accuser is my prentice : and when I
did correct him for his fault the other day, he did
vow upon his knees he would be even with me :
I have good witness of this ; therefore, I beseech
your majesty, do not cast away an honest man for
a villain's accusation.
K. Hen. Uncle, what shall we say to this in law ?
Glo. This doom, my lord, if I may judge : —
Let Somerset be regent o'er the French,
Because in York this breeds suspicion :
And let these have a day appointed them
For single combat in convenient place ;
For he hath witness of his servant's malice :
This is the law, and this duke Humphrey's doom.
X. Hen. Then be it so. My lord of Somerset,
We make your grace lord regent o'er the French.
Som. I humbly thank your royal majesty.
Hor. And I accept the combat willingly.
Pet. Alas, my lord, I cannot fight ; for heaven's
sake, pity my case ! the spite of man prevaileth
against me. I shall never be able to fight a blow :
O my heart !
Glo. Sirrah, or you must fight, or else be hang'd.
A". Hen. Away with them to prison, and the day
Of combat shall be the last of the next month. —
Come, Somerset, we'll see thee sent away.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV. _ The Duke of Gloster's Garden.
Elder Maugery Jourdain, Hume, Southwell,
and BOLINGBROKE.
Hume. Come, my masters ; the duchess, I tell
you, expects performance of your promises.
Baling. Master Hume, we are therefore pro-
vided: will your ladyship behold and hear our
exorcisms ? ^
Hume. Ay; What else? fear you not her courage.
Baling. I have heard her reported to be a woman
of an invincible spirit : But it shall be convenient,
master Hume, that you be by her aloft, while we be
busy below ; and so, I pray you, go, and leave us.
[Exit Hume.] Mother Jourdain, be you prostrate,
and grovel on the earth: — John Southwell, read
you ; and let us to our work.
Enter Duchess, above.
Duch. Well said, my masters ; and welcome all.
To this geer 7 ; the sooner the better.
Baling. Patience, good lady ; wizards know their
times :
Deep night, dark night, the silent of the night.
The time of night, when Troy was set on fire j
The time when screech-owls cry, and ban-dogs 8
howl.
And spirits walk, and ghosts break up their graves,
That time best fits the work we have in hand.
Madam, sit you, and fear not ; whom we raise,
We will make fast within a hallow'd verge.
[Here they perform the ceremonies appertainingy
and make the circle ; Bolingbroke, or South-
well, reads, Conjuro te, &c. It thunders and
lightens terribly ; then the Spirit riseth.}
Spir. Adsum.
M. Jourd. Asmath, answer that I shall ask ;
For, till thou speak, thou shalt not pass from hence.
Spir. Ask what thou wilt : — That I had said and
done !
Boling. First, of the king. What shaU of him
become 9 [Reading out of a pajjer.
Spir. The duke yet lives that Henry shall depose ;
But him outlive, and die a violent death.
[As the Spirit speaks, Southwell writes the
answer.
Boling. What fate awaits the duke of Suffolk ?
Spir. By water shall he die, and take his end.
Boling. What shall befall the duke of Somerset ?
Spir. Let him shun castles ;
Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains,
i'han where castles mounted stand.
Have done ! for more I hardly can endure.
Boling. False fiend, avoid !
[Thunder and lightning. Spirit descends.
Enter York and Buckingham, hastily, with tlieir
Guards, and others.
York. Lay bands upon these traitors, and their
trash.
Beldame, I think, we watch'd you at an inch. —
What, madam, are you there? the king and com-
monweal
Are deeply indebted for this piece of pains :
My lord protector will, I doubt it not.
See you well guerdon 'd 9 for these good deserts.
Duch. Not half so bad as thine to England's king.
Injurious duke ; that threat'st where is no cause.
Buck. True, madam, none at all. What call you
this ? [Showing her the papers.
Away with them; let them be clapp'd up close,
6 By exorcise, Shakspeare invariably means to raise spirits,
and not to lay them.
7 Matter or business. « Watch-dog&
5 Rewarded.
I
Act II. Scene I.
KING HENRY VI.
485
And kept asunder : — You, nnadam, shall with us : —
StatFord, take her to thee. —
[Exit DvcuKss Jrom above.
We'll see your trinkets here all forth-coming ;
All. — Away !
[Exeunt Guards, with Southwell, Boling-
BROKE, tj-c.
York. Lord Buckingham, metliinks, you watch'd
her well :
A pretty plot, well chosen to build upon !
Now pray, my lord, let's see the devil's writ.
What have we here? [Reads.
The duke yet lives, that Henry shall depose :
But hijn outlive, and die a violent death.
Why, this is just,
Aio te, ^acida, Romanes vincere posse.
Well, to the rest :
TeU me, what fate awaits the duke of Siiffblk f
By water shall he die, and take his end. —
What shall betide the duke of Somerset ?
Let him shun castles ;
Safer shall he be upon the sandy plains,
Than where castles mounted stand*
Come, come, my lords ;
These oracles are hardily attain'd,
And hardly understood.
The king is now in progress towards Saint Alban's,
With him, the husband of this lovely lady :
Thither go these news, as fast as horse can carry them ;
A sorry breakfast for my lord protector.
Buck. Your grace shall give me leave, my lord of
York,
To be the post, in hope of his reward.
York. At your pleasure, my good lord. — Who's
witliin there, ho !
Enter a Servant.
Invite my lords of Salisbury, and Warwick,
To sup with me to-morrow nigh(. — Away !
[Exetint.
ACT II.
SCENE I. — Saint Alban's.
Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, Gloster,
Cardinal, and Suffolk, with Falconers hollaing.
Q.Mar. Believe me, lords, for flying at the brook ',
I saw not better sport these seven years' day : -
Yet, by your leave, the wind was very high ;
And, ten to one, old Joan had not gone out.
IT. Hen. But what a point, my lord, your falcon
made.
And what a pitch she flew above the rest ! —
To see how God in all his creatures works !
Yea, man and birds, are fain ^ of climbing high.
Suf. No marvel, an it like your majesty,
My lord protector's hawks do tower so well j
They know their master loves to be aloft.
And bears his thoughts above his falcon's pitch.
Glo. My lord, 'tis but a base ignoble mind
That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.
Car. I thought as much ; he'd be above the clouds.
Glo. Ay, my lord cardinal; How think you by that?
Were it not good, your grace could fly to heaven?
IT. Hen. The treasury of everlasting joy !
Car. Thy heaven is on earth ; thine eyesand thoughts
Beat on a crown, the treasure of thy heart ;
Pernicious protector, dangerous peer.
That smooth's! it so with king and commonweal !
Glo. What, cardinal, is your priesthood grown
peremptory ?
Tantame animis ccelestibus ins?
Churchmen so hot ? good uncle, hide such malice ;
With such holiness can you do it?
Suf. No malice, sir ; no more than well becomes
So good a quarrel, and so bad a peer.
Glo. As who, my lord ?
Siif. Why, as you, my lord ;
An't like your lordly lord-protectorship.
(7/o. Why, Suflblk, England knows thine insolence.
Q. Mar. And thy ambition, Gloster.
A'. Hen. I pr'ythec, i>eacc.
Good queen ; and whet not on these furious peers.
For blessed are the peacemakers on eartii.
' The falconer's term fur hawking «t water-fowl.
• Fond
Car. Let me blessed for the peace I make.
Against this proud protector with my sword !
Glo. 'Faith, holy uncje, 'would 'twere come to
that ! [Aside to the Cardinal.
Car. Marry, when thou dar'st. [Aside.
Glo. Make up no factious numbers for the matter.
In thine own person answer thy abuse. [Aside.
Car. Ay, where thou dar'st not peep : an if thou
dar'st.
This eveni ng on the east side of the grove. [Aside.
K. Hen. How now, my lords ?
Car. Believe me, cousin Gloster,
Had not your man put up the fowl so suddenly.
We had had more sport — Come with thy two- hand
sword. [Aside to Gloster.
Glo. True, uncle.
Car. A re you advis'd ? — the east side of the grove ?
Glo. Cardinal, I am with you. [Aside.
IT. Hen. Why, how now, uncle Gloster ?
Glo. Talking of hawking ; nothing else, my lord. —
£". Hen. The winds grow high ; so do your sto-
machs, lords.
How irksome is this musick to my heart !
When such strings jar, what hope of harmony ?
I pray, my lords, let me compound this strife.
Enter an Inhabitant of Saint Alban's, crying^
A Miracle !
Glo. What means this noise ?
Fellow, what miracle dost thou proclaim ?
Inhab. A miracle ! a miracle !
Suf. Come to the king, and tell him what miracle.
Inhab. Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Alban's
shrine.
Within this half hour, hath receiv'd his sight ;
A man, that ne'er saw in his life before.
K. Hen. Now, God be prais'd ! that to believing
souls
Gives light in darkness, comfort in despair !
Enter the Mayor of Saint Alban'x, and his Brethren ;
and SiMrcox, borne betweeti two Persons in a
Chair : his Wife, and a great Mv'lit tide following.
Car. Here come the townsmen on procession,
To present your highness witli the man.
I i 3
486
SECOND PART OF
Act II.
K. Hen. Great is his comfort in this earthly vale,
Although by his sight his sin be multiplied.
GUu Stand by, my masters, bring him near the king.
His highness' pleasure is to talk with him.
K. Hen. Good fellow, tell us here the circumstance,
That we for thee may glorify the Lord.
What, hast thou been long blind, and now restor'd ?
Simp. Born blind, an't please your grace.
Wife. Ay, indeed was he.
Siif. What woman is this ?
Wife. His wife, an't like your worship.
Glo. Hadst thou been his mother, thou couldst
have better told.
jr. Hen. Where wert thou born ?
Simp. At Berwickin the north, an't like your grace.
IT. Hen. Poor soul ! God's goodness hath been
great to thee :
Let never day nor night unhallow'd pass,
But still remember what the Lord hath done.
Q. Mar. Tell me, good fellow, cam'st thou here
by chance.
Or of devotion, to this holy shrine ?
Simp. God knows, of pure devotion ; being call'd
A hundred times, and oft'ner, in my sleep
By good saint Alban ; who said, — Simpcox come ;
Come, offer at my shrine, and I will help thee.
Wife. Most true, forsooth ; and many time and oft
Myself have heard a voice to call him so.
Car. What, art thou lame ?
Si7np. Ay, God Almighty help me !
Siif. How cam'st thou so ?
Simp. A fall off a tree.
Wife. A plum-tree, master.
Glo. How long hast thou been blind ?
Simp. O, born so, master.
Glo. What, and wouldst climb a tree ?
Simp. But that in all my life, when I was a youth.
Wife. Too true; and bought his climbing very dear.
Glo. 'Mass, thou lov'dst plums well, that wouldst
venture so.
Simp. Alas, good master, my wife desir'd some
damsons.
And made me climb, with danger of my life.
Glo. A subtle knave ! but yet it shall not serve. —
Let me see thine eyes : — wink now ; — now open
them : —
In my opinion yet thou seest not well.
Simp. Yes, master, clear as day ; I thank God,
and saint Alban.
Glo. Say'st thou me so ? What colour is this cloak
of?
Simp. Red, master ; red as blood.
Glo. Why, that's well said : What colour is my
gown of?
Simp. Black, forsooth ; coal-black, as jet.
JC. Hen. Why then, thou know'st what colour jet
is of?
Siif. And yet, I think, jet did he never see.
Glo. But cloaks, and gowns, before this day, a many.
Wife. Never, before this day, in all his life.
Glo. Tell me, sirrah, what's my name ?
Simp. Alas, master, 1 know not.
Glo. What's his name ?
Simp. I know not.
Glo. Nor his?
Simp. No, indeed, master.
Glo. What's thine own name ?
Simp. Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master.
Glo. Then, Saunder, sit thou there, the lyingest
knave
In Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind,
Thou mightst as well have known our names, as thus
To name the several colours we do wear.
Sight may distinguish of colours ; but suddenly
To nominate them all 's impossible. ■
My lords, saint Alban here hath done a miracle •,
And would ye not think that cunning to be great
That could restore this cripple to his legs ?
Simp. O, master, that you could !
Glo. My masters of Saint Alban's, have you not
beadles in your town, and things called whips ?
Mai/. Yes, my lord, if it please your grace.
Glo. Then send for one presently.
May. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight.
lExit an Attendant.
Glo. Now fetch me a stool hither by-and-by. [A
stool brought out. ] Now, sirrah, if you mean to save
yourself from whipping, leap me over this stool, and
run away.
Simp. Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone :
You go about to torture me in vain.
Re-enter Attendant, with the Beadle.
Glo. Well, sir, we must have you find your legs.
Sirrah beadle, whip him till he leap over that same
stool.
Bead. I will, my lord. — Come on, sirrah ; off
with your doublet quickly.
Simp. Alas, master, what shall I do ? I am not
able to stand.
[_After the Beadle hath hit him once, he leaps
over the stool, and runs away ; and the
People follow, and cry, A Miracle !
K.Hen. O God,seestthou this, and bear'st so long?
Q. Mar. It made me laugh to see the villain run.
Glo. Follow the knave ; and take this drab away.
Wife. Alas, sir, we did it for pure need.
Glo. Let them be whipped through every market
town, till they come to Berwick, whence they came.
^Exeunt Mayor, Beadle, Wife, ^c.
Car. Duke Humphrey has done a miracle to-day.
Suf. True ; made the lame to leap, and fly away.
Glo. But you have done more miracles than 1 j
You made, in a day, my lord, whole towns to fly.
Enter Buckingham.
K. Hen. What tidings with our cousin Bucking-
ham?
Buck. Such as my heart doth tremble to unfold.
A sort 3 of naughty persons, vilely bent, —
Under the countenance and confederacy
Of lady Eleanor, the protector's wife,
The ring-leader and head of all this rout, —
Have practis'd dangerously against your state.
Dealing with witches ; and with conjurers :
Whom we have apprehended in the fact ;
Raising up wicked spirits from under ground.
Demanding of king Henry's life and death.
And other of your highness' privy council.
As more at large your grace shall understand.
Car. And so, my lord protector, by this means
Your lady is forthcoming yet at London.
This news, I think, hath turn'd your weapon's edge ;
'Tis like, my lord, you will not keep your hour.
[Aside to Gloster.
Glo. Ambitious churchman, leave to afflict my
heart !
Sorrow and grief have vanquish'd all my powers :
And, vanquish'd as I am, I yield to thee,
Or to the meanest groom.
3 A company.
I
Scene II.
KING HENRY VI.
487
K. Hen. Alas, what mischiefs work the wicked
ones ;
Heaping confusion on their own heads thereby !
Q. Mar. Gloster, see here the taintureof thy nest ;
And, look, thyself be faultless, thou wert best.
Glo. Madam, for myself, to heaven I do appeal.
How I have lov'd my king, and commonweal.
And, for my wife, I know not how it stands ;
Sorry I am to hear what I have heard :
Noble she is ; but if she have forgot
Honour, and virtue, and convers'd with such
As, like to pitch, defile nobility,
I banish her my bed and company ;
And give her, as a prey, to law, and shame,
That hath dishonour'd Gloster's honest name.
A". Hen. Well, for this night, we will repose us here :
To-morrow, toward London, back again.
To look into tliis business thoroughly,
And call these foul offenders to their answers;
And poise"* the cause injustice' equal scales,
Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause pre-
vails. [Flourish. Exeunt.
SCENE II. — London. Tfie Duke of York'*
Garden.
Enter York, Salisbury, and Warwick.
York. Now, my good lords of Salisbury and
Warwick,
Our simple supper ended, give me leave,
In this close walk, to satisfy myself,
In craving your opinion of my title.
Which is infallible to England's crown.
Sal. My lord, I long to hear it at full.
Ifar. Sweet York, begin : and if thy claim be good,
The Nevils are thy subjects to command.
York. Then thus: —
Edward the Third, my lords, had seven sons :
The first, Edward the Black Prince, prince of Wales;
The second, William of Hatfield ; and the tliird,
Lionel, duke of Clarence ; next to whom.
Was John of Gaunt, the duke of Lancaster :
The fifth, was Edmund Langley, duke of York ;
The sixth, was Thomas of Woodstock, duke of
Gloster ;
William of Windsor was the seventh, and last.
Edward, the Black Prince, died before his father ;
And left behind him Richard, his only son.
Who, after Edward the Third's death, reign'd as king ;
Till Henry Bolingbroke, duke of Lancaster,
The eldest son and heir of John of Gaunt,
Crown'd by the name of Henry the Fourth,
Seiz'd on the realm ; depos'd the rightful king ;
Sent his poor queen to France, from whence she came.
And him to Pomfret; where, as all you know.
Harmless Richard was murder'd traitorously.
ff'ar. Father, the duke hath told the truth ;
Tluis got the house of Lancaster the crown.
York. Which now they hold by force, and not by
right ;
For Richard, the first son's heir being dead.
The issue of the next son should have reign'd.
Sal. But William of Hatfielddied without an heir.
York. The third son, duke of Clarence, (from
whose line
I claim the crown,) had issue — Philippe, a daughter.
Who married Edmund Mortimer, earl of March :
Edmund had issue — Roger, earl of March :
Roger had issue — Edmund, Anne, and Eleanor.
* Weigh.
Sal. This Edmund, in the reign of Bolingbroke
As I have read, laid claim unto the crown ;
And, but for Owen Glendower, had been king.
Who kept him in captivity till he died.
But, to the rest.
York. His eldest sister, Anne,
My mother, being heir unto the crown.
Married Richard, earl of Cambridge ; who was son
To Edmund Langley, Edward the Third's fiftli son.
By her I claim the kingdom : she was heir
To Roger, earl of March ; who was the son
Of Edmund Mortimer ; who married Philippe,
Sole daughter unto Lionel, duke of Clarence :
So, if the issue of the elder son
Succeed before the younger, 1 am king.
fyar. What plain proceedings are more plain
tlian this?
Henry doth claim the crown from John of Gaunt,
The fourth son ; York claims it from the third.
Till Lionel's issue fails, his should not reign :
It fails not yet ; but flourishes in thee,
And in thy sons, fair slips of such a stock. —
Then, father Salisbury, kneel we both together ;
And, in this private plot *, be we the first,
That shall salute our rightful sovereign
With honour of his birthright to the crown.
Both. Long live our sovereign Richard, Eng-
land's king !
York. We thank you, lords. But 1 am not your
king
Till I be crown'd : and that my sword be stain'd
With heart-blood of the house of Lancaster.
W^nd that's not suddenly to be perform'd;
But with advice, and silent secrecy.
Do you, as I do, in these dangerous days.
Wink at the duke of Suffolk's insolence.
At Beaufort's pride, at Somerset's ambition,
At Buckingham, and all the crew of them,
Till they have snar'd the shepherd of the flock.
That virtuous prince, the good duke Humphrey :
'Tis that they seek ; and they, in seeking that.
Shall find tlieir deaths, if York can prophesy.
Sal. My lord, break we off; we know your mind
at full.
War. My heart assures me, that the earl of War-
wick
Shall one day make the duke of York a king.
York. And, Nevil, this I do assure myself, —
Richard shall live to make the earl of Warwick
The greatest man in England, but tlie king.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IIL — ^ Hall, f Justice.
Trumpets sotmded. Enter King Henry, Queen
Margaret, Gloster, York, Suffolk, and
Salisbury; the Duchess of Gloster, Margery
JouRDAiN, Southwell, Hume, and Boling-
broke, undei- guard.
K. Hen. Stand forth, dame Eleanor Cobham,
Gloster's wife :
In sight of God, and us your guilt is great ;
Receive the sentence of the law for sin. —
You four, from hence to prison back again ;
[To JoURDAIN, ^e*
From thence unto the place of execution :
The witch in Smithfield shall l)e bum'd to aslies.
And you three shall l>e strangled on the gallows. .~m
You, madam, for you are more nobly bom,
Despoiled of your honour in your life,
> Sequestered spot
I i 4
488
SECOND PART OF
Act II.
Shall, after three days' open penance done,
Live in your country here, in banishment.
With sir John Stanley, in the Isle of Man.
Duch. Welcome is banishment, welcome were my
death.
Glo. Eleanor, the law, thou seest, hath judged thee ;
I cannot justify whom the law condemns. —
[Exeunt the Duchess, and the otlier Prisoners,
guarded.
Mine eyes are full of tears, my heart of grief.
Ah, Humphrey, this dishonour in thine age
Will bring thy head with sorrow to the ground !
I beseech your majesty, give me leave to go ;
SoiTow would 6 solace, and mine age would ease.
K. Hen. Stay, Humphrey duke of Gloster : ere
thou go.
Give up thy staff' ; Henry will to himself
Protector be ; and God shall be my hope.
My stay, my guide, and lantern to my feet ;
And go in peace, Humphrey ; no less belov'd,
Than when thou wert protector to thy king.
Q. Mar. I see no reason why a king of years
Should be to be protected like a child. —
God and king Henry govern England's helm :
Give up your staff", sir, and the king his realm.
Glo. My staff"? — here, noble Henry, is my staff";
As willingly do I the same resign.
As e'er thy father Henry made it mine ;
And even as willingly at thy feet I leave it,
As others would ambitiously receive it.
Farewell, good king : When I am dead and gone.
May honourable peace attend thy throne ! \^Exit.
Q. Mar. Why, now is Henry king, and Margaret
queen ;
And Humphrey, duke of Gloster, scarce himself.
That bears so shrewd a main ; two pulls at once, —
His lady banish'd, and a limb lopp'd off";
This staff" of honour raught 7 : — There let it stand,
Where it best fits to be, in Henry's hand.
Suf. Thus droops this lofty pine, and hangs his
sprays ;
Thus Eleanor's pride dies in her youngest days.
York. Lords, let him go. — Please it your majesty,
This is the day appointed for the combat ;
And ready are the appellant and defendant.
The armourer and his man, to enter the lists,
So please your highness to behold the fight.
Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord ; for purposely therefore
Left I the court, to see this quarrel tried.
X. Hen. Then let us see the lists and all things fit ;
Here let them end it, God defend the right !
York. I never saw a fellow worse bested ^,
Or more afraid to fight, than is the appellant.
The servant of this armourer, my lords.
Enter, on one side, Horner, and his Neighbours,
drinking to him so much that he is drunk; and he
enters bearing his staff with a sand-bag fastened to
it ; a drum before him : at the other side, Peter,
tdlh a drum and a similar staff; accompanied by
Prentices drinking to him.
1 Neigh. Here, neighbour Horner, I drink to
you in a cup of sack ; And fear not, neighbour, you
shall do well enough.
2 Neigh. And here, neighbour, here's a cup of
chameco. 9
3 Neigh. And here's a pot of good double beer,
neighbour : drink, and fear not your man.
•5 Wishes for
s In a worse plight.
7 Reached.
9 A sort of sweet wine.
Hor. Let it come, i'faith, and I'll pledge you
all ; And a fig for Peter !
1 Fren. Here, Peter, I drink to thee; and be
not afraid.
2 Pren. Be merry, Peter, and fear not thy mas-
ter ; fight for credit of the prentices.
Peter. I thank you all : drink, and pray for me,
I pray you ; for, I think, I have taken my last
draught in this world. — Here, Robin, an if I die,
I give thee my apron ; and. Will, thou shalt have
my hammer: — and here, Tom, take all the money
that I have. O Lord, bless me ; I am never able
to deal with my master, he hath learnt so much
fence already.
Sal. Come, leave your drinking, and fall to blows.
— Sirrah, what's thy name ? -
Peter. Peter, forsooth,
Sal. Peter ! what more ?
Peter. Thump.
Sal. Thump! then see thou thump thy master
well.
Hor. Masters, I am come hither, as it were, upon
my man's instigation, to prove him a knave, and
myself an honest man : and touching the duke of
York, — will take my death, I never meant him any
ill, nor the king, nor the queen : And, therefore,
Peter, have at thee with a downright blow, as Bevis
of Southampton fell upon Ascapart.
York. Despatch : — this knave's tongue begins
to double.
Sound trumpets, alarum to the combatants.
[Alarum. Theyjight, and Peter strikes
down his Master.
Hor. Hold, Peter, hold! I confess, I confess
treason. [Dies.
York. Take away his weapon : — Fellow, thank
the good wine in thy master's way.
Peter. O Heaven ! have I overcome mine ene-
mies in this presence ? O Peter, thou hast prevailed
in right !
K. Hen. Go, take hence that traitor from our sight ;
For, by his death, we do perceive his guilt :
And heaven injustice, hath reveal'd to us
The truth and innocence of this poor fellow.
Which he had thought to have murder'd wrong-
fully. —
Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV. —^ Street.
Enter Gloster and Servants, in mourning Cloaks.
Glo. Thus, sometimes, hath the brightest day a
cloud ;
And, after summer, ever more succeeds
Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold :
So cares and joys abound as seasons fleet. —
Sirs, what's o'clock ?
Serv. Ten, my lord.
Glo. Ten is the hour that was appointed me.
To watch the coming of my punish 'd duchess :
Uneath • may she endure the flinty streets.
To tread them with her tender-feeling feet.
Sweet Nell, ill can thy noble mind abrook
The abject people, gazing on thy face.
With envious looks, still laughing at thy shame j
That erst did follow thy proud chariot wheels,
When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets.
But, soft ! I think, she comes ; and I'll prepare
My tear-stain'd eyes to see her miseries.
' Not easily.
Scene IV.
KING HENRY VI.
489
Enter the Duchess of Gloster, in a ivhite shed,
with pajyers pinrCd upon her back, her feet bare,
and a taper burniTig in her hand; Sir John
Stanley, a Sheriff, and Officers.
Serv. So please your grace, we'll take her from
the sheriff.
Glo. No, stir not, for your lives ; let her pass by.
Duch. Come you, my lord, to see my open shame?
Now thou dost penance too. Look, how tliey gaze !
See, how the giddy multitude do point,
And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee !
Ah, Gloster, hide thee from their hateful looks :
And, in thy closet pent up, rue my shame,
And ban 2 thine enemies, both mine and thine.
Glo. Be patient, gentle Nell ; forget this grief.
Duch. Ah, Gloster, teach me to forget myself:
For, whilst I think I am thy married wife,
And thou a prince, protector of this land,
Methinks, I should not thus be led along,
Mail'd up- in shame, with papers on my back ;
And follow'd with a rabble, that rejoice
To see my tears, and here my deep-fet 3 groans.
The ruthless flint doth cut my tender feet :
And, when I start, the envious people laugh,
And bid me be advised how I tread.
Ah, Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke ?
Trow'st thou, that e'er I'll look upon the world ;
Or count them happy, that enjoy the sun ?
No ; dark shall be my light, and night my day ;
To think upon my pomp, shall be my hell.
Sometime I'll say, I am duke Humphrey's wife ;
And he a prince, and ruler of the land :
Yet so he rul'd, and such a prince he was,
As he stood by, whilst I, his forlorn duchess,
Was made a wonder, and a pointing-stock.
To every idle rascal follower.
But be thou mild, and blush not at my shame ;
Nor stir at nothing, till the axe of death
Hang over thee, as, sure, it shortly will.
For Suffolk, — he that can do all in all
With her, that hateth thee, and hates us all, —
And York, and impious Beaufort, that false priest,
Have all lim'd bushes to betray thy wings,
And, fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee :
But fear not tliou, until thy foot be snar'd,
Nor ever seek prevention of thy foes.
Glo. Ah, Nell, forbear ; thou aimest all awry ;
I must offend, before I be attainted :
And had I twenty times so many foes.
And each of them had twenty times their power.
All these could not procure me any scathe "»,
So long as I am loyal, true, and crimeless.
Wouldst have me rescue thee from this reproach ?
Why, yet thy scandal were not wip'd away,
But I in danger for the breach of law.
Thy greatest help is quiet, gentle Nell :
» Curse.
Deep- fetched
* Harm, mischieC
I pray thee, sort thy heart to patience !
These few days' wonder will be quickly worn.
Enter a Herald.
Her. I summon your grace to his majesty's
parliament, holden at Bury tlie first of this next
month.
Glo. And my consent ne'er ask'd herein before !
This is close dealing. — Well, I will be there.
[Exit Herald.
My Nell, I take my leave : — and, master sheriff.
Let not her penance exceed the king's commission.
Sher. An't please your grace, here my commis-
sion stays :
And sir John Stanley is appointed now.
To take her with him to the Isle of Man.
Glo. Must you, sir John, protect my lady here ?
Stan. So am I given iu charge, may't please your
grace.
Glo. Entreat her not the worse, in that I pray
You use her well : the world may laugh again ;
And I may live to do you kindness, if
You do it her. And so, sir John, farewell.
Duch. What, gone, my lordj and bid me not
farewell ?
Gfo. Witness my tears, I cannot stay to speak.
[Exeunt Gloster and Servants.
Duch. Art thou gone too ? All comfort go with
thee!
For none abides with me : my joy is death ;
Death, at whose name I oft have been afear'd.
Because I wish'd this world's eternity. —
Stanley, I pr'ythee, go, and take me hence ;
I care not whither, for I beg no favour.
Only convey me where thou art commanded.
Stan. Why, madam, that is to tlie Isle of Man ;
There to be used according to your state.
Duch. That's bad enough, for I am but reproach :
And shall I then be used reproachfully ?
Stan. Like to a duchess, and duke Humphrey's
lady.
According to that state you shall be used.
Duch. Sheriff, farewell, and better tlian I fare ;
Although thou hast been conduct * of my shame !
Sher, It is my office, madam, pardon me.
Duch. Ay, ay, farewell, thy office is discharg'd. —
Come, Stanley, shall we go?
Stan. Madam, your penance done, throw off this
sheet,
And go we to attire you for our journey.
Duch. My shame will not be shifted with my
sheet:
No, it will hang upon my richest robes.
And show itself, attire me how I can.
Go, lead the way ; I long to see my prison.
[Exeunt,
* Conductor.
490
SECOND PART OF
Act III.
ACT III,
SCENE I The Abbey at Bury.
Etiler to the Parliament, Km G Henry, Queen Mar-
garet, Cardinal Beaufort, Suffolk, York,
Buckingham, a7ul others.
K. Hen. I muse 6, my lord of Gloster is not come :
'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man,
Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now.
Q Mar. Can you not see ? or will you not ob-
serve
The strangeness of his alter'd countenance ?
With what a majesty he bears himself;
How insolent of late he is become,
How proud, peremptory, and unlike himself?
We know the time since he was mild and affable ;
And, if we did but glance a far-off look.
Immediately he was upon his knee,
That all the court admir'd him for submission :
But meet him now, and, be it in the mom,
When every one will give the time of day.
He knits his brow, and shows an angry eye,
And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee.
Disdaining duty that to us belongs.
Small curs are not regarded, when they grin ;
But great men tremble when the lion roars ;
And Humphrey is no little man in England.
First, note, that he is near you in descent ;
And should you fall, he is the next will mount.
Me seemeth, then, it is no policy,^
Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears,
And his advantage following your decease, —
That he should come about your royal person,
Or be admitted to your highness' council.
By flattery hath he won the commons' heart ;
And, when he please to make commotion,
'Tis to be fear'd, they all will follow him.
Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted ;
Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden.
And choke the herbs for want of husbandry.
The reverent care, I bear unto my lord.
Made me collect 7 these dangers in the duke.
If it be fond ^, call it a woman's fear ;
Which fear, if better reasons can supplant,
I will subscribe and say, — I wrong'd the duke.
My lord of Suffolk,— Buckingham, — and York, —
Reprove my allegation, if you can ;
Or else conclude my words effectual.
Siif. Well hath your highness seen into this duke ;
And, had I first been put to speak my mind,
I think, I should have told your grace's tale.
The duchess, by his subornation,
Upon my life, began her devilish practices :
Or if he were not privy to those faults.
Yet by reputing of his high descent 9,
(As next the king, he was successive heir,)
And such high vaunts of his nobility.
Did instigate the bedlam brain-sick duchess.
By wicked means to frame our sovereign's fall.
Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep ;
And in his simple show he harbours treason.
The fox barks not, when he would steal the lamb.
No, no, my sovereign ; Gloster is a man
Unsounded yet, and full of deep deceit.
" Wonder. 7 i. e. Observe. » Foolish.
^ i. e. Valuing himself on his high descent.
Car. Did he not, contrary to form of law,
Devise strange deaths for small offences done ?
York. And did he not, in his protectorship,
Levy great sums of money through the realm.
For soldiers' pay in France, and never sent it ?
By means whereof, the towns each day revolted.
Buck. Tut ! these are petty faults to faults un-
known.
Which time will bring to light in smooth duke
Humphrey.
JC. Hen. My lords, at once : The care you have
of us,
To mow down thorns that would annoy our foot.
Is worthy praise : But shall I speak my conscience ?
Our kinsman Gloster is as innocent
From meaning treason to our royal person,
As is the sucking lamb, or harmless dove :
The duke is virtuous, mild ; and too well given.
To dream on evil, or to work my downfall.
Q. Mar. Ah, what's more dangerous than this fond
affiance !
Seems he a dove ? his feathers are but borrow'd,
For he's disposed as the hateful raven.
Is he a lamb ? his skin is surely lent him.
For he's inclin'd as are the ravenous wolves.
Who cannot steal a shape, that means deceit ?
Take heed, my lord ; the welfare of us all
Hangs on the cutting short that fraudful man.
Enter Somerset.
Som. All health unto my gracious sovereign !
K. Hen. Welcome, lord Somerset. What news
from France?
Som. That all your interest in those territories
Is utterly bereft you ; all is lost.
K. Hen. Cold news, lord Somerset: But God's
will be done !
York. Cold news for me; for I had hope of
France,
As firmly as I hope for fertile England.
Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud,
And caterpillars eat my leaves away ;
But I will remedy this gear ' ere long,
Or sell my title for a glorious grave. \^Aside.
Enter Gloster.
Glo. All happiness unto my lord the king !
Pardon, my liege, that I have staid so long.
Suf. Nay, Gloster, know, that thou art come too
soon.
Unless thou wert more loyal than thou art :
I do arrest thee of high treason here.
Glo. Well, Suffolk, yet thou shalt not see me
blush,
Nor change my countenance for tliis arrest ;
A heart unspotted is not easily daunted.
The purest spring is not so free from mud,
As I am clear fi-om treason to my sovereign :
Who can accuse me ? wherein am I guilty ?
York. 'Tis tliought, my lord, that you took bribes
of France,
And, being protector, stayed the soldiers' pay :
By means whereof, his highness hath lost France.
Glo. Is it but thought so ? What are they that
think it?
' Gear was a general word for things or matters.
I
Scene I.
KING HENRY VI.
491
I never robb'd the soldiers of their pay,
Nor ever had one penny bribe from France.
So help me God, as I have watch'd the night, —
Ay, night by night, — in studying good for England !
Tliat doit that e'er I wrested from the king,
Or any groat I hoarded to my use.
Be brought against me at my trial day !
No ! many a pound of mine own proper store,
Because I would not tax the needy commons.
Have I disbursed to the garrisons,
And never ask'd for restitution.
Car. It serves you well, my lord, to say so much.
do. I say no more than truth, so help me God !
York. In your protectorship, you did devise
Strange tortures for offenders, never heard of.
That England was defam'd by tyranny.
Glo. Why, 'tis well known, that wliiles I was pro-
tector.
Pity was all the fault that was in me ;
For I sliould melt at an offender's tears.
And lowly words were ransome for their fault.
Unless it were a bloody murderer.
Or foul felonious thief that fleec'd poor passengers,
I never gave them condign punishment :
Murder, indeed, that bloody sin, I tortur'd
Above the felon, or what trespass else.
Suf. My lord, these faults are easy '^y quickly an-
swer'd :
But mightier crimes are laid unto your charge.
Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself.
I do arrest you in his highness' name ;
And here commit you to my lord cardinal
To keep, until your further time of trial.
A". Hen. My lord of Gloster, 'tis my special hope,
That you will clear yourself from all suspects ;
My conscience tells me, you are innocent.
Glo. Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous !
Virtue is chok'd with foul ambition,
.\nd charity chas'd hence by rancour's hand ;
Foul subornation is predominant.
And equity exil'd your highness' land.
I know, their complot is to have my life ;
And, if my death might make this island happy.
And prove the period of their tjrranny,
I would expend it with all willingness :
But mine is made the prologue to their play :
For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril.
Will not conclude their plotted tragedy.
Beaufort's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice.
And Suffolk's cloudy brow his stormy hate ;
Sharp Buckingham unburdens with his tongue
The envious load that lies upon his heart ;
And dogged York, that reaches at the moon,
Whose overweening arm I have pluck'd back.
By false accuse doth level at my life : —
And you, my sovereign lady, with the rest.
Causeless have laid disgraces on my head ?
And, with your best endeavour, have stirr'd up
My liefest 3 liege to be mine enemy ; —
Ay, all of you have laid your heads together.
Myself had notice of your conventicles.
I shall not want false witness to condemn me,
Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt ;
The ancient proverb will be well affected, —
A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.
Car. My liege, his railing is intolerable :
If those tliat care to keep your royal person
From treason's secret knife, and traitors' rage,
Be tlius upbraided, chid, and rated at,
« E«uly. 5 Dearest
And the offender granted scope of speech,
'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your grace.
Suf. Hath he not twit our sovereign lady here,
With ignominious words, though clerkly couch'd.
As if she had suborned some to swear
False allegations to o'erthrow his state ?
Q. Mar. But I can give the loser leave to chide.
Glo. Far truer spoke, than meant : I lose, indeed ; —
Beshrew the winners, for they played me false !
And well such losers may have leave to speak.
Buck. He'll wrest the sense, and hold us here all
day : —
Lord cardinal, he is your prisoner.
Car. Sirs, take away the duke, and guard him sure.
Glo. Ah, thus king Henry throws away his crutch,
Before his legs be firm to bear his body :
Thus is the shepherd beaten from thy side,
And wolves are gnarling who shall gnaw thee first.
Ah, that my fear were false ! ah, that it were !
For, good king Henry, thy decay I fear.
\^Exeunt Attendants, with Glosteb.
K. Hen. My lords, what to your wisdoms seemetli
best.
Do, or undo, as if ourself were here.
Q. Mar. What, will your highness leave the par-
liament ?
K. Hen. Ay, Margaret ; my heart is drown'd with
grief.
Whose flood begins to flow within mine eyes ;
My body round engirt with misery ;
For what's more miserable than discontent ?
Ah, uncle Humphrey ! in thy face I see
The map of honour, truth, and loyalty ;
And yet, good Humphrey, is the hour to come,
That e'er I prove thee false, or fear'd thy faith.
What low'ring star now envies thy estate.
That these great lords, and Margaret our queen.
Do seek subversion of thy harmless life ?
Thou never didst them wrong, nor no man wrong ;
And as the butcher takes away the calf.
And binds the wretch, and beats it when it strays,
Bearing it to the bloody slaughter-house ;
Even so remorseless, have they borne him hence.
And as the dam runs lowing up and down.
Looking the way her harmless young one went.
And can do nought but wail her darling's loss ;
Even so myself bewails good Gloster's case.
With sad unhelpful tears ; and with dimm'd eyes
Look after him, and cannot do him good ;
So mighty are his vowed enemies.
His fortunes I will weep ; and, 'twixt each groan,
Say, — Who's a traitor, Gloster he is none. [EjtU.
Q. Mar. Free lords, cold snow melts with the sun's
hot beams.
Henry my lord is cold in great affairs.
Too full of foolish pity ; and Gloster's show
Beguiles him as the mournful crocodile
With sorrow snares relenting passengers ;
Or as the snake, roU'd in a flowering bank.
With shining checker'd slough^, doth sting a child,
Tliat, for the beauty, thinks it excellent.
Believe me, lords, were none more wise than I,
(And yet, herein, I judge mine own wit good,)
This Gloster should be quickly rid the world.
To rid us from the fear we have of him.
Car. That he sliould die, is worthy policy :
But yet we want a colour for his death :
*Tis meet he be condomn'd by course of law.
Suf. But, in my mind, that were no policy :
4 Skin.
4.92
SECOND PART OF
Act III
The king will labour still to save his life,
The commons haply rise to save his life ;
And yet w^e have but trivial argument,
More than mistrust, that shows him wortliy death.
York. So that, by this, you would not have him die.
Snf. Ah, York, no man alive so fain as I.
York. 'Tis York that hath more reason for his
death. —
But, my lord cardinal, and you, my lord of Suffolk, —
Say as you think, and speak it from your souls, —
Wer't not all one, an empty eagle were set
To guard the cliicken from a hungry kite,
As place duke Humphrey for the king's protector ?
Q. Mar. So the poor chicken should be sure of death.
Suf. Madam, 'tis true ; And wer't not madness
then.
To make the fox surveyor of the fold ?
"Who being accus'd a crafty murderer.
His guilt should be but idly posted over.
Because his purpose is not executed.
No ; let him die, in that he is a fox.
By nature prov'd an enemy to the flock,
Before his chaps be stain'd with crimson blood ;
As Humphrey, prov'd by reasons, to my liege.
And do not stand on quillets how to slay him :
Be it by gins, by snares, by subtilty,
Sleeping or waking, 'tis no matter how,
So he be dead ; for that is good deceit
Which mates & him first, that first intends deceit.
Q.Mar. Thrice-noble Suffolk, 'tis resolutely spoke.
Stif. Not resolute, except so much were done ;
For things are often spoke, and seldom meant :
But, that my heart accordeth with my tongue, —
Seeing the deed is meritorious,
And to preserve my sovereign from his foe, —
Say but the word, and I will be his priest.
Car. But I would have him dead, my lord of Suf-
folk,
Ere you can take due orders for a priest :
Say, you consent, and censure well the deed.
And I'll provide his executioner,
I tender so the safety of my liege.
Svf. Here is my hand, the deed is worthy doing.
Q. Mar. And so say I.
York. And I : and now we three have spoke it.
It skills not greatly 6 who impugns our doom.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Great lords, from Ireland am I corae amain,
To signify — that rebels there are up,
And put the Englishmen unto the sword :
Send succours, lords, and stop the rage betime,
Before the wound do grow incurable ;
For, being green, there is great hope of help.
Car. A breach, that craves a quick expedient 7 stop !
What counsel give you in this weighty cause ?
York. That Somerset be sent as regent thither :
'Tis meet, that lucky ruler be employ'd ;
Witness the fortune he hath had in France.
Som. If York, with all his far-fet ^ policy,
Had been the regent there instead of me.
He never would have staid in France so long.
York. No, not to lose it all, as thou hast done :
I rather would have lost my life betimes.
Than bring a burden of dishonour home.
By staying there so long, till all were lost.
Show me one scar character'd on thy skin :
Men's flesh preserv'd so whole, do seldom win.
'•' Matches.
7 Expeditioug.
<> It is of no importance.
» Far-fetched.
Q. Mar Nay then, this spark will prove a raging fire,
If wind and fuel be brought to feed it with : —
No more, good York ; — sweet Somerset, be still ; —
Thy fortune, York, hadst thou been regent there.
Might happily have prov'd far worse than his.
York. What worse than naught? nay, then a
shame take all !
Som. And, in the number, thee, that wishest shame !
Car. My lord of York, try what your fortune is.
The uncivil kernes 9 of Ireland are in arms.
And temper clay with blood of Englishmen :
To Ireland will you lead a band of men.
Collected choicely, from each county some.
And try your hap against the Irishmen ?
York. I will, my lord, so please his majesty.
Siif. Why, our authority is his consent ;
And, what we do establish, he confirms :
Then, noble York, take thou this task in hand.
York. I am content : Provide me soldiers, lords.
Whiles I take order for mine own affairs.
Siif. A charge, lord York, that I will see perform'd.
But now return we to the false duke Humphrey.
Car. No more of him ; for I will deal with him.
That, henceforth, he shall trouble us no more.
And so break off ; the day is almost spent :
Lord Suffolk, you and I must talk of that event.
York. My lord of Suflfblk, within fourteen days.
At Bristol I expect my soldiers ;
For there I'll ship them all for Ireland.
Suf. I'll see it truly done, my lord of York.
[Exeunt oil but York.
York. Now, York, or never, steel thy fearful
thoughts,
And change misdoubt to resolution :
Be that thou hop'st to be ; or what thou art
Resign to death, it is not worth the enjoying :
Let pale-fac'd fear keep with the mean-born man.
And find no harbour in a royal heart.
Faster than spring-time showers, comes thought on
thought ;
And not a thought, but thinks on dignity.
My brain, more busy than the labouring spider.
Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.
Well, nobles, well, 'tis politickly done.
To send me packing with an host of men :
I fear me, you but warm the starved snake,
Who, cherish'd in your breasts, will sting your hearts.
'Twas men I lack'd, and you will give them me :
I take it kindly ; yet, be well assur'd
You put sharp weapons in a madman's hands.
Whiles I in Ireland nourish a mighty band,
I will stir up in England some black storm.
And this fell tempest shall not cease to rage
Until the golden circuit on my head.
Like to the glorious sun's transparent beams.
Do calm the fury of this mad-bred flaw. •
And for a minister of my intent,
I have seduc'd a head-strong Kentishman,
John Cade of Ashford,
To make commotion, as full well he can,
Under the title of John Mortimer.
In Ireland have I seen this stubborn Cade
Oppose himself against a troop of kernes ;
And fought so long, till that his thighs with darts
Were almost like a sharp-quill'd porcupine ;
And, in the end being rescu'd, I have seen him
Caper upright like a wild Morisco S
9 Irish foot-soldiers, light-armed.
' A violent gust of wind.
3 A Moor in a morris dance.
Scene II.
KING HENRY VI.
493
Shaking the bloody darts, as he his bells.
Full often, like a shag-hair'd crafty kerne,
Hath he conversed with the enemy :
And undiscover'd come to me again.
And given me notice of their villainies.
This devil here shall be my substitute ;
For that John Mortimer, which now is dead,
In face, in gait, in speech, he doth resemble :
Uy this I shall perceive the commons' mind.
How they affect the house and claim of York.
Say, he be taken, rack'd, and tortured :
1 know, no pain, they can inflict upon him,
Will make him say — I mov'd Ijim to tliose arms.
Say, that he thrive, (as 'tis great like he will,)
Why then from Ireland come I with my strength,
And reap the harvest which that rascal sow'd :
For Humphrey being dead, as he shall be,
An<l Henry put apart, the next for me. [Exit.
SCENE II. — Bury. A Room in the Palace.
Enter certain Murderers, hastily.
1 Mur. Run to my lord of Suffolk ; let him
know.
We have despatch'd the duke as he commanded.
2 Mur. O, that it were to do ! — What have we
done ?
Didst ever hear a man so penitent ?
Enter Suffolk.
1 Mur. Here comes my lord.
Suf. Now, sirs, have you
Despatch'd this thing ?
1 Mur. Ay, my good lord, he's dead.
Suf. Why, that's well said. Go, get you to my
house ;
I will reward you for this venturous deed.
The king and all the peers are here at hand : —
Have you laid fair the bed ? are all things well.
According as I gave directions ?
1 Mur. 'Tis, my good lord.
Svf. Away, be gone ! {^Exeunt Murderers.
Enter Kino Henry, Queen Margaret, Cardinal
Beaufort, Somerset, Lords, and others.
K. Hen. Go, call our uncle to our presence
straight :
Say, we intend to try his grace to-day,
If he be guilty, as 'tis published.
Suf.VW call him presently, my noble lord. \^Exit.
K. Hen. Lords, take your places ; — And, I pray
you all,
Proceed no straiter 'gainst our uncle Gloster,
Than from true evidence, of good esteem,
He be approv'd in practice culpable.
Q. Mar. Heaven forbid any malice should prevail.
That faultless may condemn a nobleman !
Pray God, he may acquit him of suspicion !
K. Hen. I thank thee, Margaret; these words
content me much. —
Re-enter Suffolk.
How now ? why look'st thou pale ? why tremblest
thou?
Where is our uncle ? what is tlie matter, Suffolk ?
Suf. Dead in his bed, my lord : Gloster is dead.
Q. Mar. Marrj', God fort-fend !
Car. Heaven's secret judgment : — I did dream
to-night.
The duke was dumb, and could not speak a wonl.
\^The Kino swoons.
Q Mar. How fares my lord ? — Help, lords ! the
king is dead.
Som. Hear up his body.
Q. Mar. Run, go, help, help ! — O, Henry, ope
thine eyes !
Suf. He doth revive again ; — Madam, be patient.
K. Hen. O heavenly God !
Q. Mar. How fares my gracious lord?
Suf. Comfort, my sovereign ! gracious Henry,
comfort !
IT. Hen. What, doth my lord of Suffolk comfort
me?
Came he right now to sing a raven's note.
Whose dismal tune bereft my vital powers ;
And thinks he, that the chirping of a wren,
By crying comfort from a hollow breast.
Can chase away the first-conceived sound?
Hide not thy poison with such sugar'd words.
Lay not thy hands on me ; forbear, I say ;
Their touch affrights me, as a serpent's sting.
Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight !
Upon thy eye-balls murderous tyranny
Sits in grim majesty, to fright the world.
Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding : —
Yet do not go away i — Come, basilisk.
And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight :
For in the shade of death I shall find joy !
In life, but double death now Gloster's dead.
Q. Mar. Why do you rate my lord of Suffolk
thus?
Although the duke was enemy to him.
Yet he, most christian-like, laments his death :
And for myself, — foe as he was to me.
Might liquid tears, or heart- offending groans,
Or blood-consuming sighs recall his life,
I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans.
Look pale as primrose, with blood-drinking sighs.
And all to have the noble duke alive.
What know I how the world may deem of me ?
For it is known, we were but hollow friends ;
It may be judg'd, I made the duke away ;
So shall my name with slander's tongue be wounded,
And princes' courts be fill'd with my reproach.
This get I by his death : Ah me, unhappy !
To be a queen, and crown'd with infamy !
IC. Hen. Ah, woe is me for Gloster, wretched
man !
Q. Mar. Be woe for me, more wretched tlian
he is.
What, dost thou turn away, and hide thy face ?
Is all thy comfort shut in Gloster's tomb ?
Why, then dame Margaret was ne'er thy joy ;
Erect his statue then, and worship it.
And make my image but an alehouse sign.
Was I for this, nigh wreck'd upon the sea ;
And twice by awkward wind from England's bank
Drove back again unto my native clime ?
What boded this, but well-forewarning wind
Did seem to say, — Seek not a scorpion's nest.
Nor set no footing on this unkind shore ?
What did I then, but curs'd the gentle gusts,
And he that loos'd tliem from their brazen caves ;
And bid them blow towards England's blessed shore
Or turn our stem upon a dreadful rock ?
Yet /Eolus woidd not be a murderer,
But left that hateful office unto thee :
The pretty vaulting sea refus'd to drown me :
Knowing, that thou wouldst ha%'e me drown'd on
shore,
With tears as salt as sea through thy unkindness :
494.
SECOND PART OF
Act III.
The splitting rocks cow'r'd in the sinking sands,
And would not dash me witli tlieir ragged sides ;
liecause tliy flinty lieart, more hard than they,
IMight in thy palace perish Margaret.
As far as I could ken tliy chalky cliffs,
When from the shore the tempest beat us back
I stood upon the hatches in the storm ;
And when the dusky sky began to rob
My earnest-gaping sight of thy land's view,
I took a costly jewel from my neck, —
A heart it was, bound in with diamonds.
And threw it towards thy land ; — the sea receiv'd it ;
And so, I wish'd, thy body might my heart ;
And even with this, I lost fair England's view.
And bid mine eyes be packing with my heart ;
And call'd them blind and dusky spectacles.
For losing ken of Albion's wished coast.
How often have I tempted Suffolk's tongue
(The agent of thy foul inconstancy,)
To sit and witch me, as Ascanius did.
When he to madding Dido would unfold
His father's acts, commenc'd in burning Troy ?
Am I not witch'd like her ? or thou not false like
him?
A h me, I can no more ! Die, Margaret !
For Henry weeps, that thou dost live so long.
Noise within. Enter Warwick and Salisbury.
The Commons press to the door.
War. It is reported, mighty sovereign.
That good duke Humphrey traitorously is murder'd
By Suffolk and the cardinal Beaufort's means.
The commons, like an angry hive of bees.
That want their leader, scatter up and down,
And care not who they sting in his revenge.
Myself have calm'd their spleenful mutiny,
Until they hear the order of his death.
K. Hen. That he is dead, good Warwick, 'tis too
true;
But how he died, God knows, not Henry :
Enter his chamber, view his breathless corpse.
And comment then upon his sudden death.
War. That I shall do, my liege : — Stay, Salisbury,
With the rude multitude, till I return.
[Warwick goes into an inner Room, and
Salisbury retires.
K. Hen. O thou that judgest all things, stay my
thoughts :
My thoughts, that labour to persuade my soul,
Some violent hands were laid on Humphrey's life !
If my suspect be false, forgive me, God;
For judgment only doth belong to thee !
Fain would I go to chafe his paly lips
With twenty thousand kisses, and to drain
Upon his face an ocean of salt tears ;
To tell my love unto his dumb deaf trunk.
And with my fingers feel his hand unfeeling :
But all in vain are these mean obsequies ;
And, to survey his dead and earthy image.
What were it but to make my sorrow greater ?
The folding doors of an inner chamber are throivn
open, and Gloster is discovered dead in his bed :
Warwick and others standing by it.
War. Come hither, gracious sovereign, view this
body.
jr. Hen. That is to see how deep my grave is
made :
For, with his soul fled all my worldly solace ;
For seeing him, I see my life in death. 3
^ e. e. I see my life endangered by his death.
War. As surely as my soul intends to live
With that dread King tliat took our state upon hira
To free us from his Father's wrathful curse,
I do believe that violent hands were laid
Upon the life of this thrice-famed duke.
Suf. A dreadful oath, sworn with a solemn tongue !
What instance gives lord Warwick for his vow ?
War. See how the blood is settled in his face I
Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost "♦,
Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless,
Being all descended to the labouring heart ;
Who, in the conflict that it holds with death.
Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy ;
Which with the heart there cools and ne'er returneth
To blush and beautify the cheek again.
But, see, his face is black, and full of blood ;
His eye-balls further out than when he liv'd.
Staring full ghastly like a strangled man :
His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretch'd witn strug-
gling ;
His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd
And tugg'd for life, and was by strength subdu'd.
Look on the sheets, his hair, you see, is sticking ;
His well-proportioned beard made rough and rugged,
Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodg'd.
It cannot be, but he was murder'd here ;
The least of all these signs were probable.
Suf. Why, Warwick, who should do the duke to
death?
Myself, and Beaufort, had him in protection ;
And we, I hope, sir, are no murderers.
M'^ar. But both of you were vow'd duke Hum-
phrey's foes ;
And you, forsooth, had the good duke to keep :
'Tis like, you would not feast him like a friend ;
And 'tis well seen he found an enemy.
Q. Mar. Then you, belike, suspect these noblemen
As guilty of duke Humphrey's timeless death.
War. Who finds the heifer dead, and bleeding
fresh.
And sees fast by a butcher with an axe.
But will suspect, 'twas he that made the slaughter ?
Who finds the partridge in the puttock's nest.
But may imagine how the bird was dead.
Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak ?
Even so suspicious is this tragedy.
Q. Mar. Are you the butcher, Suffolk ; where's
your knife?
Is Beaufort term'd a kite ? where are his talons ?
Suf. I wear no knife, to slaughter sleeping men ;
But here's a vengeful sword, rusted with ease.
That shall be scoured in his rancorous heart.
That slanders me with murder's crimson badge : —
Say, if thou dar'st, proud lord of Warwickshire,
That I am faulty in duke Humphrey's death.
[Exeunt Cardinal, Som. and others.
War. What dares not Warwick, if false Suffolk
dare him ?
Q- Mar. He dares not calm his contumelious
spirit.
Nor cease to be an arrogant controller.
Though Suffolk dare him twenty thousand times.
War. Madam, be still ; with reverence may I say ;
For every word, you speak in his behalf.
Is slander to your royal dignity.
Svf. Blunt-witted lord, ignoble in demeanour !
If ever lady wrong'd her lord so much.
Thy mother took into her blameful bed
Some stem untutor'd churl, and noble stock
4 The body of one who had died a natural death.
Scene II.
KING HENRY VI.
495
Was graft with crab-tree slip ; whose fruit thou art,
And never of the Nevils' noble race.
War. But that the guilt of murder bucklers thee,
And I should rob the deathsmaa of his fee,
Quitting thee thereby of ten thousand shames,
And that my sovereign's presence makes me mild,
1 would, false murderous coward, on thy knee
Make thee beg pardon for tliy passed speech.
And say — it was thy mother that thou mean'st,
That thou thyself wast born in bastardy ;
And, after all this fearful homage done.
Give thee thy hire, and send thy soul to hell,
Pernicious bloodsucker of sleeping men !
Siif. Thou shalt be waking, while I shed thy blood.
If from this presence thou dar'st go with me.
IFar. Away even now, or I will drag thee hence :
Unworthy though thou art, I'll cope witli thee.
And do some service to duke Humphrey's ghost.
[^Exeunt ScFFOLK and Warwick.
A". Hen. What stronger breast-plate than a heart
untainted ?
Thrice is he arm'd, that hath his quarrel just ;
And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel.
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.
[^ noise within.
Q. Mar. What noise is this ?
Re-enter Suffolk and Warwick, with their loea-
pons drawn.
K. Hen. Why, how now, lords ? your wrathful
weapons drawn
Here in our presence ? dare you be so bold ? —
Why, what tumultuous clamour have we here ?
Suf. The traitorous Warwick, with the men of
Bury,
Set all upon me, mighty sovereign.
Noise of a Crowd within. Re-enter Salisbury.
Sal. Sirs, stand apart ; the king shall know your
mind. — {Speaking to those within.
Dread lord, the commons send you word by me.
Unless false Suffolk straight be done to death,
Or banished fair England's territories.
They will by violence tear him from your palace,
And torture him with grievous ling'ring death.
Tliey say, by him the good duke Humphrey died ;
They say, in him they fear your highness' death ;
And mere instinct of love, and loyalty, —
Free from a stubborn opposite intent.
As being thought to contradict your liking, —
Makes them thus forward in his banishment.
They say, in care of your most royal person.
That, if your highness should intend to sleep,
And charge — that no man should disturb your rest.
In pain of your dislike, or pain of death ;
Yet notwithstanding such a strait edict.
Were there a serpent seen, with forked tongue.
That slily glided towards your majesty.
It were but necessary, you were wak'd ;
I^est, being suffer'd, in that harmful slumlier,
The mortal worm might make the sleep eternal :
And therefore do they cry, though you forl)id,
That they will guard you, whe'r you will, or no.
From such fell serpents as false Suffolk is ;
With whose envenomed and fatal sting,
Your loving uncle, twenty times his worth,
They say, is shamefully bereft of life.
Commons. [U'iihin.] An answer from llie king,
my lord of Salisbury.
Suf. 'Tis like the commons, rude unpolishM hinds,
Could send such message to their sovereign :
But you, my lord, were glad to be employ 'd,
To show how quaint ^ an orator you are :
But all the honour Salisbury hath won.
Is — that he was the lord ambassador,
Sent from a sort^ of tinkers to the king.
Commons. [Within.] An answer from the king,
or we'll break in.
jr. Hen. Go, Salisbury, and tell them all from me,
I thank them for their tender loving care :
And had I not been 'cited so by them,
Yet did I purpose as they do entreat ;
For sure, my thoughts do hourly prophesy
Mischance unto my state by Suffolk's means.
And therefore — by His Majesty I swear,
Whose far unworthy deputy I am, —
He shall not breathe infection in this air
But three days longer, on the pain of death.
[Exit Salisburt.
Q. Mar. O Henry, let me plead for gentle Suffolk.
IT. Hen. Ungentle queen, to call him gentle Suf-
folk.
No more, I say ; if thou dost plead for him,
Thou wilt but add increase unto my wrath.
Had I but said, I would have kept my word ;
But, when I swear, it is irrevocable : —
If, after three days' space, thou here be'st found
On any ground that I am ruler of.
The world shall not be ransome for thy life. —
Come, Warwick, come good Warwick, go with nie {
I have great matters to impart to thee.
[Exeunt K. Henry, Warwick, Lords, ^c.
Q. Mar. Mischance, and sorrow, go along with
you !
Heart's discontent, and sour affliction,
Be playfellows to keep you company !
Suf. Cease, gentle queen, these execrations.
And let thy Suffolk take his heavy leave.
Q. Mar. Fye, coward woman, and soft-hearted
wretch !
Hast thou not spirit to curse thine enemies ?
Suf. A plague upon them ! wherefore should I
curse them ?
Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan,
I would invent as bitter-searching terms,
As curst, as harsh, and horrible to hear,
Deliver'd strongly through my fixed teeth,
With full as many signs of deadly hate.
As lean-fac'd Envy in her loathsome cave :
My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words :
Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint ;
My hair be fix'd on end, as one distract ;
Ay, every joint should seem to curse and ban :
And even now my burden'd heart would break.
Should I not curse them. Poison be their drink !
Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest that they taste !
Their sweetest shade, a grove of cypress trees !
Their chiefest prospect, murdering basilisks !
Their softest touch, as smart as lizards' stings !
Tlieir musick, frightful as the serpent's hiss ;
And boding screech-owls make the concert full !
Q. Mar. Enough, sweet Suffolk ; thou torment'at
thyself;
And these dread curses — like the sun 'gainst glass.
Or like an overcharged gun, — recoil.
And turn the force of them upon thyself.
Suf. You bade me ban 7, and will you bid me leave?
Now, by the ground that I am banisli'd from.
Well could I curse away a winter's night,
» Dextefx>Ufl. • A company. ? Curse.
496
SECOND PART OF
Act III,
Though standing naked on a mountain top,
Where biting cold would never let grass grow,
And think it but a minute spent in sport.
Q. Mar. O let me entreat thee, cease ! Give me
thy hand,
That I may dew it with my mournful tears j
Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place.
To wash away my woeful monuments.
O, could this kiss be printed in thy hand ;
[JCisses his hand.
That thou mightst think upon these by the seal,
Through whom a thousand sighs are breath'd for
thee !
So, get thee gone, that I may know my grief;
'Tis but surmis'd whilst thou art standing by,
I will repeal thee, or, be well assur'd,
Adventure to be banished myself :
And banished I am, if but from thee.
Go, speak not to me ; even now be gone. —
(), go not yet ! — Even thus two friends condemn'd
Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves.
Leather a hundred times to part than die.
Yet now farewell ; and farewell life with thee !
Suf. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished.
Once by the king, and three times thrice by thee.
'Tis not the land I care for, wert thou hence ;
A wilderness is populous enough.
So Suffolk had thy heavenly company :
For where thou art, there is the world itself.
With every several pleasure in the world j
And where thou art not, desolation.
I can no more : — live thou to joy thy life ;
Myself no joy in nought, but that thou liv'st.
Enter Vaux.
Q. Mar. Whither goes Vaux so fast ? what news
I pr'ythee ?
Vaux. To signify unto his majesty,
That cardinal Beaufort is at point of death :
For suddenly a grievous sickness took him.
That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the air,
Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth.
Sometime, he talks as if duke Humphrey's ghost
Were by his side ; sometime, he calls the king,
And whispers to his pillow, as to him,
The secret of his overcharged soul :
And I am sent to tell his majesty.
That even now he cries aloud for him.
Q. Mar. Go, tell this heavy message to the king.
[Exit Vaux.
Ah me ! what is this world? what news are these ?
But wherefore grieve I at an hour's poor loss,
Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's treasure ?
Why only, Suffolk, mourn I not for thee,
A nd with the southern clouds contend in tears ;
Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my sorrows ?
Now, get thee hence : The king, thou know'st, is
coming :
If thou be found by me, thou art but dead.
Suf. If I depart from thee, I cannot live :
And in thy sight to die, what were it else,
But like a pleasant slumber in thy lap ?
Here could I breathe my soul into the air,
As mild and gentle as the cradle-babe,
Dying with mother's teat between its lips :
Where «, from thy sight, I should be raging mad,
8 Whereas,
And cry out for thee to close up mine eyes.
To have thee with thy lips to stop my mouth ;
So shouldst thou either turn my flying soul,
Or I should breathe it so unto thy body,
And then it liv'd in sweet Elysium.
To die by thee, were but to die in jest ;
From thee to die, were torture more than death :
O, let me stay, befall what may befall.
Q. Mar. Away ! though parting be a fretful cor-
rosive.
It is applied to a deathful wound.
To France, sweet Suffolk : let me hear from thee ;
For wheresoe'er thou art in this world's globe,
I'll have an Iris that shall find thee out.
Suf. I go.
Q. Mar. And take my heart with thee.
Suf. A jewel, lock'd into the woeful'st cask
That ever did contain a thing of worth.
Even as a splitted bark, so sunder we ;
I'his way fall I to death.
Q. Mar. This way for me.
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE III. — London. Cardinal Beaufort'*
Bed-chamber.
Enter King Henry, Salisbury, Warwick, and
others. J%e Cardinal in bed; Attendants uith him.
jr. Hen. How fares my lord ? speak, Beaufort,
to thy sovereign.
Car. If thou be'st death, I'll give thee England's
treasure.
Enough to purchase such another island.
So thou wilt let me live, and feel no pain.
A". Hen. Ah, what a sign it is of evil life.
When death's approach is seen so terrible !
War. Beaufort, it is thy sovereign speaks to thee.
Car. Bring me unto my trial when you will.
Died he not in his bed ? where should he die ?
Can I make men live, whe'r they will or no ? —
O ! torture me no more, I will confess. —
Alive again ? then show me where he is ;^
I'll give a thousand pound to look upon him. —
He hath no eyes, the dust hath blinded them. —
Comb down his hair ! look ! look ! it stands upright.
Like lime-twigs set to catch my winged soul ! —
Give me some drink ; and bid the apothecary
Bring the strong poison that I bought of him.
JT. Hen. O thou eternal Mover of the heavens.
Look with a gentle eye upon this wretch !
O, beat away the busy meddling fiend,
That lays strong siege unto this wretch's soul.
And from his bosom purge this black despair !
War. See how the pangs of death do make him
grin.
Sal. Disturb him not, let him pass peaceably.
IT. Hen. Peace to his soul, if God's good plea-
sure be !
Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss,
Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. —
He dies, and makes no sign ; O God, forgive him !
War. So bad a death argues a monstrous life.
JT. Hen. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners
all. —
Close up his eyes, and draw the curtain close ;
And let us all to meditation. [Exeunt.
Act IV. Scene I.
KING HENRY VI.
497
ACT IV.
SCENE I. — Kent. The Sea-shore near Dover.
Firing, heard at Sea. Then enter from a Boat a
Captain, a Master, a Master's Mate, Walter
Whitmore, and others ; with t/tem Suffolk arid
other Gentlemen, Prisoners.
Cap. The gaudy, blal)bing, and remorseful 9 day
Is crept into the bosom of the sea ;
And now loud-howling wolves arouse the jades
That drag the tragick melancholy night ;
Who with their drowsy, slow, and flagging wings
Clip dead men's graves, and from their misty jaws
Breathe foul contagious darkness in the air.
Therefore, bring forth the soldiers of our prize ;
For, whilst our pinnace anchors in the Downs,
Here shall they make their ransome on the sand,
Or with their blood stain this discolour'd shore. —
Master, this prisoner freely give I thee ; —
And thou that art his mate, make boot of this ; —
The other, [PoirUing to Suffolk.] Walter Whit-
more, is thy share.
1 Gent. What is my ransome, master ? let me know.
Mast. A thousand crowns, or else lay down your
head.
Mate. Andsomuchshall you give, or ofTgoes yours.
Cap. What, think you much to pay two thousand
crowns,
And bear the name and port of gentlemen ? —
Cut botli the villains' throats ; — for die you shall :
The lives of those which we have lost in fight,
Cannot be counterpois'd with such a petty sum.
1 Gent. I'll give it sir; and therefore spare my life.
2 Gent. Andsovdll I,and write home foritstraight.
Whit. I lost mine eye in laying the prize aboard,
And therefore to revenge it, shalt thou die ;
[To Suffolk.
And so should these, if I might have my will.
Cap. Be not so rash ; take ransome, let him live.
Suf. Look on my George, I am a gentleman ;
Rate me at what thou wilt, tliou shalt be paid.
JFhit. And so am I; — my name is— Walter
Whitmore.
How now? why start'st thou? what, doth death
affright?
Suf. Thy name affrights me,in whose sound is death.
A cunning man did calculate my birth.
And told me — that by Water I should die :
Yet let not this make thee be bloody minded ;
Thy name is — Gnaltier, being rightly sounded.
Whit. Gualder, or Walter, which it is, I care not ;
Ne'er yet did base dishonour blur our name,
But with our sword we wip'd away the blot ;
Therefore, when merchant-like I sell revenge,
Broke be my sword, my anns torn and defac'd,
And I proclaim'd a coward through the world !
[Lays hold on Suffolk.
Suf. Stay, Whitmore ; for thy prisoner is a prince,
Tlie duke of Suffolk, William de la Pole.
WhU. The duke of Suffolk, muffled up in rags !
Sxf. Ay, but these rags are no part of the duke ;
Jove sometime went disguis'd. And why not I?
Cap. But Jove was never slain, as thou shalt be.
Suf. Obscureand lowly swain, king Henry 'sblood,
The honourable blood of Lancaster,
Must not he shed by such a jaded groom, i
» PitiAiL ' A low fellow.
Hast thou not kiss'd thy hand, and held my stirrup ?
Bare-headed plodded by my foot-cloth mule.
And thought thee happy when I shook my head ?
How often hast tliou waited at my cup,
Fed from my trencher, kneel'd down at the board,
When I have feasted with queen Margaret ?
Remember it, and let it make thee crest-fallen ;
Ay, and allay this thy abortive pride :
How in our voiding lobby hast thou stood,
And duly waited for my coming forth ?
This hand of mine hath writ in tliy behalf.
And therefore shall it charm thy riotous tongue.
Whit. Speak, captain, shall I stab the forlorn
swain?
Cap. First let my words stab him, as he hath me.
Suf. Base slave ! thy words are blunt, and so art
thou.
Cap. Convey him hence, and on our long-boat's
side
Strike off his head.
Suf. Thou dar'st net for thy own.
Cop. Yes, Poole.
Suf. Poole ?
Cap. Poole? sir Poole?
Whose filth and dirt
Troubles the silver spring where England drinks.
Now will I dam up this thy yawning mouth,
For swallowing the treasure of the realm ;
Thy lips, that kiss'd the queen, shall sweep the ground ;
And thou, that smil'dst at good duke Humphrey's
death.
Against the senseless winds shall grin in vain,
Who, in contempt, shall hiss at thee again :
And wedded be thou to the hags of hell.
For daring to affy "^ a mighty lord
Unto the daughter of a worthless king.
Having neither subject, wealth, nor diadem.
By thee Anjou and Maine were sold to France :
The false revolting Normans, thorough thee,
Disdain to call us lord ; and Picardy
Hath slain their governors, surpriz'd our forts,
And sent the ragged soldiers wounded home.
The princely W^arwick, and the Nevils all, —
Whose dreadful swords were never drawn in vain.
As hating thee, are rising up in arms :
And now the house of York — thrust from the crown,
By shameful murder of a guiltless king.
And lofty proud encroaching tyranny —
Burns with revenging fire ; whose hopeful colours
Advance our half-fac'd sun, striving to shine,
Under the which is writ — itivitis nubibus.
The commons here in Kent are up in arms :
And, to conclude, reproach and beggary
Is crept into the palace of our king.
And all by thee : — Away ; convey him hence.
Suf O that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder
Upon tliese paltry, servile, abject drudges !
Small things make base men proud: this villain here,
Being captain of a pinnace \ threatens more
nian Bargulus the strong Illyrian pirate.
Drones suck not eagles' bloo<l, but rob bee-hives.
It is impossible, that I should die
By such a lowly vassal as thyself.
Thy words move rage, and not remorse, in me :
« To betroth in marriage. ' A ship of small burden.
K k
498
SECOND PART OF
Act IV.
I go of message from the queen to France ;
I charge thee, waft me safely cross the channel.
Cap. Walter,
WMt. Come, Suffolk, I must waft thee to thy death.
Suf. Gelidus timor occupat artus : 'tis thee I fear.
Whit. Thou shalt have cause to fear, before I leave
thee.
What, are ye daunted now ? now will ye stoop ?
1 Gent. My gracious lord, entreat him, speak him
fair.
S^^f. Suffolk's imperial tongue is stern and rough,
Us'd to command, untaught to plead for favour.
Far be it, we should honour such as these
With humble suit : no, rather let my head
Stoop to the block, than these knees bow to any
Save to the God of heaven, and to my king ;
And sooner dance upon a bloody pole,
Than stand uncover'd to the vulgar groom.
True nobility is exempt from fear : —
More can I bear, than you dare execute.
Cap. Hale him away, and let liim talk no more.
Suf. Come, soldiers, show what cruelty ye can.
That this my death may never be forgot ! —
Great men oft die by vile bezonians "* :
A Roman sworder and banditto slave,
Murder'd sweet TuUy ; Brutus' bastard hand
Stabb'd Julius Caesar ; savage islanders,
Pompey the great : and Suffolk dies by pirates.
{Exit Suf. with Whit, and others.
Cap. And as for these whose ransome we have set,
It is our pleasure one of them depart : —
Therefore come you with us, and let him go.
{Exeunt all but the first Gentleman.
Re-enter Whitmore, with Suffolk's Body.
Whit. There let his head and lifeless body lie,
Until the queen his mistress bury it. {Exit.
1 Gent. O barbarous and bloody spectacle !
His body will I bear unto the king :
If he revenge it not, yet will his friends ;
So will the queen, that living held him dear.
{Exit, with the Body.
SCENE II. — Blackheath.
Enter George Bevis and John Holland.
Geo. Come, and get thee a sword, though made
of a lath ; they have been up these two days.
John. They have the more need to sleep now then.
Geo. I tell thee, Jack Cade the clothier means to
dress the commonwealth, and turn it, and set a new
nap upon it.
John. So he had need, for 'tis threadbare. Well,
I say, it was never merry world in England, since
gentlemen came up.
Geo. O miserable age ! Virtue is not regarded in
handycrafts-men.
John. Tlie nobility think scorn to go in leather
aprons.
Geo. Nay more, the king's council are no good
workmen.
John. True ; And yet it is said, — Labour in thy
vocation : which is as much to say, as, — let the
magistrates be labouring men ; and therefore should
we be magistrates.
Geo. Thou hast hit it ; for there's no better sign
of a brave mind, than a hard hand.
John. I see them ! I see them ! There's Best's
son, the tanner of Wingham ;
* Low mea
Geo. He shall have the skins of our enemies, to
make dog's leather of.
John. And Dick the butcher,
Geo. Then is sin struck down like an ox, and
iniquity's throat cut like a calf.
John. And Smith the weaver.
Geo. jirgo, their thread of life is spun.
John. Come, come, let's fall in with them.
Drum. Enter Cade, Dick the BtUcher, Smith the
Weaver^ and others in great number.
Cade. We, John Cade, so termed of our supposed
father, -^—
JDick. Or rather of stealing a cade of herrings. *
{J side.
Cade. — for our enemies shall fall before us, in-
spired with the spirit of putting down kings and
princes. — Command silence.
Dick. Silence!
Cade. My father was a Mortimer, —
Dick. He was an honest man, and a good brick
layer. [Aside.
Cade. My mother a Plantagenet, —
Dick. I knew her well ; she was a midwife.
{Aside.
Cade. My wife descended of the Lacies, —
Dick. She was, indeed, a pedlar's daughter, and
sold many laces. {Aside.
Smith. But, now of late, not able to travel with
her furred pack, she washes bucks here at home.
{Aside.
Cade. Therefore am I of an honourable house.
Dick. Ay, by my faith, the field is honourable ;
And there was he born, under a hedge ; for his
father had never a house, but the cage. {Aside.
Cade. Valiant I am.
Smith. 'A must needs ; for beggary is valiant.
[Aside.
Cade. I am able to to endure much.
Dick. No question of that ; for I have seen him
whipped three market days together. [Aside.
Cade. I fear neither sword nor fire.
Smith. He need not fear the sword, for his coat
is of proof. [Aside.
Dick. But, methinks he should stand in fear of
fire, being burnt i'the hand for stealing of sheep.
{Aside.
Cade. Be brave, then ; for your captain is brave,
and vows reformation. There shall be, in England,
seven halfpenny loaves sold for a penny : the three-
hooped pot shall have ten hoops ; and I will make
it felony, to drink small beer ; all the realm shall be
in common, and in Cheapside shall my palfry go
to grass. And, when I am king, (as king I will
All. God save your majesty !
Cade. I thank you, good people : — there shall
be no money ; all shall eat and drink on my score ;
and I will apparel them all in one livery, that they
may agree like brothers.
Dick. The first thing we do, let's kill all the
lawyers.
Cade. Nay, that I mean to do. Is not this a
lamentable thing, that of the skin of an innocent
lamb should be made parchment ? that parchment,
being scribbled o'er, should undo a man ? Some
say, the bee stings : but I say, 'tis the bee's wax ;
for I did but seal once to a thing, and I was never
mine own man since. How now ; who's there?
5 A barrel of herrings.
I
Scene II.
KING HENRY VI.
499
Enter somcy bringing in the Clerk of Chatham.
Smith. The clerk of Chatham : he can write and
read, and cast accompt.
Cade. O monstrous !
Smith. We took him setting of boys' copies.
Ca4e. Here's a villain !
Smith. H'as a book in his pocket, with red letters
in't.
Cade. Nay, then he is a conjurer.
Dick. Nay, he can make obligations, and write
court-hand.
Cade. I am sorry for't : the man is a proper man,
on mine honour ; unless I find him guilty, he shall
not die, — Come hither, sirrali ; I must examine
thee : What is thy name ?
Clerk. Emmanuel.
Dick. They use to write it on the top of letters ;
'Twill go hard with you.
Cade. Let me alone : — Dost thou use to write
thy name ? or hast thou a mark to thyself, like an
honest plain-dealing man ?
Clerk. Sir, I thank Heaven, I have been so well
brought up, that I can write my name.
All. He hath confessed : away with him ; he's a
villain, and a traitor.
Cade. Away with him, I say : hang him with his
pen and inkhom about his neck.
\^Exeunt some with the Clerk.
Enter Michael.
JkFich. Where's our general ?
Cade. Here I am, thou particular fellow.
Mich. Fly, fly, fly ! sir Humphrey StafTord and
his brotlier are hard by, with the king's forces.
Cade. Stand, villain, stand, or I'll fell thee down ;
He shall be encountered with a man as good as
himself : he is but a knight, is 'a ?
Mich. No.
Cade. To equal him, I will make myself a knight
presently ; — Rise up sir John Mortimer. Now
have at him.
Enter Sib Humphrey Stafford and William his
brother, with Drum and Forces.
Staf. Rebellious hinds, the filth and scum of Kent,
Mark'd for the gallows, — lay your weapons down.
Home to your cottages, forsake this groom ; —
The king is merciful, if you revolt.
W. Staf. Butangry, wrathful, and inclin'd toblood,
Jf you go forward : therefore yield, or die.
Cade. As for these silken-coated slaves, I pass not ^j
It is to you, good people, that I speak.
O'er whom, in time to come, I hope to reign ;
For I am rightful heir unto the crown.
Staf. Villain, thy father was a plasterer ;
And thou thyself a shearman. Art thou not ?
Cade. And Adam was a gardener.
W. Staf. And what of that?
Cade. Marry, tliis : — Edmund Mortimer, earl of
March,
Married the duke of Clarence* daughter; Did he not?
Slaf. Ay, sir.
Cade. By her, he had two children at one birth.
IV. Staf. That's false.
Cade. Ay, there's the question, but, I say, 'tis true :
The elder of them, being put to nurse,
Was by a beggar-woman stol'n away ;
And ignorant of his birth and parentage,
• I p*y them no regard.
Became a bricklayer, when he came to age :
His son am I ; deny it, if you can. •
Dick. Nay, 'tis too true ; therefore he shall be king.
Smith. Sir, he made a chimney in my father's
house, and the bricks are alive at this day to testify
it ; therefore deny it not.
Staf And will you credit this base drudge's words,
That speaks he knows not what ?
All. Ay, marry, will we ; therefore get ye gone.
JV. Staf Jack Cade, the duke of York hatli taught
you this.
Cade. He lies ; for I invented it myself. [Aside.
— Go to, sirrah. Tell the king from me, that —
for his father's sake, Henry the fifth, in whose time
boys went to span-counter for French crowns — I
am content he shall reign ; but I'U be protector over
him.
Dick. And, furthermore, we'll have the lord Say's
head for selling the dukedom of Maine.
Cade. And good reason ; for thereby is England
maimed, and fain to go with a staff, but that my
puissance holds it up. Fellow kings, I tell you,
that that lord Say hath maimed the commonwealth,
and more than that, he can speak French, and there-
fore he is a traitor.
Staf. O gross and miserable ignorance !
Cade. Nay, answer if you can : The Frenchmen
are our enemies : go to, then, I ask but this ; Can
he, that speaks with the tongue of an enemy, be a
good counsellor, or no ?
All. No, no ; and therefore we'll have his head.
W. Staf. Well, seeing gentle words will not prevail.
Assail them with the army of the king.
Staf. Herald, away ; and, throughout every town.
Proclaim them traitors that are up with Cade j
That those, which fly before the battle ends.
May, even in their wives' and children's sight.
Be hang'd up for example at their doors :
And you, that be the king's friends, follow me.
[Exeunt the two Staffords, a7id Forces.
Cade. And you, that love the commons, follow
me. —
Now show yourselves men, 'tis for liberty.
We will not leave one lord, one gentleman :
Spare none, but such as go in clouted shoon 7 ;
For they are thrifty honest men, and such
As would (but that they dare not,) take our parts.
Dick. They are all in order, and march toward us.
Cade. But then are we in order, when we are most
out of order. Come, march forward. [ExeuTit.
SCENE III. — Another part of Blackheath.
Alarums. The two Parties enter andf^ht, and both
the Staffords are slain.
Cade. Where's Dick, the butcher of Ashford ?
Dick. Here, sir.
Cade. They fell before thee like sheep and oxen,
and thou behavedst thyself as if thou hadst been in
thine own slaughter-house : therefore thus will I
reward thee, — The Lent shall be as long again as
it is ; and thou shalt have a license to kill for a
hundred lacking one.
Dick. I desire no more.
Cade. And, to speak truth, thou deservest no less.
This monument of the victory will I bear ; and tiie
bodies shall be dragged at my horse' heels, till I do
come to London, where we will have the mayor's
sword borne before us.
Kk 9
500
SECOND PART OF
Act IV.
Dick. If wc mean to thrive and do good, break
opentthe gaols, and let out the prisoners.
Cade. Fear not that, I warrant thee. Come, let's
march towards London. \_Exeu7it.
SCENE IV. — London. A Room m the Palace.
Enter King Henry, reading a Supplication; the
Duke of Buckingham and Lord Say with him:
at a distance, Queen Margaret, mourning over
Suffolk's Head.
Q. Mar. Oft have I heard — that grief softens the
mind,
And makes it fearful and degenerate ;
Think therefore on revenge, and cease to weep.
But who can cease to weep, and look on this ?
Here may his head lie on my throbbing breast :
But where's the body that I should embrace ?
Buck. What answer makes your grace to the
rebels' supplication ?
A'. Hen. I'll send some holy bishop to ei\treat :
For God forbid, so many simple souls
Should perish by the sword ! And I myself.
Rather than bloody war should cut them short.
Will parley with Jack Cade their general. —
But stay, I'll read it over once again.
Q. Mar. Ah, barbarous villains ! hath this lovely
face
Rul'd like a wandering planet, over me ;
And could it not enforce them to relent,
That were unworthy to behold the same ?
IT. Hen. Lord Say, Jack Cade hath sworn to have
thy head.
Say. Ay, but I hope, your highness shall have his.
JC. Hen. How now, madam ? Still
Lamenting, and mourning for Suffolk's death ;
I fear, my love, if that I had been dead,
Thou wouldest not have mourn'd so much for me.
Q. Mar. My love, I should not mourn, but die for
thee.
Enter a Messenger.
Ji. Hen. How now ! what news ? why com'st thou
in such haste ?
Mess. The rebels are in Southwark ; Fly, my lord !
Jack Cade proclaims himself lord Mortimer,
Descended from the duke of Clarence' house :
And calls your grace usurper, openly.
And vows to crown himself in Westminster.
His army is a ragged multitude
Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless ;
Sir Humphrey Stafford and his brother's death
Hath given them heart and courage to proceed :
All scholars, lawyers, courtiers, gentlemen,
They call — false caterpillars, and intend their death.
JT. Hen. O graceless men ! they know not what
they do.
Buck. My gracious lord, retire to Kenelworth,
Until a power be rais'd to put them down.
Q. Mar. Ah ! were the duke of Sufiblk now alive.
These Kentish rebels would be soon appeas'd.
KHen. Lord Say, the traitors hate thee.
Therefore away with us to Kenelworth.
Say. So might your grace's person be in danger ;
The sight of me is odious in their eyes :
And therefore in this city will I stay,
And live alone as secret as I may.
Enter another Messenger.
2 Mess. Jack Cade hath gotten London-bridge ;
the citizens
Fly and forsake their houses :
The rascal people, thirsting after prey,
Join with the traitor ; and they jointly swear,
To spoil the city, and your royal court.
Buck. Then linger not, my lord ; away, take horse.
K. Hen. Come, Margaret ; God, our hope, will
succour us.
Q. Mar. My hope is gone, now Suffolk is deceas'd.
K. Hen. F'arewell, my lord ; [ To Lord Say.]
trust not the Kentish rebels.
Buck. Trust no body, for fear you be betray'd.
Say. The trust I have is in mine innocence.
And therefore am I bold and resolute. [Exeu7it.
SCENE Y.— The Tower.
Enter Lord Scales, and others, on the Walls. Then
enter certain Citizens, below.
Scales. How now ? is Jack Cade slain ?
1 Cit. No, my lord, nor likely to be slain ; for
they have won the bridge, killing all those that
withstand them : The lord mayor craves aid of your
honour from the Tower, to defend the city from tlie
rebels.
Scales. Such aid as I can spare, you shall command;
But I am troubled here with them myself;
The rebels have assay'd to win the Tower.
But get you to Smithfield, and gather head,
And thither I will send you Matthew Gough :
Fight for your king, your country, and your lives ;
And so farewell, for I must hence again. \^Exeunt.
SCENE VI. — Cannon Street.
Enter Jack Cade, and his Followers. He strikes his
Staff on London-stone.
Cade. Now is Mortimer lord of this city. And
here, sitting upon London-stone, I charge and com-
mand, that of the city's cost, the conduit run nothing
but claret wine this first year of our reign. And
now, henceforward, it shall be treason for any that
calls me other than — lord Mortimer.
Enter a Soldier, running.
Sold. Jack Cade ! Jack Cade !
Cade. Knock him down there. [They kill him.
Smith. If this fellow be wise, he'll never call you
Jack Cade more ; I think he hath a very fair warn-
ing.
Dick. My lord, there's an army gathered together
in Smithfield.
Cade. Come then, let's go fight with them : But,
first, go and set London-bridge on fire ; and if you
can, burn down the Tower too. Come, let's away.
[Exeunt
SCENE VI L— Smithfield.
Alarum. Enter, on one side. Cade and his Com- ih
pany ; on the other, Citizeiis, and the King^s Forces, J^^ \
headed by Matthew Gough. They jight ; the ^B
Citizens are routed, and Matthew Gough is slain.
Cade. So, sirs : — Now go some and pull down
the Savoy ; others to the inns of court ; down with
them all.
Dick. I have a suit unto your lordship.
Cade. Be it a lordship, thou shalt have it for that
word.
Dick. Only that the laws of England may come
out of your mouth.
John. 'Twill be sore law, then ; for he was thrust
in the mouth with a spear, and 'tis not whole yet.
[Aside.
^1
Scene VII.
KING HENRY VI.
501
Cade. I have thought upon it j it shall be so.
Away, burn all the records of the realm ; my mouth
shall be the parliament of England.
John. Then we are like to have biting statutes,
unless his teeth be pulled out. \_Aside.
Cade. And henceforward all things shall be in
common.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My lord, a prize, a prize ! here's the lord
Say, which sold the towns in France; he that made
us pay one and twenty fifteens «, and one shilling to
the pound, the last subsidy.
Enter George Bevis, udth the Lord Sat.
Cade. Well, he shall be beheaded for it ten times.
— Ah, thou say 9, thou serge, nay, thou buckram
lord ! now art thou within point-blank of our juris-
diction regal. What canst thou answer to my ma-
jesty, for giving up of Normandy unto the dauphin
of France ? Be it known unto thee by these pre-
sence, even the presence of lord Mortimer, that I
am the besom that must sweep the court clean of
such filth as thou art. Thou hast most traitorously
corrupted the youth of the realm, in erecting a
grammar-school : and whereas, before, our fore-
fathers had no other books but the score and the
tally, thou hast caused printing to be used; and,
contrary to the king, his crown and dignity, thou
hast built a paper-mill. It will be proved to thy
face, that thou hast men about thee, that usually
talk of a noun, and a verb ; and such abominable
words, as no Christian ear can endure to hear.
Tliou hast appointed justices of peace, to call poor
men before them about matters they were not able
to answer. Moreover, thou hast put thern in prison,
and because they could not read >, thou hast hanged
them, when, indeed, only for that causfe they have
been most worthy to live. Thou dost ride on a
foot-cloth 2, dost thou not ?
Sat/. What of that?
Cade. Marry, thou oughtest not to let thy horse
wear a cloak, when honester men than thou go in
their hose and doublets.
Dick. And work in their shirt too; as myself,
for example, that am a butcher.
Sat/ You men of Kent. —
Dick. What say you of Kent ?
Sai/. Nothing but this: 'Tis bona terra, mala gens.
Cade. Away with bim, away with him ! he speaks
Latin.
Sat/. Hear me but speak, and bear me where you
will.
Kent, in the commentaries Caesar writ,
Is term'd the civil'st place of all this isle :
Sweet is the country, because full of riches ;
The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy ;
Wliich makes me hope you are not void of pity.
I sold not Maine, I lost not Normandy ;
Yet, to recover them, would lose my life.
Justice with favour have I always done ;
Prayers and tears have mov'd me, git^ could never.
When have I aught exacted at your hands,
Kent to maintain, tiie king, the realm, and you ?
Large git\s have I bestow'd on learned clerks,
Because my l)Ook prefcrr'd me to the king :
And — seeing ignorance is the curse of Heaven,
" A finecn W.18 the fifteenth part of all the movables or
personal property of each subject
^ Say was a kind of mtkc.
' i. e. Ilccause they could not rlaim the benefit of clergy.
• A kind of housing, which covered the body of the horbc.
Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to it. —
Unless you be possess'd with devilish spirits,
You cannot but forbear to murder me.
This tongue hath parley'd unto foreign kings
For your behoof, —
Cade. Tut ! when struck'st tliou one blow in tlie
field?
Say. Great men have reaching hands : oft have I
struck
Those that I never saw, and struck them dead.
Geo. O monstrous coward ! what, to come behind
folks?
Say. These cheeks are pale for watching for your
good.
Cajde. Give him a box o' the ear, and that will
make 'em red again.
Say. Long sitting to determine poor men's causes
Hath made me full of sickness and diseases.
Cade. Ye shall have a hempen caudle then, and
the pap of a hatchet.
Dick. Why dost thou quiver, man ?
Say. The palsy, and not fear, provoketh me.
Cade. Nay, he nods at us ; as who should say, —
I'll be even witli you. I'll see if his head will stand
steadier on a pole, or no : Take him away, and
behead him.
Say. Tell me, wherein I have offended most ?
Have I affected wealth, or honour ; speak ?
Are my chests fill'd up witli extorted goUl ?
Is my apparel sumptuous to behold?
Whom have I injur'd, that ye seek my. death ?
These hands are free from guiltless blood-shedding 3,
This breast from harbouring foul deceitful thoughts.
O, let me live !
Cade. I feel remorse in myself witli his words :
but I'll bridle it; he shall die, an it be but for
pleading so well for liis life. Away with him ! he
has a familiar* under his tongue; Go, take him
away, 1 say, and strike olF his head presently ; and
then break into his son-in-law's house, sir James
Cromer, and strike off his head, and bring them both
upon two poles hither.
All. It shall be done.
Say. Ah, countrymen ! if when you make your
prayers,
God should be so obdurate as yourselves,
How would it fare with your departed souls?
And therefore yet relent, and save my life.
Cade. Away with him, and do as I connnand ye.
\_Exeunt some with Lord Say.
The proudest peer in the realm shall not wear a
head on his shoulders, unless he pay me tribute ;
men shall hold of me m capitei and we charge and
command, that their wives be as free as heart can
wish, or tongue can tell.
Dick. My lord, when shall we go to Clieapside,
and take up commodities upon our bills ?
Cade. Marry, presently.
AU. O brave !
Re-enter Rebdh V'ith the Heads of Lokd Say and his
Son-in-law.
Cade. But is not this braver ? — I^t them kiss
one another, for they loved well, when tliey were
alive. Now part them again, lest they consult about
the giving up of some more towns in France. Sol-
diers defer the s)>oil of tiie city until night : for with
these borne before us, instead of maces, will wc lide
' (. r. Shedding guiltles* blood
* A dsmou who wat sup{MWOct to attend at call.
Kk 3
502
SECOND PART OF
Act IV.
through the streets ; and, at every corner, have them
kiss. — Away ! [Exeunt.
SCENE VIII. — Southwark.
Alarum. Enter Cade, and all his Rahhlement.
Cade. Up Fish-street ! down Saint Magnus' cor-
ner ! kill and knock down ! throw them into
Thames!— [^ Parley sounded, then a Retreat.']
What noise is this I hear ? Dare any be so bold to
sound retreat or parley, when I command them kill ?
Enter Buckingham, and old Clifford, with Forces.
Buck. Ay, here they be that dare and will disturb
thee :
Know, Cade, we come ambassadors from the king
Unto the commons, whom thou hast misled ;
And here pronounce free pardon to them all.
That will forsake thee, and go home in peace.
Clif. What say ye, countrymen ? will ye relent.
And yield to mercy, whilst 'tis oflfer'd you ;
Or let a rabble lead you to your deaths?
Who loves the king, and will embrace his pardon.
Fling up his cap, and say — God save his majesty !
Who hateth him, and honours not his father,
Henry the fifth, that made all France to quake.
Shake he his weapon at us, and pass by.
All. God save the king ! God save the king !
Cade. What, Buckingham, and Clifford, are ye
so brave ? — And you, base peasants, do ye believe
him ? will you needs be hanged with your pardons
about your necks ? Hath my sword therefore broke
through London gates, that you should leave me
at the White Hart in Southwark ? I thought, ye
would never have given out these arms, till you had
recovered your ancient freedom ; but you are all
recreants, and dastards; and delight to live in
slavery to the nobility. Let them break your backs
with burdens, take your houses over your heads,
ravish your wives and daughters before your faces :
For me, — I will make shift for one ; and so — A
curse 'light upon you all !
AIL We'll follow Cade, we'll follow Cade.
Clif. Is Cade the son of Henry the fifth,
That thus you do exclaim — you'll go with him ?
Will he conduct you through the heart of France,
And make the meanest of you earls and dukes ?
Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to ;
Nor knows he how to live, but by the spoil,
Unless by robbing of your friends, and us.
Wer't not a shame, that whilst you live at jar.
The fearful French, whom you late vanquished.
Should make a start o'er seas and vanquish you ?
Methinks, already, in this civil broil,
I see them lording it in London streets.
Crying — Villageois ! unto all they meet.
Better, ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry.
Than you should stoop unto a Frenchman's mercy.
To France, to France, and get what you have lost ;
Spare England, for it is your native coast ;
Henry hath money, you are strong and manly :
God on our side, doubt not of victory.
All. A Clifford! a Clifford! we'll follow the
king, and Clifford.
Cade. Was ever feather so lightly blown to and
fro, as this multitude ? the name of Henry the fifth
hales them to an hundred mischiefs, and makes them
leave me desolate. I see them lay their heads toge-
ther, to surprize me : my sword make way for me,
for here is no staying. — Have through the very
midst of you ! and honour be witness, that no want
of resolution in me, but only my followers' base and
ignominious treasons, makes me betake me to my
heels. [Exit.
Buck. What, is he fled ? go, some and follow him ;
And he, that brings his head unto the king.
Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward
[Exeunt some of them.
Follow me, soldiers ; we'll devise a mean
To reconcile you all unto the king. [Exeunt.
SCENE IX
Kenel worth Castle.
Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, and
Somerset, on the Terrace of the Castle.
K. Hen. Was ever king that joy'd an earthly
throne.
And could command no more content than I ?
No sooner was I crept out of my cradle.
But I was made a king at nine months old :
Was never subject long'd to be a king,
As I do long and wish to be a subject.
Enter Buckingham and Clifford.
Buck. Health, and glad tidings, to your majesty !
K. Hen. Why, Buckingham, is the traitor. Cade,
surpriz'd ?
Or is he but retir'd to make him strong ?
Enter, below, a great number of Cade's Followers,
with Halters about their Necks.
Clif. He's fled, my lord, and all his powers do
yield ;
And humbly thus, with halters on their necks.
Expect your highness' doom of life, or death.
K. Hen. Then, heaven, setope thy everlastinggates.
To entertain my vows of thanks and praise !
Soldiers, this day have you redeem'd your lives,
And show'd how well you love your prince and
country :
Continue still in this so good a mind.
And Henry, though he be infortunate.
Assure yourselves, will never be unkind :
And so, with thanks and pardon to you all,
I do dismiss you to your several countries.
AU. God save the king ! God save the king !
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Please it your grace to be advertised.
The duke of York is newly come from Ireland :
And with a puissant, and a mighty power.
Of gallowglasses, and stout kernes ^,
Is marching hitherward in proud array ;
And still proclaimeth, as he comes along.
His arms are only to remove from thee
The duke of Somerset, whom he terms a traitor.
K. Hen. Thus stands my state, 'twixt Cade and
York distress'd ;
Like to a ship, that, having 'scap'd a tempest.
Is straightway calm'd and boarded with a pirate :
But now 6 is Cade driven back, his men dispers'd ;
And now is York in arms to second him. —
I pray thee, Buckingham, go forth and meet him ;
And ask him, what's the reason of these arms.
Tell him, I'll send duke Edmund to the Tower ; —
And, Somerset, we will commit thee thither,
Until his army be dismiss'd from him.
Som. My lord,
I'll yield myself to prison willingly.
Or unto death, to do my country good.
* Two orders of foot-soldiers among the Insh.
6 Only just now.
I
I
Scene X.
KING HENRY VI.
503
K. Hen. In any case, be not too rough in terms ;
For he is fierce, and cannot brook hard language.
Buck. I will, my lord ; and doubt not so to deal.
As all things should redound unto your good.
K. Hen. Come, wife, let's in, and learn to govern
better ;
For yet may England curse my wretched reign.
[Exeunt.
SCENE X. — Kent Iden'5 Garden.
Enter Cade.
Cade. Fye on ambition ! fye on myself; that
have a sword, and yet am ready to famish ! These
five days have I hid me in these woods ; and durst
not peep out, for all the country is lay'd for me ;
but now am I so hungry, that if I might have a
lease of my life for a thousand years, I could stay
no longer. Wherefore, on a brick-wall have I
climbed into this garden ; to see if I can eat grass,
or pick a sallet another while, which is not amiss
to cool a man's stomach this hot weather. And, I
think, this word sallet was bom to do me good :
for., many a time, but for a sallet', my brain-pan
had been cleft with a brown bill; and, many a
time, when I have been dry, and bravely march-
ing, it hath served me instead of a quart-pot to
drink in ; and now the word sallet must serve me
to feed on.
Enter I den, with Servants.
Iden. Lord, who would live turmoiled in the court,
And may enjoy such quiet walks as these ?
This small inheritance, my father left me,
Contenteth me, and is worth a monarchy.
I seek not to wax great by others' waning ;
Or gather wealth, I care not with what envy ;
Sufficeth, that I have maintains my state,
And sends the poor well pleased from my gate.
Cade. Here's the lord of the soil come to seize
me for a stray, for entering his fee-simple without
leave. Ah, villain, thou wilt betray me, and get
a thousand crowns of the king for carrying my
head to him ; but I'll make thee eat iron like an
ostrich, and swallow my sword like a great pin, ere
thou and I part.
Iden. Why, rude companion, whatsoe'er thou be,
I know thee not ; Why then should I betray thee ?
Is't not enough, to break into my garden.
And, like a thief, to come to rob my grounds.
Climbing my walls in spite of me, the owner.
But thou wilt brave me with these saucy terms ?
Cade. Brave thee ? ay, by the best blood that ever
was broached, and beard thee too. Look on me well :
I have eat no meat these five days ; yet, come thou
and thy five men, and if I do not leave you all as
dead as a door-nail, may I never eat grass more.
Iden. Nay, it shall ne'er be said while England
stands.
That Alexander Iden, an esquire of Kent,
Took odds to combat a poor famish'd man.
Oppose thy steadfast-gazing eyes to mine,
See if thou canst outface me with thy looks.
Set limb to limb, and thou art far the lesser ;
Thy hand is but a finger to my fist ;
Thy leg a stick compared with this truncheon ;
My foot shall fight with all the strength thou hast ;
And if mine arm be heaved in the air,
Thy grave is digg'd already in the earth.
As for more words, whose greatness answers words,
Let this my sword report what speech forbears.
Cade. By my valour, the most complete champion
that ever I heard. — St«el, if thou turn the edge, or
cut not out the burly-boned clown in chines of l)eef
ere thou sleep in thy sheath, mayest thou be turned
to hobnails. [^They fight. Cxnzfalls.] O, I am slain!
famine, and no other, hath slain me ; let ten thou-
sand devils come against me, and give me but the
ten meals I have lost, and I'd defy them all.
Wither, garden : and be henceforth a burying-
place to all that do dwell in this house, because the
unconquered soul of Cade is fled.
Iden. Is't Cade that I have slain, that monstrous
traitor ?
Sword, I will hallow thee for this thy deed.
And hang thee o'er my tomb when 1 am dead :
Ne'er shall this blood be wiped from thy point ;
But thou shalt wear it as a herald's coat,
To emblaze the honour that thy master got.
Cade. Iden, farewell ; and be proud of thy vic-
tory : Tell Kent from me, she hath lost her best
man, and exhort all the world to be cowards ; for
I, that never feared any, am vanquish'd by famine,
not by valour. [Dies.
Iden. How much thou wrong'st me, heaven be my
judge.
Hence will I drag thee headlong by the heels
Unto a dunghill, which shall be thy grave.
And there cut oflTthy most ungracious head ;
Which I will bear in triumph to the king.
[Exit, dragging out the Body.
ACT V.
SCENE. I. — Near Saint Alban'5.
The King'5 Camp on one side. On the other, enter
York attended^ with Drum and Colours: his
Forces at some distance.
York. From Ireland thus comes York, to claim
his right.
And pluck the crown from feeble Henry's head:
Ring, bells, aloud ; bum, bonfires, clear and bright.
To entertain great England's lawful king.
Ah, sancta mqjestas I who would not buy thee dear ?
Let them obey, that know not how to rule !
^ A kind of helmet
This hand was made to handle nought but gold :
I cannot give due action to my words.
Except a sword, or scepter, balance it.
A scepter shall it have, have I a soul ;
On which I'll toss the flower-de-luce of France.
Enter Buckingham.
Whom have we here ? Buckingham, to disturb me.
The king hath sent him, sure ; I must dissemble.
Buck. York, if thou meanest well, I greet thee well.
York. Humphrey of Buckingham, I accept tliy
greeting.
Art thou a messenger, or come of pleasure ?
K k 4
504.
SECOND PART OF
Act V.
Buck. A messenger from Henry, our dread liege,
To know the reason of these arms in peace ;
Or why, thou — being a subject as I am, —
Against thy oath and true allegiance sworn,
Shouldst raise so great a power without his leave
Or dare to bring thy force so near the court.
York. Scarce can I speak, my choler is"
so great.
O, I could hew up rocks, and fight with
flint,
I am so angry at these abject terms ;
And now, like Ajax Telamonius,
On sheep or oxen could 1 spend my fury ! ^ Aside.
I am far better born than is the king ;
More like a king, more kingly in my
thoughts :
But I must make fair weather yet a while.
Till Henry be more weak, and I more
strong. —
O Buckingham, I pr'ythee, pardon me.
That I have given no answer all this while ;
My mind was troubled with deep melancholy.
The cause why I have brought this army hither,
Is — to remove proud Somerset from the king.
Seditious to his grace, and to the state.
Btick. That is too much presumption on thy part :
But if thy arms be to no other end.
The king hath yielded unto thy demand ;
The duke of Somerset is in the Tower.
York. Upon thine honour, is he prisoner ?
Buck. Upon mine honour, he is prisoner.
York. Then Buckingham, I do dismiss my
powers. —
Soldiers, I thank you all : disperse yourselves ;
Meet me to-morrow in Saint George's field.
You shall have pay, and every thing you wish.
And let my sovereign, virtuous Henry,
Command my eldest son, — nay, all my sons,
As pledges of my fealty and love,
I'll send them all as willing as 1 live ;
Lands, goods, horse, armour, any thing 1 have
Is his to use, so Somerset may die.
Buck. York, I commend this kind submission ;
We twain will go into his highness' tent.
Enter King Henrt, attended.
IT. Hen. Buckingham, doth York intend no harm
to us.
That thus he marcheth with thee arm in arm ?
Yoi'k. In all submission and humility,
York doth present himself unto your highness.
j/T. Hen. Then what intend these forces thou
dost bring ?
York. To heave the traitor Somerset from hence ;
And fight against that monstrous rebel. Cade,
Who since I heard to be discomfited.
Enter Iden, with Cade's Head.
Men. If one so rude, and of so mean condition.
May pass into the presence of a king,
Lo, I present your grace a traitor's head.
The head of Cade, whom I in combat slew.
K. Hen. The head of Cade ? — Great God, how
just art thou ! —
O, let me view his visage being dead.
That living wrought me such exceeding trouble.
Tell me, my friend, art thou the man that slew him ?
Iden. I was, an't like your majesty.
K. Hen. How art thou call'd ? and what is thy
degree ?
Iden. Alexander Iden, that's my name ;
A poor esquire of Kent, that loves his king.
Buck. So please it you, my lord, 'twere not amiss
He were created knight for his good service.
K. Hen. Iden, kneel down ; [^He kneels.'\ Rise
up a knight.
We give thee for reward a thousand marks ;
And will, that thou henceforth attend on us.
Iden. May Iden live to merit such a bounty.
And never live but true unto his liege !
K. Hen. See, Buckingham ! Somerset comes with
the queen ;
Go, bid her hide him quickly from the duke.
Enter Queen Margarkt and Somerset.
Q. Mar. For thousand Yorks he shall not hide
his head.
But boldly stand, and front him to his face.
York. How now ! Is Somerset at liberty ?
Tlien, York, unloose thy long-imprison'd thoughts.
And let thy tongue be equal with thy heart.
Sljall I endure the sight of Somerset ? —
False king ! why hast thou broken faith with me.
Knowing how hardly I can brook abuse ?
King did I call thee ? no, thou art not king ;
Not fit to govern and rule multitudes.
Which dar'st not, no, nor canst not rule a traitor.
That head of thine doth not become a crown ;
Thy hand is made to grasp a palmer's staff.
And not to grace an awful princely scepter.
That gold must round engirt these brows of mine ;
Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spear.
Is able with the change to kill and cure.
Here is a hand to hold a scepter up.
And with the same to act controlling laws.
Give place ; by heaven, thou shalt rule no more
O'er him, whom heaven created for thy ruler.
Sam. O monstrous traitor ! — I arrest thee, York,
Of capital treason 'gainst the king and crown :
Obey, audacious traitor ; kneel for grace.
York. Wouldst have me kneel ? first let me ask
of these.
If they can brook I bow a knee to man. —
Sirrah, call in my sons to be my bail ;
[^Ent an Attendant.
I know, ere they will have me go to ward 8,
They'll pawn their swords for my enfranchisement.
Q. Mar. Call hither Clifford ; bid him come
amain,
To say, if that the bastard boys of York
Shall be the surety for their traitor father.
York. O blood-bespotted Neapolitan,
Outcast of Naples, England's bloody scourge !
The sons of York, thy betters in their birth.
Shall be their father's bail ; and bane to those
That for my surety will refuse the boys.
Enter Edward and Richard Plantagenet, with
Forces, at one side ; at the other, tvith Forces also,
old Clifford, and his Son.
See, where they come; I'll warrant they'll make
it good.
Q. Mar. And here comes Cliflford, to deny their
bail.
Clif. Health and all happiness to my lord the
king ! [ICneels.
York. I thank thee, Cliflford : Say, what news
with thee?
Nay, do not fright us with an angry look :
8 Custody, confinement
I
Scene I.
KING HENRY VI.
505
We are thy sovereign, Clifford, kneel again ;
For thy mistaking so, we pardon thee.
Clif. Tliis is my king, York, I do not mistake ;
But thou mistak'st me much, to think I do : —
To Bedlam with him ! is the man grown mad ?
K. Hen, Ay, Clifford ; a bedlam and ambitious
humour
Makes him oppose himself against his king.
Clif. He is a traitor ; let him to the Tower,
And chop away that factious pate of his.
Q. Mar. He is arrested, but will not obey ;
His sons, he says, shall give their words for him.
York, Will you not, sons ?
Edw. Ay, noble father, if our words will serve.
Rich, And if words will not, then our weapons
shall.
Clif. Why, what a brood of traitors have we here !
York. Look in a glass, and call thy image so ;
I am thy king, and thou a false-heart traitor. —
Call hither to the stake my two brave bears »,
That, with the very shaking of their chains,
They may astonish these fell lurking curs ;
Bid Salisbury, and Warwick, come to me.
Drums. Enter Warwick and Salisburt, with
Forces,
Clif Are these thy bears ? we'll bait thy bears to
death,
And manacle the bear- ward ' in their chains,
If tliou dar'st bring them to the baiting-place.
Rich, Oft have I seen a hot o'erweening cur
Run back and bite, because he was withheld ;
Who, being suffer'd with the bear's fell paw.
Hath clapp'd his tail beween his legs, and cry'd :
And such a piece of service will you do.
If you oppose yourselves to match lord Warwick.
Clif. Hence, heap of wrath, foul indigested lump.
As crooked in thy manners as thy shape !
York, Nay, we shall heat you thoroughly anon.
Clif. Take heed, lest by your heat you. bum
yourselves.
K. Hen, Why, Warwick, hath thy knee forgot to
bow ? —
Old Salisbury, — shame to thy silver hair,
lliou mad misleader of thy brain-sick son ! —
What, wilt thou on thy death-bed play the ruffian,
And seek for sorrow with thy spectacles?
O, where is faith ? O, where is loyilty ?
If it be banish'd from the frostj i; id,
Where shall it find a harbour in the earth ? —
Wilt thou go dig a grave to find out war.
And shame thine honourable age with blood ?
Why art thou old, and want'st experience ?
Or wherefore dost abuse it, if thou hast it ?
For shame ! in duty bend thy knee to me.
That bows unto the grave with mickle age.
Sal. My lord, I have consider'd with myself
The title of this most renowned duke ;
And in my conscience do repute his grace
The rightful heir to England's royal seat.
K, Hen, Hast thou not sworn allegiance unto rae ?
Sal, I have.
K. Hen, Canst thou dispense with heaven for such
an oath?
Sal. It is great sin, to swear unto a sin ;
But greater sin, to keep a sinful oath.
Who can be bound by any solemn vow
To do a murderous deed, to rob a man,
' The Nevils, carb of Warwick, had a bear and ragged (taff
for their crest ' Bear-keeper.
To force a spotless virgin's chastity.
To reave the orphan of his patrimony,
To wring the widow from her custora'd right;'
And have no other reason for this wrong.
But that he was bound by a solemn oath ?
Q. Mar, A subtle traitor needs no sophister.
K. Hen, Call Buckingham, and bid him arm him-
self.
York. Call Buckingham, and all the friends thou
hast,
I am resolv'd for death or dignity.
Clif, The first I warrant thee, if dreams prove true.
War, You were best to go to bed, and dream again,
To keep thee from the tempest of the field.
Clif. I am resolv'd to bear a greater storm,
Than any thou canst conjure up to-day ;
And that I'll write upon thy burgonet.
Might I but know thee by thy household badge.
War, Now, by my father's badge, old Nevil's crest,
The rampant bear chain'd to the ragged staff,
This day I'll wear aloft my burgonet *, '
(As on a moutain-top the cedar shows.
That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm,)
Even to affright thee with the view thereof.
Clif, And from thy burgonet I'll rend thy bear,
And tread it underfoot with all contempt,
Despight the bear- ward that protects the bear.
Y. Clif. And so to arms, victorious father.
To quell tlie rebels, and their 'complices.
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE II. — Saint Alban'5.
Alarums : Excursions. Enter Warwick.
War. Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls !
And if thou dost not hide thee from the bear,
Now, — when the angry trumpet sounds alarm.
And dead men's cries do fill the empty air,
Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with mc !
Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland,
Warwick is hoarse with calling tliee to arms.
Enter York.
How now, my noble lord ? what, all a foot ?
York. The deadly-handed Clifford slew my steed ;
But match to match I have encountered him.
And made a prey for carrion kites and crows.
Even of the bonny beast he lov'd so well.
Enter Clifford.
War, Of one or both of us the time is come.
York, Hold, Warwick, seek thee out some other
chase.
For I myself must hunt this deer to death.
War, Then, nobly, York ; 'tis for a crown thou
fight'st. —
As I intend, Clifford, to thrive to-day.
It grieves my soul to leave tliee unassail'd.
[Exit Warwick.
CUf. What seest thou in mc, York? why dost
thou pause ?
York. With thy brave bearing should I be in love.
But that thou art so fast mine enemy.
Clf. Nor should thy prowess want praise and
esteem.
But that 'ds shown ignobly, and in treason.
York. So let it help me now against thy sword.
As I in justice and true right express it !
Clif, My soul and body on the action both ! —
2 Hehnct
506
SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI.
Acr V.
York. A dreadful lay ! 3 — address thee instantly.
[Thei/Jlght, and Clifford falls.
Clif. La fin couronne les ceuvres. [Dies.
York. Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou
art still.
Peace with his soul, heaven, if it be thy will !
[Exit.
Enter Young Clifford.
Y. Clif. Shame and confusion ! all is on the rout !
Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds
Wliere it should guard. O war, thou son of hell.
Whom angry heavens do make their minister.
Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part
Hot coals of vengeance ; — Let no soldier fly :
He that is truly dedicate to war.
Hath no self-love ; nor he that loves himself.
Hath not essentially, but by circumstance,
The name of valour. — O, let the vile world end.
[Seeing his dead Father.
And the premised 4 flames of the last day
Knit earth and heaven together !
Now let the general trumpet blow his blast.
Particularities and petty sounds
To cease ! — Wast thou ordain'd, dear father.
To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve
The silver livery of advised age ;
And in thy reverence, and thy chair-days, thus
To die in ruffian battle ? — Even at this sight,
My heart is turn'd to stone ; and, while 'tis mine,
It shall be stony. York not our old men spares ;
No more will I their babes : tears virginal
Shall be to me even as the dew to fire ;
And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims,
Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and flax.
Henceforth, I will not have to do with pity :
Meet I an infant of the house of York,
Into as many gobbets will I cut it,
As wild Medea young Absyrtus did :
In cruelty will I seek out my fame.
Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford's house ;
[ Taking up the Body.
As did ^neas old Anchises bear.
So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders ;
But then JEneas bare a living load.
Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine. [Exit.
Enter Richard Plantagenet and Somerset,
fighting, and Somerset is killed.
Rich. So, lie thou there ; —
For, underneath an alehouse' paltry sign,
The Castle in Saint Alban's, Somerset
Hath made the vnzard famous in his death. —
Sword, hold thy temper : heart, be wrathful still :
Priests pray for enemies, but princes kill. [Exit.
Alarums : Excursions. Enter King Henry, Queen
Margaret, and others, retreating.
Q. Mar. Away, my lord ! you are slow ; for
shame, away !
IT. Hen. Can we outrun the heavens? good Mar-
garet, stay.
Q. Mar. What are you made of? you'll not fight,
nor fly :
Now is it manhood, wisdom, and defence,
' A dreadful wager, a tremendous stake.
< Sent before their time.
To give the enemy way : and to secure us
By what we can, which can no more but fly.
[Alarum afar off.
If you be ta'en, we then should see the bottom
Of all our fortunes ; but if we haply scape,
(As well we may, if not through your neglect,)
We shall to London get j where you are lov'd ;
And where this breach, now in our fortunes made,
May readily be stopp'd.
Enter Young Clifford.
Y. Clif But that my heart's on future mischief set,]
I would speak blasphemy ere bid you fly ;
But fly you must ; uncurable discomfit
Reigns in the hearts of all our present parts.*
Away, for your relief! and we will live
To see their day, and them our fortune give :
Away, my lord, away ! [Exeunt* j
SCENE III. — Fields near Saint Alban's.
Alarum: Retreat. Flourish; then enter York,
Richard Plantagenet, Warwick, and Soldiers, \
with Drum and Colours.
York. Of Salisbury, who can report of him ;
That winter lion, who, in rage, forgets
Aged contusions and all brush of time 6 ;
And, like a gallant in the brow of youth 7,
Repairs him with occasion ? this happy day
Is not itself, nor have we won one foot,
If Salisbury be lost.
Rich. My noble father.
Three times to-day I holp him to his horse.
Three times bestrid him, thrice I led him off,
Persuaded him from any further act :
But still, where danger was, still there I met him ;
And like rich hangings in a homely house.
So was his will in his old feeble body.
But, noble as he is, look, where he comes.
Enter Salisbury.
Sal. Now, by my sword, well hast thou fought "
to-day ;
By the mass, so did we all. — I thank you, Richard :
God knows, how long it is I have to live ;
And it hath pleas'd him, that three times to-day
You have defended me from imminent death. —
Well, lords, we have not got that which we have 8 ■
'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled.
Being opposites of such repairing nature. 9
York. I know, our safety is to follow them ;
For, as I hear, the king is fled to London,
To call a present court of parliament.
Let us pursue him, ere the writs go forth : —
What says lord Warwick ? shall we after them r
War. After them ! nay, before them, if we can.
Now by my faith, lords, 'twas a glorious day :
Saint Alban's battle, won by famous York,
Shall be eterniz'd in all age to come. —
Sound, drums and trumpets : — and to London all :
And more such days as these to us befall ! [Exeunt.
^ For parties. 6 le. The gradual detrition of time.
7 i. e. The height of youth ; the brow of a hill is its summit
8 t. e. We have not secured that which we have acquired,
9 I. e. Being enemies that are likely so soon to rally and re-
cover themselves from this defeat.
THIRD PART OF
KING HENRY VI.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
Lords on Kiv^
Henry's side.
Kino Henry the Sixth.
EnwARD, Prince of Wales, his Son.
Lewis the Eleventh, King of France.
Duke of Somerset,
Duke of Exeter,
Earl of Oxford
Earl of Northumberland.
Earl of Westmoreland,
Lord Clifford,
Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York
Edward, Earl of March, afterwards.
King Edward the Fourth,
Edmund, Earl o/" Rutland,
George, afterwards Duke of Clarence,
Richard, afterwards Duke of Gloster,
Duke of Norfolk, "^
Marquis of Montague,
Earl of Warwick,
Earl of Pembroke,
Lord Hastings,
Lord Stafford,
SCENE, during part of the third act
his Sons.
of the Duke of York's
Party.
Sir John Mortimer, "| __ , , ^. -r. , /.v i
Sir Hugh Mortimer, | ^'^'^^*'« ^^^"^"^"^ "f^'''^'
Henry, Earl of Richmond, a Youth.
Lord Rivers, Brother to Lady Grey.
Sir William Stanley.
Sir John Montgomery.
Sir John Somerville,
Tutor to Rutland.
Mayor of York.
Lieutenant of the Tower.
A Nobleman.
Two Keepers.
A Huntsman.
A Son that has killed his Father.
A Father that has killed his Son.
Queen Margaret.
Lady Grey, afterwards Queen to Edward the Fotcrth.
Bona, sister to the French Queen.
Soldiers, and other Attendants on King Henry and
King Edward, Messengers, Watchmen, ^c
in France ; during all the rest of the play, in England.
TARI THAT. THE LIKENESS OF lOlS RAILER HKUK.
THIRD PART OF
KING HENRY VL
ACT I.
SCENE I.— Londc
The Parliament House.
Drunu. Some Soldiers o/* York's Parti/ break in.
Then, enter the Dukk OFYoRK,EnwARD,RiCHARD,
Norfolk, Montague, Warwick, and others, with
white Hoses in their Hats.
War. I wonder, how the king escap'd our liands.
York. While we pursu'd tlie horsemen of the
north,
lie slily stole away, and left his men :
Whereat the great lord of Northumberland,
Wliose warlike ears could never brook retreat,
Cheer'd up tJie drooping army ; and himself,
I>ord Cliflbrd, and lord StaflTord, all a-breast,
Charg'd our inain battle's front, and, breaking in.
Were by the swords of common soldiers slain.
Ediv. Lord Stafford's father, duke of Bucking-
ham,
Is either slain, or wounded dangerous :
I cleft his beaver with a downright blow ;
That this is true, father, behold his bloml.
\_Showing his bloody Su<ord.
MoiU. And, brother, here's the earl of Wilt-
shire's blood, f To York, shomng his.
Whom I encounter'd as the battles join'd.
liich. Speak thou for me, and tell tliem what I did.
[Throudng down the Duke of Somerset's Head.
York. Richard hath l)est deserv'd of all my sons. —
What, is your grace dead, my lord of Somerset ?
Norf. Such hope have all tJie line of John of
Gaunt !
Rich, nuis do I hope to shake king Henry's
head.
War. And so do I. — Victorious prince of York,
Before I see thee seated in that throne
Which now the house of Lancaster usurps,
I vow by heaven, these eyes shall never close.
This is the palace of the fearful king,
508
THIRD PART OF
Act I.
And this the regal seat : possess it, York :
For this is thine, and not king Henry's heirs'.
York. Assist me then, sweet Warwick, and I will ;
For hither we have broken in by force.
Norf. We'll all assist you ; he that flies, shall die.
York. Thanks, gentle Norfolk, — Stay by me, my
lords ; —
.And, soldiers, stay, and lodge by me this night.
/ War, And, when the king comes, offer him no
violence.
Unless he seek to thrust you out by force.
[ They retire.
York. The queen, this day, here holds her par-
liament.
But little thinks we shall be of her council :
By words, or blows, here let us win our right.
Rich. Arm'd as we are, let's stay within this house.
War. The bloody parliament shall this be call'd,
Unless Plantagenet, duke of York, be king :
And bashful Henry depos'd, whose cowardice
Hath made us by-words to our enemies.
York. Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute ;
I mean to take possession of my right.
War. Neither the king, nor he that loves him best.
The proudest he that holds up Lancaster,
Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells. '
I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares : —
Resolve thee, Richard ; claim the English crown.
[Warwick leads York to the Throne, who
seats himself.
Flourish. Enter King Henry, Clifford, North-
umberland, Westmoreland, Exeter, and others,
with red Roses in their Hats.
K. Hen. My lords, look where the sturdy rebel
sits.
Even in the chair of state ! belike, he means,
(Back'd by the power of Warwick, that false peer,)
To aspire unto the crown, and reign as king. —
Earl of Northuinberland, he slew thy father ; —
And thine, lord Cliflbrd ; and you both have vow'd
revenge
On him, his sons, his favourites, and his friends.
North. If I be not, heavens be reveng'd on me !
Clif. The hope thereof makes Cliflbrd mourn in
steel.
West. What, shall we suffer this? let's pluck him
down :
My heart for anger burns, I cannot brook it.
K. Hen. Be patient, gentle earl of Westmoreland.
Clif. Patience is for poltroons, and such as he ;
He durst not sit there had your father liv'd.
My gracious lord, here in the parliament
Let us assail the family of York.
North. Well hast thou spoken, cousin, be it so.
K. Hen. Ah, know you not, the city favours them.
And they have troops of soldiers at their beck ?
Exe. But when the duke is slain, they'll quickly
fly.
K. Hen. Far be the thought of this from Henry's
heart
To make a shambles of the parliament-house !
Cousin of Exeter, frowns, words, and threats.
Shall be the war that Henry means to use. —
{^Tliey advance to the Duke.
Thou factious duke of York, descend my throne.
And kneel for grace and mercy at my feet ;
I am thy sovereign.
1 Hawks had sometimes little bells hung on them, perliaps
to dare the birds ; that is, to fright them from rising.
York. Thou art deceiv'd, I am thine.
Exe. For shame, come down ; he made thee duke
of York.
York. 'Twas my inheritance, as the earldom was.
Exe. Thy father was a traitor to the crown.
War. Exeter, thou art a traitor to the crown.
In following this usurping Henry.
Clif. Whom should he follow, but his natural
king?
War. True, Clifford ; and that's Richard, duke of
York.
K. Hen. And shall I stand, and thou sit in my
throne ?
York. It must and shall be so. Content thyself.
War. Be duke of Lancaster, let him be king.
West. He is both king and duke of Lancaster ;
And that the lord of Westmoreland shall maintain.
War. And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget.
That we are those, which chas'd you from the field,
And slew your fathers, and with colours spread
March'd through the city to the palace gates.
North. Yes, Warwick, I remember it to my grief;
And, by his soul, thou and thy house shall rue it.
West. Plantagenet, of thee, and these thy sons
Thy kinsmen, and thy friends I'll have more lives.
Than drops of blood were in my father's veins.
Clif. Urge it no more ; lest that, instead of words,
I send thee, Warwick, such a messenger.
As shall revenge his death, before I stir.
War. Poor Clifford ! how I scorn his worthless
threats !
York. Will you, we show our title to the crown ?
If not, our swords shall plead it in the field.
K. Hen. What title hast thou, traitor, to the
crown ?
Thy father was, as thou art, duke of York ;
Thy grandfather, Roger Mortimer, earl of March ;
I am the son of Henry the fifth.
Who made the dauphin and the French to stoop,
And seiz'd upon their towns and provinces.
War. Talk not of France, sith thou hast lost it all.
K. Hen. The lord protector lost it, and not I ;
When I was crown'd, I was but nine months old.
Rich. You are old enough now, and yet methinks
you lose : . —
Father, tear the crown from the usurper's head.
Edw. Sweet father, do so ; set it on your head.
Mont. Good brother, [To York.] as thou lov'st
and honour'st arms.
Let's fight it out, and not stand cavilling thus.
Rich. Sound drums and trumpets, and the king
will fly.
York. Sons, peace !
K. Hen. Peace thou ! and give king Henry leave
to speak.
War. Plantagenet shall speak first: — hear him,
lords ;
And be you silent and attentive too.
For he, that interrupts him, shall not live.
K. Hen. Think'st thou, that I will leave my
kingly throne,
Wherein my grandsire, and my father, sat?
No : first shall war unpeople this my realm ;
Ay, and their colours — often borne in France ;
And now in England, to our heart's great sorrow
Shall be my winding sheet. — Why faint you, lords T
My title's good, and better far than this.
War. But prove it, Henry, and thou shalt be king.
K. Hen. Henry the Fourth by conquest got tlie
I
Scene I.
KING HENRY VI.
509
York, 'Twas by rebellion against his king.
K. Hen. I know not what to say; my title's weak.
Tell me, may not a king adopt an heir ?
York. What then?
K. Hen. An if he may, then am I lawful king:
For Richard, in the view of many lords,
Ilesign'd the crown to Henry the Fourth ;
Whose heir my father was, and I am his.
York. He rose against him, being his sovereign,
And made him to resign his crown perforce.
War. Suppose, my lords, he did it unconstrain'd,
Think you, 'twere prejudicial to his crown ?
Ejce. No ; for he could not so resign his crown,
But tliat the next heir should succeed and reign.
K. Hen. Art thou against us, duke of Exeter ?
Exe. His is the right, and therefore pardon me.
York. Why whisper you, my lords, and answer
not?
Exe. My conscience tells me, he is lawful king.
K. Hen. All will revolt from me, and turn to him.
North. Plantagenet, for all the claim thou lay'st,
Think not, that Henry shall be so depos'd.
War. Depos'd he shall be, in despite of all.
North. Thou art deceiv'd : 'tis not thy southern
power,
Of Essex, Norfolk, Suffolk, nor of Kent,—
Which makes thee thus presumptuous and proud, —
Can set the duke up in despite of me.
Clif. King Henry, be thy title right or wrong,
Lord Clifford vows to fight in thy defence :
May that ground gape, and swallow me alive.
Where I shall kneel to him that slew my father !
K. Hen. O Clifford, how thy words revive my
heart!
York. Henry of Lancaster, resign thy crown : —
What mutter you, or what conspire you, lords ?
War. Do right unto this princely duke of York :
Or I will fill the house with armed men.
And o'er the chair of state where now he sits,
Write up his title with usurping blood.
\^He stamps, and the Soldiers show themselves.
K. Hen. My lord of Warwick, hear me but one
word;
Let me, for this my life-time, reign as king.
York. Confirm the crown to me, and to mine
heirs,
And thou shalt reign in quiet while thou liv'st.
K. Hen. I am content : Richard Plantagenet,
Enjoy the kingdom after my decease.
Clif. What wrong is this unto the prince your son ?
War. What good is this to England and himself?
West. Base, fearful, and despairing Henry !
Clif. How hast thou injur'd both thyself and us ?
West. I cannot stay to hear these articles.
North. Nor L
Clif. Come, cousin, let us tell the queen these
news.
West. Farewell, faint-hearted and degenerate king.
In whose cold blood no spark of honour bides '
North. Be thou a prey unto the house of York,
And die in bands for this unmanly deed !
Cltf. In dreadful war mayst thou be overcome !
Or live in peace, abandon 'd and despis'd !
[^Exeunt Northumberland, Clifford, and
Westmoreland.
War. Turn this way, Henry, and regard them not.
Exe. They seek revenge, and therefore will not
yield.
K. Hen. Ah, Exeter !
War. Why should you sigh, my lord ?
A". Hen. Not for myself, lord Warwick, but my
son.
Whom I unnaturally shall disinherit.
But, be it as it may : — I here entail
The crown to thee, and to thine heirs for ever ;
Conditionally, that here thou take an oath
To cease this civil war, and, whilst I live.
To honour me as thy king and sovereign ;
And neither by treason, nor hostility,
To seek to put me down, and reign thyself.
York. This oath I willingly take, and will per-
form. [Coming from the Throne.
War. Long live king Henry ! — Plantagenet em-
brace him.
K. Hen. And long live thou, and these thy for-
ward sons !
York. Now York and Lancaster are reconcil'd.
Exe. Accurs'd be he, that seeks to make them
foes ! [ The Lords come forward.
York. Farewell, my gracious lord ; I'll to my
castle.
War. And I'll keep London, with my soldiers.
Norf. And I to Norfolk, with my followers.
Mont. And I unto the sea, from whence I came.
[Exeunt York, and his Sons, Warwick,
Norfolk, Montague, Soldiers, and
Attendants.
K. Hen. And I, with grief and sorrow, to the
court.
Enier Queen Margaret, and the Prikce of Wales.
Exe. Here comes the queen, whose looks bewray
her anger :
I'll steal away.
K. Hen. Exeter so will I. [Going.
Q. Mar. Nay, go not from me, I will follow thee.
IT. Hen. Be patient, gentle queen, and I will stay,
Q. Mar. Who can be patient in such extremes ?
Ah, wretched man ! 'would I had died a maid,
And never seen thee, never borne thee son.
Seeing thou hast prov'd so unnatural a father !
Hath he deserv'd to lose his birthright tlius?
Hadst thou but lov'd him half so well as I ;
Or felt that pain, which I did for him once ;
Or nourish'd him, as I did with my blood ;
Thou wouldst have left thy dearest heart-blood there.
Rather than made that savage duke thine heir.
And disinherited thine only son.
Prince. Father, you cannot disinherit me :
If you be king, why should not I succeed ?
iT. Hen. Pardon me, Margaret ; — pardon mc,
sweet son ; —
The earl of Warwick and the duke enforc'd me.
Q. Mar. Enforc'd thee ! art thou king, and wilt
be forc'd ?
I shame to hear thee speak. Ah, timorous wretch !
Thou hast undone thyself, thy son, and me ;
And given unto the house of York such head,
As thou shalt reign but by their sufferance.
To entail him and his heirs unto the crown,
What is it, but to make tliy sepulchre.
And creep into it far before thy time?
Warwick is chancellor, and the lord of Calais ;
Stern Falconbridge commands the narrow seas ;
The duke is made protector of the realm ;
A nd yet shalt thou be safe ? such safety finds
The trembling lamb, environed with wolves.
Had 1 been there, which am a silly woman.
The soldiers should have toss'd me on their pikes.
Before I would have granted to that act.
510
THIRD PART OF
Act I.
But thou preferr*st thy life before thine honour :
And seeing thou dost, I here divorce myself,
Both from thy table, Henry, and thy bed,
Until that act of parliament be repeal'd.
Whereby my son is disinherited.
The northern lords, that have forsworn thy colours,
Will follow mine, if once they see them spread :
And spread they shall be ; to thy foul disgrace.
And utter ruin of the house of York.
Thus do I leave thee : — Come, son, let's away ;
Our army's ready ; come, we'll after them.
K. Hen. Stay, gentle Margaret, and hear me
speak.
Q. Mar. Thou hast spoke too much already ; get
thee gone.
K. Hen. Gentle son Edward, thou wilt stay with
me?
Q. Mar. Ay, to be murder'd by his enemies.
Prince. When I return with victory from the field,
I'll see your grace : till then, I'll follow her.
Q. Mar Come, son, away ; we may not linger thus.
{Exeunt Queen Margaret and tlie Prince.
IT. Hen. Poor queen ! how love to me, and to her
son.
Hath made her break out into terms of rage !
Reveng'd may she be on that hateful duke ;
Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire.
Will cost my crown, and, like an empty eagle.
Tire * on the flesh of me, and of my son !
The loss of those three lords torments my heart ;
I'll write unto them, and entreat them fair ; —
Come, cousin, you shall be the messenger.
Exe. And I, I hope, shall reconcile them all.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II. — ^ Room in Sandal Castle, near
Wakefield, in Yorkshire.
Enter Edward, Richard, and Montague.
Rich. Brother, though I be youngest, give me
leave.
Edw. No, I can better play the orator.
Mont. But I have reasons strong and forcible.
Enter York.
York. Why, how now, sons and brother, at a
strife?
What is your quarrel ? how began it first ?
Edw. No quarrel, but a slight contention.
York. About what ?
Rich. About that which concerns your grace,
and us;
The crown of England, father, which is yours,
York. Mine, boy ? not till king Henry be dead.
Rich. Your right depends not on his life, or death.
Edw. Now you are heir, therefore enjoy it now :
By giving the house of Lancaster leave to breathe,
It will outrun you, father in the end.
York- I took an oath that he should quietly reign.
Edw. I'd break a thousand oaths, to reign one year.
Rich. No ; God forbid, your grace should be for-
sworn.
York. I shall be, if I claim by open war.
Rich- I'll prove the contrary, if you'll hear me
speak.
York. Thou canst not, son ; it is impossible.
Rich. An oath is of no moment, being not took
Before a true and lawful magistrate.
That hath authority over him that swears :
Henry had none, but did usurp the place ;
2 Peck.
Then, seeing 'twas he that made you to depose,
Your oath, my lord, is vain and frivolous.
Therefore, to arms. And, father, do but think,
How sweet a thing it is to wear a crown ;
Within whose circuit is Elysium,
And all that poets feign of bliss and joy.
Why do we linger thus ? I cannot rest.
Until the white rose, that I wear, be dyed
Even in the lukewarm blood of Henry's heart.
York. Richard, enough ; I will be king, or die. —
Brother, thou shalt to London presently,
And whet on Warwick to this enterprize. —
Thou, Richard, shalt unto the duke of Norfolk,
And tell him privily of our intent. —
You, Edward, shall unto my lord Cobham,
With whom the Kentishmen will willingly rise :
In them I trust ; for they are soldiers.
Witty 3 and courteous, liberal, full of spirit. —
While you are thus employ 'd, what resteth more,
But that I seek occasion how to rise ;
And yet the king not privy to my drift,
Nor any of the house of Lancaster ?
Enter a Messenger.
But, stay ; What news ? Why com'st thou in such
post?
Mess. The queen, with all the northern earls and
lords.
Intend here to besiege you in your castle :
She is hard by with twenty thousand men ;
And therefore fortify your hold, my lord.
York. Ay, with my sword. What ! think'st thou,
that we fear them? —
Edward and Richard, you shall stay with me ; —
My brother Montague shall post to London :
Let noble Warwick, Cobham, and the rest.
Whom we have left protectors of the king.
With powerful policy strengthen themselves.
And trust not simple Henry, nor his oaths.
Mont. Brother, I go ; I'll win them, fear it not :
And thus most humbly I do take my leave. [Ent.
Enter Sir John and Sir Hugh Mortimer.
York. Sir John, and sir Hugh Mortimer, mine
uncles !
You are come to Sandal in a happy hour ;
The army of the queen mean to besiege us.
Sir John. She shall not need, we'll meet her in the
field.
York. What, with five thousand men ?
Rich. Ay, with five hundred, father, for a need.
A woman's general ; What should we fear ?
[A March afar off. ^
Edw. I hear their drums ; let's set our men in -'^m j
order ; V| I
And issue forth, and bid them battle straight.
York. Five men to twenty ! — though the odds be
great,
I doubt not, uncle, of our victory.
Many a battle have I won in France,
When as the enemy hath been ten to one ;
Why should I not now have the like success ?
\Alarum. Exeunt,
SCENE \\\.—Tlaim near Sandal Castle.
Alarums : Excursions. Enter Rutland, and his
Tutor.
Rut. Ah, whither shall I fly to 'scape their hands !
Ah, tutor ! look, where bloody Clifford comes !
3 Of sound judgment.
d
Scene IV.
KING HENRY VI.
511
Enter Clifford, and Soldiers.
Clif. Chaplain, away ! thy priesthood saves thy life.
As for the brat of tliis accursed duke,
Whose father slew my father, — he shall die.
Tut. And I, my lord, will bear him company.
Clif. Soldiers, away with him.
Tut. Ah, Clifford ! murder not tliis innocent child,
Lest thou bo hated both of God and man.
{Exit, forced off by Soldiers.
Clif. How now ! is he dead already ? Or, is it fear,
That makes him close his eyes ? — I'll open them.
Rut. So looks the pent-up lion o'er the wretch
That trembles under his devouring paws :
And so he walks, insulting o'er his prey ;
And so he comes to rend his limbs asunder. —
Ah, gentle Clifford, kill me with thy sword.
And not with such a cruel threat'ning look.
Sweet Clifford, hear me speak before I die ; —
I am too mean a subject for thy wrath.
Be thou reveng'd on men, and let me live.
Clif. In vain thou speak'st, poor boy ; my father's
blood
Hath stopp'd the passage where thy words' should
enter.
Rul. Then let my father's blood open it again ;
He is a man, and, Clifford, cope with him.
Clif. Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine,
Were not revenge sufficient for me ;
No, if I digg'd up thy forefathers' graves,
And hung their rotten coffins up in chains,
It could not slake mine ire, nor ease my heart.
The sight of any of the house of York
Is as a fury to torment my soul ;
And till I root out their accursed line,
And leave not one alive, I live in hell.
Therefore — [Lifting his Hand.
Rut. O, let me pray before I take my death : —
To thee I pray ; Sweet Clifford, pity me !
Clf. Such pity as my rapier's point affords.
Rut. I never did thee harm ; Why wilt thou slay
me?
Clif. Thy father hath.
Rut. But 'twas ere I was born.
Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me ;
Lest, in revenge thereof, — sith God is just, —
He be as miserably slain as I.
Ah, let me live in prison all my days ;
And when I give occasion of offence.
Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause.
Clif. No cause ?
Thy father slew my father ; therefore, die.
[Clifford stabs him.
Rut. DiifaciarUy laudis siimma sit ista tuts f *
[Dies
Clif. Plantagenet ! I come, Plantagenet !
And this thy son's blood cleaving to my blade.
Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood,
Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both.
[ExU.
SCENE IW. — The same.
Alarum. Enter YoaK.
York. The army of the queen hath got the field :
My uncles both are slain in rescuing me ;
And all my folK)wers to the eager foe
Turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind.
Or lambs pursu'd by hunger-starved wolves.
< Heaven grant that this may be your greatest boast !
Ovid. Epitt.
My sons — Heaven knows, what hath bechanced
them :
But this I know — they have demean'd themselves
Like men bom to renown, by life, or death.
Three times did Richard make a lane to me ;
And thrice cried, — Courage, father ! Jight it out !
And full as ofl came Edward to my side.
With purple faulchion, painted to the hilt.
In blood of those that had encounter 'd him :
And when the hardiest warriors did retire,
Richard cried, — Charge ! and give no foot of ground I
And cried, — A crowih or else a glorious tomb /
A scepter, or an earthly sepidchre !
With this, we charg'd again : but, out, alas !
We bodg'd ^ again ; as I have seen a swan
With bootless labour swim against the tide.
And spend her strength witli overmatching waves.
[A short Alarum tuithin,
Ah, hark ! the fatal followers do pursue :
And I am faint, and cannot fly their fury :
And, were I strong, I would not shun their fury :
The sands are number'd that make up my life :
Here must I stay, and here my life must end.
Enter Queen Margaret, Clifford, Northumber-
land, and Soldiers.
Come, bloody Cliffiard, - rough Northumberland^ —
I dare your quenchless fury to more rage j
I am your butt, and I abide your shot.
North. Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.
Clif. Ay, to such mercy, as his ruthless arm.
With downright payment show'd unto my father.
Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car,
And made an evening at the noontide point.
York. My ashes, as the Phoenix, may bring forth
A bird that will revenge upon you all :
And, in that hope, I throw mine eyes to heaven.
Scorning whate'er you can affiict me with.
Why come you not ? what ! multitudes, and fear ?
Clif. So cowards fight, when they can fly no further ;
So doves do peck the falcon's piercing talons ;
So desperate thieves, all hopeless of their lives.
Breathe out invectives 'gainst the officers.
York. O Cliffijrd, but bethink thee once again,
And in thy thought o'er-run my former time :
And, if thou canst for blushing, view this face ;
And bite thy tongue, that slanders him with cowardice,
Whose frown hath made thee faint and fly ere this.
Cltf. I will not bandy with thee word for word ;
But buckle with thee blows twice two for one.
[Dravs.
Q. Mar. Hold, valiant Clifford ! for a thousand
causes,
I would prolong awhile the traitor's life : —
Wrath makes him deaf: speak thou, Northumberland.
North. Hold, Clifford ; do not honour him so much
To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart :
What valour were it, when a cur doth grin.
For one to thrust his hand- between liis teeth,
When he might spurn him with his foot away?
It is war's prize to take all vantages ;
And ten to one is no impeach of valour.
[They lay haiuls on YoiiK, who struggles.
Clif Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin.
North. So dotli the coney struggle in the net.
[York is taken prisoner.
York. So triumph thieves upon their conquer 'd
booty ;
So true men yield, with robbers so o'er'^match'd.
* t. If. We boggled, faUed.
512
THIRD PART OF
Act I.
North. What would your grace have done unto
him now ?
Q. Mar. Brave warriors, Cliflford and Northum-
berland,
Come make him stand upon this molehill here,
That raught ^ at mountains with outstretched arms,
Yet parted but the shadow with his hand
What ! was it you that would be England's king ?
Was't you that revell'd in our parliament.
And made a preachment of your high descent?
Where are your mess of sons to back you now ?
The wanton Edward, and the lusty George ?
And Where's that valiant crook-back prodigy,
Dicky your boy, that, with his grumbling voice.
Was wont to cheer his dad in mutinies ?
Or, with the rest, where is your darling Rutland ?
Look, York ; I stain'd this napkin with the blood
That valiant Clifford, with his rapier's point,
Made issue from the bosom of the boy :
And, if thine eyes can water for his death,
I give thee this to dry thy cheeks withal.
Alas, poor York ! but that I hate thee deadly,
I should lament thy miserable state.
I pr'ythee, grieve, to make me merry, York ;
Stamp, rave, and fret, that I may sing and dance.
What, hath thy fiery heart so parch'd thine entrails.
That not a tear can fall for Rutland's death ?
Why art thou patient, man? thou shouldst be mad ;
And I, to make thee mad, do mock thee thus.
Thou wouldst be fee'd, T see, to make me sport ;
York cannot speak, unless he wear a crown. —
A crown for York ; — and, lords, bow low to him. —
Hold you his hands, whilst T do set it on. —
[Putting a pape?' Crown on his Head.
Ay, marry, sir, now looks he like a king !
Ay, this is he that took king Henry's chair ;
And this is he was his adopted heir. —
But how is it that great Plantagenet
Is crown'd so soon, and broke his solemn oath?
As I bethink me, you should not be king.
Till our king Henry had shook hands with death.
And will you pale 7 your head in Henry's glory,
And rob his temples of the diadem.
Now in his life, against your holy oath ?
O, 'tis a fault too, too unpardonable ! —
Off with the crown ; and, with the crown, his head ;
And, whilst we breathe, take time to do him dead.
Clif. That is my office, for my father's sake.
Q. Mar. Nay, stay ; let's hear the orisons he makes.
York. She-wolf of France, but worse than wolves
of France,
Whose tongue more poisons than the adder's tooth !
How ill-beseeming is it in thy sex.
To triumph like an Amazonian trull.
Upon their woes, whom fortune captivates ?
But that thy face is, visor-like, unchanging,
Made impudent with use of evil deeds,
I would assay, proud queen, to make thee blush :
To tell thee whence thou cam'st, of whom deriv'd.
Were shame enough to shame thee, wert thou not
shameless.
Thy father bears the type 8 of king of Naples,
Of both the Sicils, and Jerusalem ;
Yet not so wealthy as an English yeoman.
6 Reached. 7 Impale, encircle.
» The distinguishing mark.
Hath that poor monarch taught thee to insult?
It needs not, nor it boots thee not, proud queen ;
Unless the adage must be verified, —
That beggars, mounted, run their horse to death.
'Tis beauty, that doth oft make women proud ;
But heaven knows, thy share thereof is small :
'Tis virtue that doth make them most admir'd;
The contrary doth make thee wonder'd at :
'Tis government?, that makes them seem divine
The want thereof makes thee abominable :
Thou art as opposite to every good,
As the Antipodes are unto us.
Or as the south to the septentrion. '
O, tiger's heart, wrapp'd in a woman's hide !
How couldst thou drain the life-blood of the child,
To bid the father wipe his eyes withal.
And yet be seen to bear a woman's face ?
Women are soft, mild, pitiful, and flexible ;
Thou stern, obdurate, flinty, rough, remorseless.
Bidst thou me rage ? why, now thou hast thy wish :
Wouldst have me weep? why, now thou hast thy will :
For raging wind blows up incessant showers,
And, when the rage allays, the rain begins.
These tears are my sweet Rutland's obsequies ;
And every drop cries vengeance for his death, —
'Gainst thee, fell Clifford, — and thee, false French-
woman.
North. Beshrew me, but his passions '- move me so.
That hardly can I check my eyes from tears.
York. That face of his the hungry cannibals
Would not have touch'd, would not have stain'd
with blood :
But you are more inhuman, more inexorable, —
O, ten times more, — than tigers of Hyrcania.
See, ruthless queen, a hapless father's tears :
This cloth thou dipp'dst in blood of my sweet boy,
And I with tears do wash the blood away.
Keep thou the napkin, and go boast of this :
[He gives back the Handkerchief.
And if thou tell'st the heavy story right.
Upon my soul, the hearers will shed tears ;
Yea, even my foes will shed fast-falling tears.
And say, — Alas, it was a piteous deed !
There, take the crown, and with the crown, my curse ;
And, in thy need, such comfort come to thee.
As now I reap at thy too cruel hand ! —
Hard-hearted Clifford, take me from the world ;
My soul to heaven, my blood upon your heads !
North. Had he been slaughter-man to all my kin,
I should not for my life but weep with him.
To see how inly sorrow gripes his soul.
Q. Mar. What, weeping-ripe, my lord Northum-
berland ?
Think but upon the wrong he did us all.
And that will quickly dry thy melting tears.
Clif. Here's for my oath, here's for my father's
death. [Stabbing him.
Q. Mar. And here's to right our gentle-hearted
king. [Stabbing him-
York. Open thy gate of mercy, gracious God !
My soul flies through these wounds to seek out thee.
[Dies.
Q. Mar. Off with his head, and set it on York gates ;
So York may overlook the town of York. [Exeunt.
I
Regularity of behaviour.
The north. 2 Sufferings.
Act II. Scene I.
KING HENRY VI.
513
ACT 11.
SCENE I. — A Plain nearMortimer's Cross mllere-
fordshire.
Drums. Enter Edward and Richard, with their
Forces, marching.
Edw. I wonder, how our princely father 'scaped ;
Or whether he be 'scap'd away or no,
From CUfford's and Nortliumberland's pursuit ;
Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news ;
Had he been slain, we should have heard the news ;
Or, had he 'scap'd, methinks, we should have heard
The happy tidings of his good escape. —
How fares my brother ? why is he so sad ?
Rich. I cannot joy, until I be resolv'd
Where our right valiant father is become.
I saw him in tJie battle range about ;
And watch'd him how he singled Clifford forth.
Methought, he bore him in the thickest troop,
As doth a lion in a herd of neat 3 :
Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs ;
Who having pinch'd a few, and made them cry.
The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him.
So far'd our father with his enemies ;
So fled his enemies my warlike father ;
Metliinks, 'tis prize enough to be his son.
See how the morning opes her golden gates.
And takes her farewell of the glorious sun !
How well resembles it the prime of youth,
Trimm'd like a younker, prancing to his love !
Edtu. Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns ?
Rich. Three glorious suns, each one a perfect sun ?
Not separated with the racking clouds •*,
But sever'd in a pale clear-shining sky.
See, see ! they join, embrace, and seem to kiss.
As if they vow'd some league inviolable :
Now are they but one lamp, one light, one sun.
In this the heaven figures some event.
Edw. 'Tis wondrous strange, the like yet never
heard of.
I think, it cites us, brother, to the field ;
That we, the sons of brave Plan tage net,
Each one already blazing by our meeds ',
Should, notwithstanding, join our lights together,
And over-shine the earth, as this the world.
Whate'er it bodes, henceforward will I bear
Upon my target three fair shining suns.
Enter a Messenger.
But what art thou, whose heavy looks foretell
Some dreadful story hanging on thy tongue ?
Mess. Ah, one that was a woful looker on.
When as the noble duke of York was slain,
Your princely father, and my loving lord.
Edw. O, speak no more! for I have heard too much.
Rich. Say how he died, for I will hear it all.
Mess. Environed he was with many foes ;
And stood against them as the hope of Troy''
Against the Greeks that would have enter'd Troy.
But Hercules himself must yield to odds ;
And many strokes, though with a little axe
Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.
By many hands your father was subdu'd ;
But only slaughtcr'd by the ireful arm
' Neat cattle, cows, oxen, &c.
* t. e. Tlie rlouds in rapid tumultuary motion.
» Merit « Hector.
Of unrelenting Clifford, and the queen :
Who crown'd the gracious duke in high despite ;
Laugh'd in his face ; and, when with grief he wept,
The ruthless queen gave him, to dry his cheeks,
A napkin steeped in the harmless blood
Of sweet young Rutland, by rough Clifford slain :
And, after many scorns, many foul taunts,
They took his head, and on the gates of York
They set the same ; and there it doth remain.
The saddest spectacle that e'er I view'd.
Edio. Sweet duke of York, our prop to lean upon ;
Now thou art gone, we have no staff, no stay ! —
O Clifford, boist'rous Clifford, thou liast slain
The flower of Europe for his chivalry ;
And treacherously hast thou vanquish'd him,
For, hand to hand, he would have vanquish'd thee! —
Now my soul's palace is become a prison :
Ah, would she break from hence ! that this my body
Might in the ground be closed up in rest :
For never henceforth shall I joy again.
Never, O never, shall I see more joy.
Rich. I cannot weep : for all my body's moisture
Scarce serves to quench my furnace-burning heart :
Nor can my tongue unload my heart's great burden,
For self-same wind, that 1 should speak withal.
Is kindling coals, that fire all my breast,
And bum me up with flames, that tears would quench.
To weep, is to make less the depth of grief :
Tears, then, for babes ; blows, and revenge for me ! —
Richard, I bear thy name, I'll venge thy death.
Or die renowned by attempting it.
Edio. His name that valiant duke hath left with
thee;
His dukedom and his chair with me is left.
Rich. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird,
Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun :
For chair and dukedom, throne and kingdom say ;
Or that is thine, or else thou wert not his.
March. Enter Warwick and Montague, with
Forces.
War. How now, fair lords? What fare? what
news abroad ?
Rich. Great lord of Warwick, if we should recount
Our baleful news, and, at each word's deliverance,
Stab poniards in our flesh till all were told.
The words would add more anguish than the wounds.
0 valiant lord, the duke of York is slain.
Ediv. O Warwick ! Warwick ! that Plantagenet
Which held thee dearly, as his very soul.
Is by the stern lord Clifford done to death.
War. Ten days ago I drown'd these news in tears :
And now, to add more measure to your woes,
1 come to tell you things since then befall'n.
After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought^
Where your brave father breath 'd his latest gasp,
Tidings, as swiftly as the posts could run.
Were brought me of your loss, and his depart.
I then in London, keeper of the king,
Muster'd my soldiers, gather'd flocks of friends.
And very well appointed, as I thought,
March 'd towards Saint Alban'sto intercept the queen.
Bearing the king in my behalf along :
For by my scouts 1 was advertised.
That she was coming with a full intent
LI
514
THIRD PART OF
Act II.
To dash our late decree in parliament,
Touching king Henry's oath, and your succession.
Short tale to make, — we at Saint Alban's met,
Our battles join'd, and both sides fiercely fought :
But, whether 'twas the coldness of the king.
Who look'd full gently on his warlike queen.
That robb'd my soldiers of their hated spleen ;
Or whether 'twas report of her success ;
Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour.
Who tliunders to his captives — blood and death,
I cannot judge : but, to conclude with truth.
Their weapons like to lightning came and went ;
Our soldiers — like the night-owl's lazy flight,
Or like a lazy thrasher with a flail, —
Fell gently down, as if they struck their friends.
I cheer'd them up with justice of our cause.
With promise of high pay, and great rewards :
But all in vain ; they had no heart to fight.
And we, in them no hope to win the day.
So that we fled ; the king unto the queen ;
Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself,
In haste, post-haste, are come to join with you ;
For in the marches here, we heard you were,
Making another head to fight again.
Edw. Where is the duke of Norfolk, gentle War-
wick?
And when came George from Burgundy to Eng-
land?
War. Some six miles off the duke is with the
soldiers ;
And for your brother, — he was lately sent
From your kind aunt, duchess of Burgundy,
With aid of soldiers to this needful waR
Rich 'Twas odds, belike, when valiant Warwick
fled:
Oft have I heard his praises in pursuit,
But ne'er, till now, his scandal of retire.
War. Nor now my scandal, Richard, dost thou
hear :
For thou shalt know this strong right hand of mine
Can pluck the diadem from faint Henry's head,
And wring the awful scepter from his fist ;
Were he as famous and as bold in war.
As he is fam'd for mildness, peace and prayer.
Rich. I know it well, lord Warwick : blame me not;
*Tis love, I bear thy glories, makes me speak.
But, in this troublous time, what's to be done ?
Shall we go throw away our coats of steel.
And wrap our bodies in black mourning-gowns,
Numb'ring our Ave- Maries with our beads ?
Or shall we on the helmets of our foes
Tell our devotion with revengeful arms?
If for the last, say — Ay, and to it, lords.
War. Why, therefore Warwick came to seek you
out;
And therefore comes my brother Montague.
Attend me, lords. The proud insulting queen,
With Clifford, and the haught Northumberland,
And of their feather many more proud birds,
Have wrought the easy melting king like wax.
He swore consent to your succession.
His oath enrolled in the parliament ;
And now to London all the crew are gone.
To frustrate both his oath, and what beside
May make against the house of Lancaster.
Their power, I think, is thirty thousand strong :
Now, if the help of Norfolk, and myself.
With all the friends that thou, brave earl of March,
Amongst the loving Welshmen canst procure.
Will but amount to five and twenty thousand.
Why, Via ! to London will we march amain ;
And once again bestride our foaming steeds,
And once again cry — Charge upon our foes !
But never once again turn back and fly.
Rich. Ay, now, metliinks, I hear great Warwick
speak :
Ne'er may he live to see a sunshine day.
That cries — Retire, if Warwick bid him stay.
Edw. Lord Warwick, on thy shoulder will I lean ;
And when thou fall'st, (as heaven forbid the hour !)
Must Edward fall, which peril heaven forefend !
War. No longer earl of March, but duke of York ;
The next degree is, England's royal throne :
For king of England shalt thou be proclaim'd
In every borough as we pass along :
And he that throws not up his cap for joy.
Shall for the fault make forfeit of his head.
King Edward, — valiant Richard, — Montague,—
Stay we no longer dreaming of renown.
But sound the trumpets, and about our task.
Rich. Then, Clifford, werethyheartashardas steel,
(As thou hast shown it flinty by thy deeds,)
I come to pierce it, or to give thee mine.
Edw. Tlien strike up, drums ; — God, and saint
George, for us !
Enter a Messenger.
War. How now ? what news ?
Me&s. The duke of Norfolk sends you word by me.
The queen is coming with a puissant host ;
And craves your company for speedy counsel.
War. Why then it sorts 7, brave warriors : Let's
away. {E3:eunU
SCENE \\.— Before York.
Enter King Henry, Queen Margaret, the Prince
OF Wales, Clifford, and Northumberland,
with Forces.
Q. Mar. Welcome, my lord, to this brave town
of York.
Yonder's the head of that arch-enemy,
That sought to be encompass'd with your crown :
Doth not the object cheer your heart, my lord ?
IT. Hen. Ay, as the rocks cheer them that fear
their wreck :
To see this sight, it irks my very soul. —
Withhold revenge, great God ! 'tis not my fault.
Not wittingly have I infring'd my vow.
Clif. My gracious liege, this too much lenity
And harmful pity, must be laid aside.
To whom do lions cast their gentle looks ?
Not to the beast that would usurp their den.
Whose hand is that the forest bear doth lick ?
Not his, that spoils her young before her face.
Who 'scapes the lurking serpent's mortal sting ?
Not he, that sets his foot upon her back.
The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on ;
And doves will peck, in safeguard of their brood,
Ambitious York did level at thy crown.
Thou smiling, while he knit his angry brows :
He but a duke, would have his son a king,
And raise his issue, like a loving sire ;
Tliou, being a king, bless'd with a goodly son.
Didst yield consent to disinherit him,
Which argued thee a most unloving father.
Unreasonable creatures feed their young :
And though man's face be fearful to their eyes.
Yet in protection of their tender ones,
7 Why then things are as they should be.
I
Scene II.
KING HENRY VI.
515
L
Who hath not seen them (even with those wings
Which sometime they have us'd with fearful flight,)
Make war with him that climb'd unto their nest,
Offering their own lives in their young's defence ?
For shame, my liege, make them your precedent !
Were it not pity that this goodly boy
Should lose his birthright by l)is father's fault ;
And long hereafter, say unto his child, —
What my great-grnn(\father and grandsire got.
My careless father fondly^ gave away ?
Ah, what a shame were this ! Look on tlie boy ;
And let his manly face, which promiseth
Successful fortune, steel thy melting heart,
To hold thine own, and leave thine own with him.
K. Hen. Full well hath Cliflbrd play'd Ihe orator.
Inferring arguments of mighty force.
But, Clifford, tell me, didst tliou never hear, —
That things ill got had ever bad success ?
I'll leave my son my virtuous deeds behind ;
And would, my father had left me no more !
For all the rest is held at such a rate,
As brings a thousand-fold more care to keep,
Than in possession any jot of pleasure.
Ah, cousin York ! 'would thy best friends did know,
How it doth grieve me that thy head is here !
Q,. Mar. My lord, cheer up your spirits ; our foes
are nigh,
And this soft courage makes your followers faint.
You promis'd knighthood to our forward son ;
Unsheath your sword, and dub liim presently. —
Kdward, kneel down.
A'. Hen. Edward Plantagenet, arise a knight ;
And learn this lesson, — Draw thy sword in right.
Prince. My gracious father, by your kingly leave,
I'll draw it as apparent to the crown,
And in that quarrel use it to the death.
Clif. Why, that is spoken like a toward prince.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Royal commanders, be in readiness :
For, with a band of thirty thousand men.
Comes Warwick, backing of the duke of York ;
And, in the towns as they do march along.
Proclaims him king, and many fly to him :
Darraign your battle 9,- for they are at hand.
Clif. I would your highness would depart the field ;
The queen hath best success when you are absent.
Q. Mar. Ay, good my lord, and leave us to our
fortune.
K. Hen. Why, that's my fortune too ; therefore
I'll stay.
North. Be it with resolution, then, to fight.
Prince. My royal father, cheer these noble lords,
And hearten those that fight in your defence :
Unsheath your sword, good father; cry, Saint George/
March. Enter Edward, George, Richard, W^ar-
wicK, Norfolk, Montague, a7id Soldiers.
Edw. Now, perjur'd Henry ! wilt thou kneel for
grace,
And set thy diadem upon my hrtid ;
Or bide the mortal fortune of tlie field ?
Q. Mar. Go, rate thy minions, proud insultingboy !
Becomes it tliee to be tlius bold in terms,
Before thy sovereign, and thy lawful king ?
Edw. I am his king, and he should bow his knee ;
I was adopted heir by his consent :
Since when, his oath is broke : for, as I hear,
You — that are king, though he do wear the
crown, —
« Foolishly. » f, g. Arrange your order of battle
Have caus'd him, by new act of parliament,
To blot out me, and put his own son in.
Clif. And reason too ;
Who should succeed the father, but the son ?
Rich. Areyou there, butcher? — O, Icannotspeak!
CliJ". Ay, crook-back ; here I stand to answer thee.
Or any he the proudest of thy sort.
Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd young Rutland, was
it not ?
Clif. Ay, and old York, and yet not satisfied.
Rich. For heaven's sake, lords, give signal to the
fight.
War, What say*st thou, Henry, wilt thou yield
the crown?
Q. Mar. Why, how now, long-tongu'd Warwick ?
dare you speak ?
When you and I met at Saint Alban's last,
Your legs did better service than your hands.
War. Then 'twas my turn to fly, and now 'tis thine.
Clif. You said so much before, and yet you fled.
War. 'Twas not your valour, Clifford, drove me
thence.
North. No, nor your manhood, that durst make
you stay.
Rich. Northumberland, I hold thee reverently; —
Break off the parle : for scarce I can refrain
The execution of my big-swoln heart
Upon that Clifford, that cruel child-killer.
Clif. I slew thy father : Call'st thou him a child?
Rich. Ay , like a dastard, and a treacherous coward.
As thou didst kill our tender brother Rutland ;
But, ere sun-set, I'll make thee curse the deed.
K. Hen. Have done with words, my lords, and
hear me speak.
Q. Mar. Defy them then, or else hold close thy lips.
K. Hen. I pr'ythee, give no limits to my tongue ;
I am a king, and privileg'd to speak.
Clif. My liege, tlie wound, that bred tliis meeting
here,
Cannot be cur'd by words ; therefore be still.
Rich. Then, executioner, unsheath thy sword :
By Him that made us all, I am resolv'd ',
That Clifford's manhood lies upon his tongue.
Edw. Say, Henry, shall I have my right, or no ?
A thousand men have broke their fasts to-day.
That ne'er shall dine, unless thou yield the crown.
War. If thou deny, their blood upon thy head ;
For York in justice puts his armour on.
Prince. If that be right, which Warwick says is
right,
There is no wrong, but every thing is right.
Rich. Whoever got thee, there thy mother stands ;
For, well I wot, thou hast thy mother's tongue.
Q. Mar. But thou art neitlier like thy sire, nor dam ;
But like a foul mis-shapen stigmatick,
Mark'd by the destinies to be avoided,
As venom toads, or lizards' dreadful stings.
Rich. Iron of Naples, hid with English gilt^
Whose father bears the title of a king,
( As if a channel should be call'd the sea,)
Sham'st thou not, knowing whence tliou art ex-
traught,
To let thy tongue detect thy base-born heart ?
Edw. Helen of Greece was fairer far than thou,
Altliough thy husband may be Menelaus ;
And ne'er was Agamemnon's brother wrong'd
By that false woman, as this king by tliee.
His father revell'd in the heart of France,
And tam'd the king, and made the dauphin stoop ;
I It U my firm persuasion. > Gilding.
LI 2
516
THIRD PART OF
Act II.
And, had he match'd accordhig to his state,
He might have kept that glory to this day :
But, when he took a beggar to liis bed,
And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal day ;
Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him,
That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France,
And heap'd sedition on his crown at home.
For what hath broach'd this tumult, but thy pride ?
Hadst thou been meek, our title still had slept ;
And we, in pity of the gentle king,
Had slipp'd our claim until another age.
Geo. But, when we saw our sunshine made thy
spring,
And that thy summer bred us no increase.
We set the axe to thy usurping root :
And though the edge hath something hit ourselves,
Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike,
We'll never leave, till we have hewn thee down.
Or bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods.
Ediv. And, in this resolution, I defy thee ;
Not willing any longer conference,
Since thou deny'st the gentle king to speak. —
Sound trumpets ! — let our bloody colours wave ! —
And either victory, or else a grave.
Q. Mar. Stay, Edward.
Edw. No, wrangling woman ; we'll no longer stay ;
These words will cost ten thousand lives to-day.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. — A Field of Battle between Towton
and Sax ton in Yorkshire.
Alarums : Excursions, Enter Warwick.
War. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race,
I lay me down a little while to breathe :
For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid.
Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength,
And, spite of spite, needs must I rest a while.
Enter Edward, running.
Edw. Smile, gentle heaven ! or strike, ungentle
death :
For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded.
War. How now, my lord ? what hap ? what hope
of good ?
Enter George.
Geo. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair ;
Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us :
What counsel give you, whither shall we fly ?
Edw. Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings;
And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit.
Enter Richard.
Rich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn
thyself?
Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk,
Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance :
And in the very pangs of death, he cried, —
Like to a dismal clangor heard from far, —
Warwick, revenge ! brother, rewnu,e my death !
So underneath the belly of their steeds.
That stain' d their fetlocks in his smoking blood.
The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.
War. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood :
I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly.
Why stand we like soft-hearted women here.
Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage ?
And look upon, as if the tragedy
Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors ?
i
Here on my knee I vow to God above,
I'll never pause again, never stand still.
Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine.
Or fortune given me measure of revenge.
Edw. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine ;
And, in this vow, do chain my soul to thine ;
And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face,
I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee,
Thou setter up and plucker down of kings !
Beseeching thee, — if with thy will it stands,
That to my foes this body must be prey, —
Yet tliat thy brazen gates of heaven may ope,
And give sweet passage to my sinful soul ! —
Now, lords, take leave until we meet again,
Where'er it be, in heaven, or on earth.
B.ich. Brother, give me thy hand ; — and, gentle
Warwick,
Let me embrace thee in my weary arms : —
I, that did never weep, now melt with woe,
That winter should cut off* our spring-time so.
War. Away, away ! Once more, sweet lords, fare-
well.
Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops.
And give them leave to fly that will not stay ;
And call them pillars, that will stand to us ;
And if we thrive, promise them such rewards
As victors wear at the Olympian games :
This may plant courage in their quailing breasts ;
For yet is hope of life, and victory. —
Fore-slow 3 no longer, make we hence amain.
{Exeunt.
SCENE IV The same. Another Part of the
Field.
Excursions. Enter Richard and Clifford.
Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone :
Suppose, this arm is for the duke of York,
And this for Rutland ; both bound to revenge,
Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall.
Clif. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone :
This is the hand, that stabb'd thy father York ;
And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland ;
And here's the heart, that triumphs in their death.
And cheers these hands, that slew thy sire and brother.
To execute the like upon thyself;
And so have at thee.
[They fight. Warwick mters; Clifford j??V5.
Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase ;
For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. [Exeunt.
SCENE V. — Another Part of the Field.
Alarum. Enter King Henry.
K. Hen. This battle fares like to the morning's war»
When dying clouds contend with growing light ; ^H i
What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails.
Can neither call it perfect day, nor night.
Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea,
Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind :
Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea
Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind :
Sometime, the flood prevails ; and then, the wind j
Now, one the better ; then, another best ;
Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered :
So is the equal poise of this fell war.
Here on this molehill will I sit me down.
To whom God will, there be the victory '
3 Be dilatory.
i
Scene V.
KING HENRY VI.
517
For Margaret, my queen, and Clifford too.
Have chid me from the battle ; swearing both,
They prosper best of all when I am thence.
Would I were dead ! if Gotl's good will were so :
For what is in this world, but grief and woe ?
Alas ! methinks, it were a happy life,
To be no better than a homely swain ;
To sit upon a hill, as I do now,
To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,
Thereby to see the minutes how they run :
How many make the hour full complete,
How many hours bring about the day
How many days will finish up the year.
How many years a mortal man may live.
When this is known, then to divide the times :
So many hours must I tend my flock ;
So many hours must I take my rest ;
So many hours must I contemplate ;
So many hours must I sport myself;
So many days my ewes have been with young ;
So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean ;
So many years ere I shall shear the fleece :
So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years,
Pass'd over to the end they were created.
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
Ah, what a life were this ! how sweet ! how lovely !
Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade
To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep,
Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy
To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery ?
O, yes it doth : a thousand fold it doth.
And to conclude, — the shepherd's homely curds,
His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,
His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade,
All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,
Is far beyond a prince's delicates.
His viands sparkling in a golden cup,
His body couched in a curious bed.
When care, mistrust, and treason, wait on him.
Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his Father,
draggitig in the dead Body.
Son. Ill blows the wind, that profits nobody. —
This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight,
May be possessed with some store of crowns :
And I, that haply take them from him now.
May yet ere night yield both my life and them
To some man else, as this dead man doth me. —
Who's this ? — O Heaven ! it is my father's face,
Whom in this conflict I unawares have kill'd.
O heavy times, begetting such events !
From London by the king was I press'd forth ;
My fatlier, being tlie earl of Warwick's man.
Came on the part of York, press'd by his master ;
And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life.
Have by my hands of life bereaved him. —
Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did ! —
And pardon, father, for I knew not thee ! —
My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks ;
And no more words, till they have flow'd their fill.
K. Hen. O piteous spectacle ! O bloody times !
Whilst lions war, and battle for tlieir dens.
Poor harmless lambs abide tlieir enmity. —
Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear ;
And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war,
Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharg'd with grief.
Enter a Father, who has killed his Sony with the Body
in his arms.
Path. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me,
Give me tliy gold, if thou hast any gold j
For I have bought it with an hundred blows. —
But let me see : — is tliis our foeman's face ?
Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son ! —
Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee,
Throw up thine eye ; see, see, what showers arise,
Blown with the windy tempest of my heart.
Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart ! —
O, pity, God, this miserable age ! —
What stratagems '', how fell, how butcherly.
Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural.
This deadly quarrel daily doth beget ! —
O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon.
And hath bereft thee of thy life too late !
JT. Hen. Woe above woe ! grief more than common
grief !
O, that my death would stay these ruthful deeds !
O, pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity ! —
Tlie red rose and the white are on his face.
The fatal colours of our striving houses :
The one, his purple blood right well resembles ;
The other, his pale cheeks, methinks, present :
Wither one rose, and let the other flourish !
If you contend, a thousand lives must wither.
Son. How will my mother, for a father's death,
Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied ?
Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my son,
Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied ?
IT. Hen. How will the country, for these woful
chances,
Misthink the king, and not be satisfied ?
Son. Was ever son, so ru'd a father's death ?
Fath. Was ever father, so bemoan' d a son ?
IT. Hen. Was ever king, so griev'd for subjects' woe?
Much is your sorrow ; mine, ten times so much.
Son. I'll beai- thee hence, where 1 may weep my
fill. [Exit, with the Body.
Fath. These arms of mine snail be thy winding-
sheet;
My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre ;
For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go.
My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell ;
And so obsequious ^ will thy father be.
Sad for the loss of thee, having no more,
As Priam was for all his valiant sons.
I'll bear thee hence ; and let them fight tliat will,
For I have murder'd where I should not kill.
\^Exit, with the Body.
K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with
care.
Here sits a king more woful than you are.
Alarums: Excursions. Enter Queen Margaret,
Prince of Wales, and Exeter.
Prince. Fly, father, fly ! for all your friends are fled,
And Warwick rages like a chafed bull :
Away ! for death doth hold us in pursuit.
Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord, towards Berwi k
post amain :
Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds
Having the fearful flying hare in sight,
With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath,
And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands.
Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain.
Exe. Away ! for vengeance comes along with them :
Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed ;
Or else come after, I'll away before.
K. Hen. Nay, toke me with thee, good sweet
Exeter ;
* I. e. Dreadful event«.
* Careful of obsc<|iiies, or funeral ritei.
LI 3
518
THIRD PART OF
Act II.
Not that I fear to stay, but love to go
Whither the queen intends. Forward ; away !
[^JExeunt.
SCENE VI. — The same.
A loud Alarum. Enter Clifford, wounded.
Clif. Here bums my candle out, ay, here it dies,
"Which, while it lasted, gave king Henry light.
0, Lancaster ! I fear thy overthrow,
More than my body's parting with my soul.
My love, and fear, glu'd many friends to thee ;
And now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt.
Impairing Henry, strength'ning mis-proud York,
The common people swarm like summer flies :
And whither fly the gnats, but to the sun?
And who shines now but Henry's enemies ?
0 Phoebus ! hadst thou never given consent
That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds,
Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth :
And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do,
Or as thy father, and his father did.
Giving no ground unto the house of York,
They never then had sprung like summer flies ;
1, and ten thousand in this luckless realm.
Had left no mourning widows for our death.
And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.
For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air ?
And what makes robbers bold, but too much lenity ?
Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds ;
No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight :
The foe is merciless, and will not pity ;
For, at their hands, I have deserv'd no pity.
The air hath got into my deadly wounds,
And much effuse of blood doth make me faint : —
Come, York, and Richard, Warwick, and the rest j
1 stabb'd your fathers' bosoms, split my breast,
{He faints.
Alarum and Retreat. Enter Edward, George,
Richard, Montague, Wx\rwick, and Soldiers.
Edw. Now breathe we, lords ; good fortune bids
us pause.
And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks
Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen ; —
That led calm Henry, though he were a king,
As doth a sail, fill'd with a fretting gust,
Command an argosy to stem the waves.
But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them ?
War. No, 'tis impossible he should escape :
For, though before his face I speak the words,
Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave :
And, wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead.
[Clifford groans and dies.
Edw. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy
leave ?
l^ich. A deadly groan, like life and death's de^
parting.
Edw. See who it is; and, now the battle's ended.
If friend, or foe, let him be gently us'd.
Rich. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford;
Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch
In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth.
But set his murdering knife unto the root
From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring,
I mean our princely father, duke of York.
War. From off" the gates of York fetch down the
head.
Your father's head, which Clifford placed there '.
Instead whereof, let this supply the room ;
Measure for measure must be answered.
Edw. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our
house,
That nothing sung but death to us and ours :
Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound.
And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak.
[Attendants bring the Body forward.
War. I think his understanding is bereft : —
Speak, Clifford, dost thou know whospeaksto thee? —
I)ark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life.
And he nor sees, nor hears us what we say.
Rich. O, 'would he did ! and so, perhaps, he doth ;
' Tis but his policy to counterfeit.
Because he would avoid such bitter taunts,
Which in the time of death he gave our father.
Geo. If so thou think'st, vex him with eager
words. 6
Rich. Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no grace.
Edw. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence.
War. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults.
Geo. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults.
Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am son to York.
Edw. Thou pitied'st Rutland, I will pity thee.
Geo. Where's captain Margaret, to fence you now?
War. They mock thee, Clifford ! swear as thou
wast wont.
Rich. What, not an oath ? nay then the world
goes hard.
When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath : —
I know by that, he's dead ; And, by my soul.
If this right hand would buy two hours' life.
That I in all despite might rail at him.
This hand should chop it off"; and with the issuing
blood
Stifle the villain, whose unstaunched thirst
York and young Rutland could not satisfy.
War. Ay, but he's dead : Off" with the traitor's head.
And rear it in the place your father's stands. —
And now to London with triumphant march,
There to be crowned England's royal king ;
From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France,
And ask the lady Bona for thy queen :
So shalt thou sinew both these lands together ;
And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread
The scatter'd foe, that hopes to rise again ;
For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt.
Yet look to have them buz, to offend thine ears.
First, will I see the coronation ;
And then to Britany I'll cross the sea.
To effect this marriage, so it please my lord.
Edw. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be :
For on thy shoulder do I build my seat ;
And never will I undertake the thing.
Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting. —
Richard, I will create thee duke of Gloster ; —
And George, of Clarence — Warwick, as ourself,
Shall do, and undo, as him pleaseth best.
Rich. Let me be duke of Clarence ; George
Gloster ;
For Gloster's dukedom is too ominous.
War. Tut, that's a foolish observation ;
Richard be duke of Gloster : Now to London,
To see these honours in possession. '[ExeunU
*" gour words: words of fisperity.
Act III. Scene I.
KING HENRY VI.
519
ACT III.
SCENE I. — A Chase in the North o/" England.
Enter two Keepers, wUh Cross-bows in their Hands.
1 A'eep. Under this thick-grown brake we'll
shroud ourselves ;
For through this laund 7 anon the deer will come ;
And in this covert will we make our stand,
Culling the principal of all the deer.
2 Ayep. I'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot.
1 A'eep. That cannot be ; the noise of thy cross-
bow
Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost.
Here stand we both, and aim we at the best :
And, for the time shall not seem tedious,
I'll tell thee what befell me on a day.
In this self-place where now we mean to stand.
2 JTeep. Here comes a man, let's stay till he be
past.
Enter Kino Henry, disguised, with a Prayer-book.
A". Hen. From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure
love.
To greet mine own land with my wishful sight.
No Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine ;
Thy place is fill'd, thy scepter wrung from thee.
Thy balm wash'd off", wherewith thou wast anointed :
No bending knee will call thee Casar now.
No humble suitors press to speak for right.
No, not a man comes for redress of thee.
For how can I help tliem, and not myself?
1 Keep. Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's
lee :
This is the quondam king ; let's seize upon him.
A". Hen. Let me embrace these sour adversities :
For wise men say, it is the wisest course.
2 A'eep. Why linger we ? let us lay hands upon him.
1 Keep. Forbear a while : we'll hear a little more.
K. Hen. My queen and son, are gone to France
for aid ;
And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick
Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister
To wife for Edward : If this news be true.
Poor queen, and son, your labour is but lost ;
For Warwick is a subtle orator.
And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words
By this account, then, Margaret may win him ;
For she's a woman to be pitied much :
Her sighs will make a battery in his breast ;
Her tears will pierce into a marble heart ;
The tiger will be mild, while she doth mourn ;
And Nero will be tainted with remorse,
To hear, and see, her plaints, her brinish tears.
Ay, but she's come to beg ; Warwick, to give :
She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry ;
lie, on his right, asking a wife for Edward.
She weeps, and says — her Henry is depos'd ;
He smiles, and says — his Edward is install'd ;
Tliat she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more :
VMuIes Warwick tells his titles, smooths Uie wrong,
Infcrreth arguments of mighty strength ;
And, in conclusion, wins the king from her,
Witli promise of his sister, and what else.
To strengthen and support king Edward's place.
O Margaret, thus 'twill be ; and thou, poor soul.
Art then forsaken as tJiou wenl'st forlorn.
7 A plain extended tx^twccn wooda.
? Keep. Say, what art thou, that talk'st of kings
and queens ?
K. Hen. More than I seem, and less tlian I was
born to :
A man at least, for less I should not be ;
And men may talk of kings, and why not I ?
2 Keep. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king.
K. Hen. Why, so I am, in mind; and that's
enough.
2 Keep. But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown ?
K. Hen. My crown is in my heart, not on my head ;
Not deck'd with diamonds, and Indian stones.
Nor to be seen : my crown is call'd, content :
A crown it is, that seldom kmgs enjoy.
2 Keep. Well, if you be a king crown'd with
content.
Your crown content, arid you, must be contented
To go along with us : for, as we think.
You are the king, king Edward hath depos'd ;
And we his subjects, sworn in all allegiance.
Will apprehend you as his enemy.
K. Hen. But did you never swear, and break an
oath?
2 Keep. No, never such an oath, nor will not now.
K. Hen. Where did you dwell, when I was king
of England ?
2 Keep. Here in this country, where we now
remain.
K. Hen. I was anointed king at nine months old ;
My father and my grandfather, were kings ;
And you were sworn true subjects unto me :
And, tell me then, have you not broke your oaths?
1 Keep. No ;
For we were subjects but while you were king.
K. Hen. Why, am I dead ? do I not breathe a
man?
Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear.
Look, as I blow tliis feather from my face.
And as the air blows it to me again.
Obeying with my wind when I do blow,
And yielding to another when it blows.
Commanded always by the greater gust ;
Such is the lightness of you common men.
But do not break your oaths ; for, of that sin
My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty.
Go where you will, the king shall be commanded;
And be you kings ; command and I'll obey.
1 Keeju We are true subjects to the king, king
Edward.
K. Hen, So would you be again to Henry,
If he were seated as king Edward is.
1 Kee}}. We charge you in God's name, and in
the king's.
To go with us unto the officers.
A'. Hen. In God's name lead ; your king's name
be obey'd :
And what God will, then let your king perform ;
And what he will, I humbly yield unto, [Exeunt.
SCENE II. — London. A Room in the Palace.
Enter Kino Edward, Gloster, Clarence, and
Lady Grey.
A'.Edw. Brother of Gloster, at Saint Albans' field
This lady's husband, sir John Grev, was slain,
L 1 1
520
THIRD PART OF
Act III.
His lands then seiz'd on by the conqueror :
Her suit is now, to repossess those lands j
Which we in justice cannot well deny,
Because in quarrel of the house of York
The worthy gentleman did lose his life.
Glo. Your liighness shall do well to grant her suit ;
It were dishonour, to deny it her.
K. Ediv. It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause.
Glo. Yea ! is it so ?
I see, the lady hath a thing to grant,
Before the king will grant her humble suit.
Cla. He knows the game ; How true he keeps
the wind ? \_Aside.
Glo. Silence ! \_Aside.
K. JSdw. Widow, we will consider of your suit ;
And come some other time, to know our mind.
L. Grey. Right gracious lord, I cannot brook
delay :
May it please your highness to resolve me now ;
And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me.
Glo. [Jside.] Ay, widow? then I'll warrant you
all your lands.
An if what pleases him, shall pleasure you.
IT. Ediv. How many children hast thou, widow ?
tell me.
L. Grey. Three, my most gracious lord.
K. Edw. 'Twere pity they should lose their father's
land.
L. Grey. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then.
K. Edw. Lords, give us leave ; I'll try this
widow's wit.
Glo. Ay, good leave have you ; for you will have
leave,
Till youth take leave, and leave you to the crutch.
[Gloster and Clarence retire to the
other side.
K. Edw. Now tell me, madam, do you love your
children ?
L. Grey. Ay, full as dearly as I love myself.
JT. Edw. And would you not do much to do them
good?
L. Grey. To do them good, I would sustain some
harm.
JT. Edw. Then get your husband's lands, to do
them good.
i. Grey. Therefore I came unto your majesty.
JT- Edw. I'll tell you how these lands are to be got.
L. Grey. So shall you bind me to your highness'
service.
A". Edw. What service wilt thou do me, if I give
them?
L. Grey. What you command, that rests in me
to do.
IT. Edw. But you will take exceptions to my boon.
L. Grey. No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it.
JT. Edw. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean
to ask.
L. Grey. Why, then I will do what your grace
commands.
Glo. He plies her hard ; and much rain wears
the marble. [Aside.
Clar. As red as fire ! nay, then her wax must
melt. [Aside.
L. Grey. Why stops my lord? shall I not hear
my task ?
JT. Edw. An easy task : 'tis but to love a king.
E. Grey. That's soon perform'd, because I am a
subject.
JT. Edw- Why then, thy husband's lands I freely
give thee.
L. Grey. I take my leave with many thousand
thanks.
Glo. Thematchismade; she seals it with a curt'sy.
JC. Edw. But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I
mean.
L. Grey. The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege.
A". Edw. Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense.
What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get ?
L. Grey. My love till death, my humble thanks,
my prayers ;
That love, which virtue begs, and virtue grants.
JC. Edw. No, by my troth, I did not mean such
love.
L. Grey. Why then you mean not as I thought
you did.
A'. Edw. But now you partly may perceive my
mind.
L. Grey. Mymind will never grant what I perceive
Your highness aims at, if I aim aright.
A". Edw. Why, then thou shalt not have thy
husband's lands.
L. Grey. Why, then mine honesty shall be my
dower ;
For by that loss I will not purchase them.
K. Edw. Therein thou wrong'st thy children
mightily.
L. Grey. Herein your highness wrongs both them
and me.
But, mighty lord, this merry inclination
Accords not with the sadness of my suit;
Please you, dismiss me, either with ay, or no.
JC. Ediv. Ay; if thou wilt say ay, to my request:
No ; if thou dost say no, to my demand.
L. Grey. Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end.
Glo. The widow likes him not ; she knits her
brows. [Aside.
Clar. He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom.
[Aside.
K. Edw. [Aside.] Her looks do argue her replete
with modesty ;
Her words do show her wit imcomparable ;
All her perfections challenge sovereignty :
One way, or other, she is for a king ;
And she shall be my love, or else my queen. —
Say, that king Edward take thee for his queen ?
L. Grey. 'Tis better said than done, my gracious
lord:
I am a subject fit to jest withal.
But far unfit to be a sovereign.
II. Edw. Sweet widow, by my state I swear to
thee,
I speak no more than what my soul intends ;
And that is to enjoy thee for my love.
L. Grey. And that is more than I will yield unto.
I know, I am too mean to be your queen ;
And yet too good to be your concubine.
A'. Edw. You cavil, widow; I did mean my queen.
L. Grey. 'Twill grieve your grace, my sons
should call you — father.
JC. Edw. No more, than when thy daughters call
thee mother.
Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen. —
Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had.
Glo. The widow likes it not, for she looks sad.
A". Edw. You'd think it strange if I should marry
her.
Clar. To whom, my lord ? *
IT. Edw. Why, Clarence, to myself.
Glo. That would be ten days' wonder, at the least. '
Clar. That's a day longer than a wonder lasts.
Scene II.
KING HENRY VI.
521
Glo. By so much is the wonder in extremes.
iT. Edw. Well, jest on, brothers, I can tell you
botli,
Her suit is granted for her husband's lands.
Enter a Nobleman.
A^ob. My gracious lord, Henry your foe is taken,
And brought your prisoner to your palace gate.
JT. Edw. See that he be convey 'd unto the
Tower. —
And go we, brothers, to the man that took him,
To question of his apprehension. —
Widow, go you along ; lords, use her honourable.
[Exeunt King Edward, Lady Grey,
Clarence, and Lord.
Glo. Ay, Edward will use women honourably.
'Would he were wasted, maiTOw, bones, and all.
That from his loins no hopeful branch may spring.
To cross me from the golden time I look for !
And yet, between my soul's desire and me,
(The lustful Edward's title buried,)
Is Clarence, Henry, and his son young Edward,
And all the unlook'd-for issue of their bodies,
To take their rooms, ere I can place myself :
A cold premeditation for my purpose !
Why, then I do but dream on sovereignty ;
Like one that stands upon a promontory.
And spies a far-offshore where he would tread,
Wishing his foot were equal with his eye ;
And cliides the sea that sunders him from thence.
Saying — he'll lade it dry to have his way :
So do I wish the crown, being so far off ;
And so I chide the means that keep me from it j
And so I say — I'll cut the causes off,
Flattering me with imjjossibilities. —
My eye's too quick, my heart o'erweens too much.
Unless my hand and strength could equal them.
AVell, say there is no kingdom then for Richard ;
What other pleasure can the world afford ?
I'll deck my body in gay ornaments.
And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks.
O miserable thought ! and more unlikely,
Tlian to accomplish twenty golden crowns !
Wliy, love foreswore me in my mother's womb :
And for I should not deal in her soft laws
She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe
To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub j
To make an envious mountain on my back ;
Where sits deformity to mock my body ;
I'o shape my legs of an unequal size ;
To disproportion me in every part.
Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp,
That carries no impression like the dam.
And am I then a man to be belov'd ?
O, monstrous fault, to harbour such a thought !
Then, since tliis earth affords no joy to me.
But to command, to check, to o'erbear such
As are of better person than myself,
I'll make my heaven — to dream upon the crown ;
And, whiles I live, to account tliis world but hell,
Until my mis-shap'd trunk, that bears this head.
Be round impaled^ with a glorious crown.
And yet I know not how to get the crown,
For many lives stand Ijetween me and home :
And I, — like one lost in a thorny wood.
That rents the thorns, and is rent with the thorns ;
Seeking a way, and straying from the way ;
Not knowing how to find tlie ojK'n air,
But toiling desperately to find it out, —
8 Encircled.
Torment myself to catch the English crown :
And from that torment I will free myself.
Or hew my way out with a bloody axe.
Why, I can smile, and murder while I smile ;
And cry, content, to that which grieves my heart
And wet my cheeks with artificial tears,
And frame my face to all occasions.
I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall ;
I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk ;
I'll play the orator as well as Nestor,
Deceive more slily than Ulysses could.
And, like a Sinon, take another Troy.
I can add colours to the cameleon ;
Change shapes, with Proteus, for advantages,
And set the murd'rous Machiavel to school.
Can I do this, and cannot get a crown ?
Tut ! were it further off, I'd pluck it down. [Exit.
SCENE III. — France. A Room in the Palace.
Flourish. Enter Lewis the French JTing, and Lady
Bona, attended ; the King takes his state. Then
enter Queen Margaret, Prince Edward her
Son, and the Earl of Oxford.
IT. Lew. Fair queen of England, worthy Mar-
garet,
Sit down with us ; it ill befits thy state.
And birth, that thou shouldst stand, while Lewis
doth sit.
Q. Mar. No, mighty king of France ; now Mar-
garet
Must strike her sail, and learn a while to serve,
Where kings command. I was, I must confess,
Great Albion's queen in former golden days :
But now mischance hath trod my title down.
And with dishonour laid me on the ground.
Where I must take like seat unto my fortune.
And to my humble seat conform myself.
JT. Lew. Why, say, fair queen, whence springs
this deep despair ?
Q. Mar. From such a cause as fills mine eyes
with tears.
And stops my tongue, while heart is drown'd in
cares.
K. Lew. Whate'er it be, be thou still like thyself.
And sit thee by our side : yield not thy neck
[Seats her by him.
To fortune's yoke, but let thy dauntless mind
Still ride in triumph over all mischance.
Be plain, queen Margaret, and tell thy grief;
It shall be eas'd, if France can yield relief.
Q. Mar. Those gracious words revive my droop-
ing thoughts.
And give my tongue-tied sorrows leave to speak.
Now, therefore, be it known to noble Lewis, —
That Henry, sole possessor of my love.
Is, of a king, become a banish'd man.
And forc'd to live in Scotland a forlorn ;
While proud ambitious Edward duke of York,
Usurj)s the regal title, and tlie seat
Of England's true-anointed lawful king.
This is the cause, that I, poor Margaret, —
With this my son, pnnce Edward, Henry's
heir, —
Am come to crave thy just and lawful aid ;
And, if thou fail us, all our hope is done :
Scotland hath will to help, but cannot help ;
Our i>cople and our peers are both misled
Our treasure seiz'd, our soldiers put to flight,
And, as thou sccst, ourselves in heavy plight.
522
THIRD PART OF
Act III.
K. Lew. Renowned queen, with patience calm
the storm,
While we bethink a means to break it off.
Q. Mar. The more we stay, the stronger grows
our foe.
K. Lew. The more I stay, the more I'll succour thee.
Q. Mar. O, but impatience waiteth on true sorrow :
And see, where comes tlie breeder of my sorrow.
Enter Warwick, attended.
K. Lew. What's he, approacheth boldly to our
presence ?
Q. Mar. Our earl of Warwick, Edward's greatest
friend.
K. Lew. Welcome, brave Warwick ! What brings
thee to France ?
[^Descending from his state. Queen Margaret
rises.
Q. Mar. Ay, now begins a second storm to rise ;
For this is he, that moves both wind and tide.
War. From worthy Edward, king of Albion,
My lord and sovereign, and thy vowed friend,
I come, — in kindness, and unfeigned love, —
First, to do greetings to thy royal person ;
And, then, to crave a league of amity ;
And, lastly, to confirm that amity
With nuptial knot, if thou vouchsafe to grant
That virtuous lady Bona, thy fair sister.
To England's king in lawful marriage.
Q. Mar. If that go forward, Henry's hope is done.
War. And, gracious madam, [To Bona.] in our
king's behalf,
I am commanded, with your leave and favour.
Humbly to kiss your hand, and with my tongue
To tell the passion of my sovereign's heart :
Where fame, late entering at his heedful ears.
Hath plac'd thy beauty's image, and thy virtue.
Q. Mar. King Lewis, — and lady Bona, — hear
me speak.
Before you answer Warwick. His demand
Springs not from Edward's well-meant honest love.
But from deceit, bred by necessity ;
For how can tyrants safely govern home.
Unless abroad they purchase great alliance ?
To prove him tyrant, this reason may suffice, —
That Henry liveth still : but were he dead.
Yet here prince Edward stands, king Henry's son.
Look therefore, Lewis, that by this league and mar-
riage
Thou draw not on thy danger and dishonour :
For though usurpers sway the rule awhile,
Yet heavens are just, and time suppresseth wrongs.
War. Injurious Margaret.
Prince. And why not queen ?
War. Because thy father Henry did usurp ;
And thou no more art prince, than she is queen.
Oxf. Then Warwick disannuls great John of Gaunt,
Which did subdue the greatest part of Spain ;
And after John of Gaunt, Henry the Fourth,
Wliose wisdom was a mirror to the wisest ;
And, after that wise prince, Henry the Fifth,
Who by his prowess conquered all France :
From these our Henry lineally descends.
War. Oxford, how haps it, in this smooth discourse,
You told not, how Henry the Sixth hath lost
All that which Henry the Fifth had gotten ?
Methinks, these peers of France should smile at that.
But for the rest, — You tell a pedigree
Of threescore and two years ; a silly time
To make prescription for a kingdom's worth.
Oxf. Why, Warwick, canst thou speak against tliy
liege,
Whom thou obeyedst thirty and six years.
And not bewray thy treason with a blush ?
War. Can Oxford, that did ever fence the right,
Now buckler falsehood with a pedigree ?
For shame, leave Henry, and call Edward king.
Oxf. Call him my king, by whose injurious doom
My elder brother, the lord Aubrey Vere,
Was done to death ? and more than so my father.
Even in the downfall of his mellow'd years,
When nature brought him to the door of death ?
No, Warwick, no ; while life upholds this arm,
This arm upholds the house of Lancaster.
War. And I the house of York.
IT. Lew. Queen Margaret, prince Edward, and
Oxford,
Vouchsafe, at our request, to stand aside,
While I use further conference with Warwick.
Q. Mar. Heaven grant that Warwick's words
bewitch him not !
[Retiring with the Prince and Oxford.
JT. Lew. Now, Warwick, tell me, even upon thy
conscience.
Is Edward your true king ? for I were loath.
To link with him that were not lawful chosen.
War. Thereon I pawn my credit and minejionour.
-ff". Lew. But is he gracious in the people's eye?
War. The more, that Henry was unfortunate.
JC. Lew. Then further, — all dissembling set aside,
Tell me for truth the measure of his love
Unto our sister Bona.
War. Such it seems,
As may beseem a monarch like himself.
Myself have often heard him say, and swear, —
That this his love was an eternal plant ;
Whereof the root was fix'd in virtue's ground,
The leaves and fruit maintain'd with beauty's sun •
Exempt from envy, but not from disdain.
Unless the lady Bona quit his pain.
JT. Lew. Now, sister, let us hear your firm resolve.
Bona. Your grant, or your denial, shall be mine •
Yet I confess, [To War.] that often ere this day.
When I have heard your king's desert recounted.
Mine ear hath tempted judgment to desire.
II". Lew. Then, Warwick, thus, — Our sister shall
be Edward's ;
And now forthwith shall articles be drawn
Touching the jointure that your king must make.
Which with her dowry shall be counterpois'd : —
Draw near, queen Margaret ; and be a witness.
That Bona shall be wife to the English king.
Prince. To Edward, but not to the English king.
Q. Mar. Deceitful Warwick ! it was thy device
By this alliance to make void my suit ;
Before thy coming, Lewis was Henry's friend.
IT. Lew. And still is friend to him and Margaret.
But if your title to the crown be weak, —
As may appear by Edward's good success, —
Then 'tis but reason, that I be releas'd
From giving aid, which late I promised.
Yet shall you have all kindness at my hand,
That your estate requires, and mine can yield.
War. Henry now lives in Scotland, at his ease ;
Where having nothing, nothing he can lose.
And as for you yourself, our quondam queen, —
You have a father able to maintain you ;
And better 'twere you troubled him than France.
Q. Mar. Peace, impudent and shameless War-
wick, peace j
d
Scene III.
KING HENRY VI.
523
Proud setter-up and puller-down of kings !
I will not hence, till with my talk and tears,
Both full of truth, I make king Lewis behold
Thy sly conveyance 9, and thy lord's false love ;
For both of you are birds of self-same feather.
[A Horn sounded within.
K. Lew. Warwick, this is some post to us, or thee.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My lord ambassador, these letters are for you ;
Sent from your brother, marquis Montague.
These from our king unto your majesty. —
And, madam, these for you ; from whom I know not.
[7'o Margaret. They all read their Letters.
Oxf. I like it well, that our fair queen and mistress
Smiles at her news, while Warwick frowns at his.
Prince. Nay, mark, how Lewis stamps as he were
nettled ;
I hope all's for the best
K. Lew. Warwick, what are thy news ? and yours,
fair queen ?
Q. Mar. Mine, such as fill my heart witli unhop'd
joys.
War. Mine, full of sorrow, and heart's discontent.
K. Lew. What ! has your king married the lady
Grey?
And now, to soothe your forgery and his,
Sends me a paper to persuade me patience ?
Is this tlie alliance that he seeks with France ?
Dare he presume to sconi us in this manner ?
Q. Mar. I told your majesty as much before :
This proveih .'iidward's love, and Warwick's honesty.
War. Kin^' Lewis, I here protest, — in sight of
heaven.
And by the hope I have of heavenly bliss, —
That I am clear from this misdeed of Edward's ;
No more my king, for he dishonours me ;
But most himself, if he could see his shame. —
Did I forget, that by the house of York
My father came untimely to his death?
Did 1 let pass the abuse done to my niece ?
Did I impale him with the regal crown ?
Did I put Henry from his native right ;
And am I guerdon'd ' at the last with shame?
Shame on himself ! for my desert is honour.
And to repair my honour lost for him,
I here renounce him, and return to Henry :
My noble queen, let former grudges pass,
And henceforth I am thy true servitor ;
I will revenge his wrong to lady Bona,
And replant Henry in his fonner state.
Q. Mar. Warwick, these words have turn'd my
hate to love ;
And I forgive and quite forget old faults.
And joy that thou becom'st king Henry's friend.
War. So much his friend, ay, his unfeigned friend,
That, if king Lewis vouchsafe to furnish us
With some few bands of chosen soldiers,
I'll undertake to land tliem on our coast.
And force the tyrant from his seat by war.
*Tis not his new-made bride shall succour him :
And as for Clarence, — as my letters tell me,
He's very likely now to fall from him ;
For matching more for wanton lust than Ijonour,
Or than for strength or safety of our country.
9 Juggling. ' Rcwardcil.
Bona. Dear brother, how shall Bona be revengd.
But by thy help to this distressed queen ?
Q. Mar. Renowned prince, how shall poor Henry
live.
Unless thou rescue him from foul despair ?
Hona. My quarrel, and this English queen's, are one.
War. And mine, fair lady Bona, joins witli yours.
K. Lew. And mine, with hers, and tliine, and
Margaret's.
ITierefore at last, I firmly am resolv'd,
You shall have aid.
Q. Mar. Let me give humble thanks for all at once.
K. Lew. Then England's messenger, return in
post ;
And tell false Edward, thy supposed king, —
That Lewis of France is sending over maskers.
To revel it with him and his new bride :
Thou seest what's past, go fear'^ thy king withal.
Bona. Tell him. In hope he'll prove a widower
shortly,
I'll wear the willow garland for his sake.
Q. Mar. Tell him, My mourning weeds are laid
aside,
And I am ready to put armour on.
War. Tell him from me, That he hath done me
wrong ;
And therefore I'll uncrown him ere't be long.
There's thy reward ; be gone. {Exit Mess.
K. Lew. But, Warwick, thou.
And Oxford, with five thousand men.
Shall cross the seas, and bid false Edward battle :
And, as occasion serves, this noble queen
And prince shall follow with a fresh supply.
Yet, ere thou go, but answer me one doubt ; —
What pledge have we of thy firm loyalty ?
War. This shall assure my constant loyalty : —
That if our queen and this young prince agree,
I'll join mine eldest daughter, and my joy.
To him forthwith in holy wedlock bands.
Q. Mar. Yes, I agree, and thank you for your
motion : —
Son Edward, she is fair and virtuous.
Therefore delay not, give thy hand to Warwick :
And, with thy hand, thy faith irrevocable.
That only Warwick's daughter shall be thine.
Prince. Yes, I accept her, for she well deserves it :
And here to pledge my vow, I give my hand.
[He gives his hand to Warwick.
K. Lew. Why stay we now ? These soldiers shall
be levied.
And thou, lord Bourbon, our high admiral,
Shall waft them over with our royal fleet —
I long, till Edward fall by war's mischance.
For mocking marriage with a dame of France.
[Erennt all but Warwick.
War. I came from Edward as ambassador.
But I return his sworn and mortal foe :
Matter of marriage was the charge he gave me,
But dreadful war shall answer his demand.
Had he none else to make a stale \ but me "*
Then none but I shall turn his jest to sorrow.
I was tlie chief that rais'd him to the crown.
And I'll be chief to bring him down again :
Not that I pity Henry's misery.
But seek revenge on Edward's mockery. [Exit.
3 Frightca ^ f^ stalking-horse, a pretence.
524:
THIRD PART OF
Act IV.
ACT IV.
SCENE I. — London. A Room in the Palace.
ErUer Gloster, Clarence, Somerset, Montague,
mid others.
Glo. Nowtell me, brother Clarence, what think you
Of this new marriage with\he lady Grey?
Hath not our brother made a worthy choice ?
CLir. Alas, you know, 'tis far from hence to France ;
How could he stay till Warwick made return ?
Som. My lords, forbear this talk ; here comes the
king.
Flourish. Enter King Edward, attended ,- Lady
Grey, as Queen ; Pembroke, Stafford, Hast-
ings, and others.
Glo. And his well-chosen bride.
Clar. I mind to tell him plainly what I think.
IT. Edw. Now, brother of Clarence, how like you
our choice.
That you stand pensive, as half malcontent ?
Clar. As well as Lewis of France, or the earl of
Warwick ;
Which are so weak of courage, and in judgment,
That they'll take no offence at our abuse.
A". Edw. Suppose they take offence without a cause,
They are but Lewis and Warwick ; I am Edward,
Your king and Warwick's, and must have my will.
Glo. And you shall have your will, because our
king :
Yet hasty marriage seldom proveth well.
IT. Edw. Yea, brother Richard, are you offended
too?
Glo. Not I :
No ; God forbid, that I should wish them sever'd
Whom he hath join'd together : ay, and 'twere pity.
To sunder them that yoke so well together.
IT. Edw. Setting your scorns, and your mislike,
aside.
Tell me some reason, why the lady Grey
Should not become my wife, and England's queen : —
And you too, Somerset, and Montague,
Speak freely what you think.
Clar. Then this is my opinion, — that king Lewis
Becomes your enemy, for mocking him
About the marriage of the lady Bona.
Glo. And Warwick, doing what you gave in charge.
Is now dishonoured by this new marriage.
JT. Edw. What, if both Levkds and Warwick be
appeas'd,
By such invention as I can devise ?
Mont. Yet to have join'd with France in such al-
liance.
Would more have strengthen'd this our common-
wealth
'Gainst foreign storms, than any home-bred marriage.
Hast. Why, knows not Montague, that of itself
England is safe, if true within itself ?
Mont. Yes ; but the safer, when 'tis back'd with
France.
Hast. 'Tis better using France, than trusting
France :
Let us be back'd with heaven, and with the seas,
Which God hath given for fence impregnable.
And with their helps only defend ourselves ;
In tliem, and in ourselves, our safety lies.
Clar. For this one speech, lord Hastings well
deserves
To have the heir of the lord Hungerford.
IT. Edw. Ay, what of that? it was my will, and '
grant ;
And, for this once, my will shall stand for law.
Glo. And yet, methinks, your grace hath not
done well,
To give the heir and daughter of lord Scales
Unto the brother of your loving bride ;
She better would have fitted me, or Clarence :
But in your bride you bury brotherhood.
Clar. Or else you would not have bestow'd the heir
Of the lord Bonville on your new wife's son.
And leave your brothers to go speed elsewhere.
JC. Edw. Alas, poor Clarence ! is it for a wife.
That thou art malcontent ? I will provide thee.
Clar. In choosing for yourself, you show'd your
judgment ;
Which being shallow, you shall give me leave
To play the broker in mine own behalf;
And, to that end, I shortly mind to leave you.
IT. Edw. Leave me, or tarry, Edward will be king,
And not be tied unto his brotlier's will.
Q. Eliz. My lords, before it pleas'd his majesty
To raise my state to title of a queen.
Do me but right, and you must all confess
That I was not ignoble of descent,
And meaner than myself have had like fortune.
But as this title honours me and mine.
So your dislikes, to whom I would be pleasing.
Do cloud my joys with danger and with sorrow.
K. Edw. My love, forbear to fawn upon their
frowns :
What danger, or what sorrow can befal thee,
So long as Edward is thy constant friend,
And their true sovereign, whom they must obey ?
Nay, whom they shall obey, and love thee too.
Unless they seek for hatred at my hands :
Which if they do, yet will I keep thee safe.
And they shall feel the vengeance of my wrath.
Glo. I hear, yet say not much, but think the
more. [Aside.
Enter a Messenger,
JT. Edw. Now, messenger, what letters, or what
news.
From France ?
Mess. My sovereign liege, no letters ; and few
words,
But such as 1 without your special pardon.
Dare not relate.
if. Edw. Go to, we pardon thee : therefore, in
brief.
Tell me their words as near as thou canst guess them.
What answer makes king Lewis unto our letters ?
Mess. At my depart these were his very words ;
Go tell false Edward, thy supposed king, —
That Lewis of France is sending over maskers,
To revel it with him and his new bride.
K. Edw. Is Lewis so brave? belike, he thinks
me Henry.
But what said lady Bona to my marriage ?
Mess. These were her words, utter'd with mild
disdain ;
Scene II.
KING HENRY VI.
525
Tell him. in hope he'll prove a widower shortly,
ril wear the willow garland for his sake.
K. Edw. I l)lame not her, she could say little less ;
She had the wrong. But what said Henry's queen?
For I have heard that she was there in place.
Mess. Tell him, quoth she, my mourning ifeeds
are done,
And I am, ready to put armour on
K. Edw. Belike, she minds to play the Amazon.
But what said Warwick to thesu injuries?
Aiess. He, more incens'd against your majesty
Than all the rest, discharg'd me witli these words ;
Tell him from me, that he hath done me wrong,
And therefore, Vll uncrown him, ere't be long.
K. Edw. Ha ! durst the. traitor breathe out so
proud words?
Well, I will arm me, being thus forewarn'd :
They shall have wars, and pay for their presumption.
But say, is Warwick friends with Margaret?
Mess. Ay, gracious sovereign ; they are so link'd
in friendship.
That young prince Edward marries Warwick's
daughter.
Clnr. Belike, tlie elder ; Clarence will have the
younger.
Now, brother king, farewell, and sit you fast.
For I will hence to Warwick's other daughter ;
That, though I want a kingdom, yet in marriage
I may not prove inferior to yourself. —
You, that love me and Warwick, follow me.
[Exit Clarence, and Somzrset follows.
Glo. Not I :
My thoughts aim at a further matter ; I
Stay not for love of Edward, but the crown. [Aside.
K. Edw. Clarence and Somerset both gone to
Warwick !
Yet am I arm'd against the worst can happen ;
And haste is needful in this desperate case. —
Pembroke, and Stafford, you in our behalf
Go levy men, and make prepare for war ;
They are already, or quickly will be landed :
Myself in person will straight follow you.
[Exeunt Pembroke and Stafford.
But, ere I go, Hastings, — and Montague, —
Resolve my doubt. You twain, of all the rest,
Are near to Warwick, by blood, and by alliance :
Tell me, if you love Warwick more than me ?
If it be so, then both depart to him ;
I rather wish you foes than hollow friends ;
But if you mind to hold your true obedience,
Give me assurance with some friendly vow,
That I may never have you in suspect.
Mont. So God help Montague, as he proves
true !
Hast. And Hastings, as he favours Edward's
cause !
K. Edw. Now, brother Richard, will you stand
by us?
Glo. Ay, in despite of all that shall withstand you.
A". Edw. Wliy so ; then am I sure of victory.
Now therefore let us hence ; and lose no hour.
Till we meet Warwick with his foreign power.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II. —^ Plain in Warwicksliire.
Enter Warwick and Oxford, with French and
other Forces.
War. Trust me, my lord, all hitherto goes well ;
The common people by numbers swarm to us.
Enter Clarence and Somehsftt.
But, see, where Somerset and Clarencj come j —
Speak suddenly, my lords, are we all friends?
Clar. Fear not that, my lord.
War. Then, gentle Clarence, welcome unto War-
wick ;
And welcome, Somerset : — I hold it cowardice.
To rest mistrustful where a noble heart
Hath pawn'd an open liand in sign of love ;
Else might I think, that Clarence. Edward's brother,
Were but a feigned friend to our proceedings :
But welcome, Clarence; my daughter shall be tlu'ne.
And now what rests, but, in night's coverture.
Thy brother being carelessly encamp'd.
His soldiers lurking in the towns about,
And but attended by a simple guard,
We may surprize and take him at our pleasure?
Our scouts have found the adventure very easy :
That as Ulysses, and stout Diomede,
With sleight and manhood stole to Rliesus' tents.
And brought from thence the Thracian fatal steeds;
So we, well cover'd with the night's black mantle,
At unawares may beat down Edward's guard,
And seize himself: I say not — slaughter him,
For I intend but only to surprize him. —
You, that will follow me to this attempt,
Applaud the name of Henry, with your leader.
[They all cry Henry !
Why, then, let's on our way in silent sort :
For Warwick and his friends, God and saint George !
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. — Edward's Camp near Warwick.
Enter certain Watchmen, to guard the King's Tent.
1 Watch. Come on, my masters, each man take
his stand ;
The king by this, is set him down to sleep.
2 Watch. What, will he not to bed ?
1 Watch. Why, no : for he hath made a solemn
vow
Never to He and take his natural rest,
Till Warwick, or himself, be quite suppress'd.
2 Watch. To-morrow then, belike, shall be the day.
If Warwick be so near as men report.
3 Watch. But say, I pray, what nobleman is tliat.
That with the king here resteth in his tent ?
1 Watch- 'Tis the lord Hastings, the king's chicf-
est friend.
3 Watch. O, is it so? But why commands the king.
That his chief followers lodge in towns about him,
While he himself keepetli in the cold field ?
2 Watch 'Tis the more honour, because more
dangerous.
3 Watch. Ay; but give me worship and quietness,
I like it better than a dangerous honour.
If Warwick knew in what estate he stands,
'Tis to be doubted, he would waken him.
1 Watch. Unless our halberds did shut up his
2 Watch. Ay ; wherefore else guard we his royal
tent.
But to defend his person from night-foes?
Enter Warwick, Clarencb, Oxford, Somkrsct,
and Forces.
War. Tliis is his tent ; and see, where stand bis
guard.
Courage, my masters ; honour now, or never !
But follow me, and Edward shall be ours.
526
THIRD PART OF
Act IV.
1 Watch. Who goes there ?
2 Watch. Stay, or thou diest.
[Warwick, and the rest, cry M — Warwick!
Warwick ! and set upon the guard ; who fly,
crying — Ann! Arm! Warwick, and the
rest, following them.
The Drum beating, and Trumpets sounding, re-enter
Warwick, and the rest, bringing tlie King out in
a Gown, sitting in a Chair ; Gloster and Hast-
ings,/y.
Som. What are they that fly there ?
War. Richard, and Hastings : let them go, here's
the duke.
IT. Edw. The duke; why, Warwick, when we
parted last.
Thou call'dst me king.
War. Ay, but the case is alter'd :
When you disgrac'd me in my embassade,
I'hen I degraded you from being king.
And come now to create you duke of York.
Alas! how should you govern any kingdom,
Tliat know not how to use ambassadors ;
Nor how to be contented with one wife ;
Nor how to use your brothers brotherly ;
Nor how to study for the people's welfare ;
Nor how to shroud yourself from enemies ?
K. Edw. Yea, brother of Clarence, art thou here
too?
Nay, then I see, that Edward needs must down. —
Yet, Warwick, in despite of all mischance.
Of thee thyself, and all thy complices,
Edward will always bear himself as king :
I'hough fortune's malice overthrow my state.
My mind exceeds the compass of her wheel.
War. Then, for his mind +, be Edward England's
king : {^Takes off his crown.
But Henry now shall wear the English crown,
And be true king indeed ; thou but the shadow. —
My lord of Somerset, at my request,
See that forthwith duke Edward be convey'd
Unto my brother, archbishop of York.
When I have fought with Pembroke and his fellows,
I'll follow you, and tell what answer
Lewis, and the lady Bona, send to him :
Now, for a while, farewell, good duke of York.
K. Edw. What fates impose, that men must needs
abide ;
It boots not to resist both wind and tide.
\_Exit King Edward, led out ; Somerset
uith him.
Oxf. What now remains, my lords, for us to do,
But march to London with our soldiers ?
War. Ay, that's the first thing that we have to do :
To free king Henry from imprisonment.
And see him seated in the regal throne. \^Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — London. A Room in the Palace.
Enter Queen Elizabeth and Rivers.
Riv. Madam, what makes you in this sudden
change ?
Q. Eliz. Why, brother Rivers, are you yet to learn,
What late misfortune is befall'n king Edward ?
Riv. What, loss of some pitch'd battle against
Warwick ?
Q. Eliz. No, but the loss of his own royal person.
Riv- Then is my sovereign slain ?
Q. Eliz. Ay, almost slain, for he is taken prisoner ;
Either betray'd by falsehood of his guard,
■* i. e. In his mind j as far as his own mind goes.
Or by his foe surpriz'd at unawares :
And, as I further have to understand.
Is new commited to the bishop of York,
Fell Warwick's brother, and by that our foe.
Riv. These news, I must confess, are full of grief :
Yet, gracious madam, bear it as you may ;
Warwick may lose, that now hath won the day.
Q. Eliz. Till then, fair hope must hinder life's
decay.
And I the rather wean me from despair.
For love of Edward's off'spring in my womb :
This is it that makes me bridle passion.
And bear wdth mildness my misfortune's cross ;
Ay, ay, for this I draw in many a tear.
And stop the rising of blood-sucking sighs,
Lest with my sighs or tears I blast or drown
King Edward's fruit, true heir to the English crown.
Riv. But, madam, where is Warwick then become?
Q. Eliz. I am informed, that he comes towards
London,
To set the crown once more on Henry's head :
Guess thou the rest ; king Edward's friends must
down.
But to prevent the tyrant's violence,
(For trust not him that hath once, broken faith,)
I'll hence forthwith unto the sanctuary.
To save at least the heir of Edward's right;
There shall I rest secure from force, and fraud.
Come therefore, let us fly, while we may fly ;
If Warwick take us, we are sure to die. [^Exeunt.
SCENE V.
A Park near Middleham Castle in
Yorkshire.
Enter Gloster, Hasting-s, Sir William Stanley,
and others.
Glo. Now, my lord Hastings, and sir William
Stanley,
Leave off to wonder why I drew you hither,
Into this chiefest thicket of the park.
Thus stands the case : You know, our king, my
brother,
Is prisoner to the bishop here, at whose hands
He hath good usage and great liberty ;
And often, but attended with weak guard.
Comes hunting this way to disport himself.
I have adv^rtis'd him by secret means,
That if about this hour, he make this way,
Under the colour of his usual game.
He shall here find his friends, with horse and men,
To set him free from his captivity.
Enter King Edward, and a Huntsman.
Hunt. This way, my lord ; for this way lies the
game.
K. Edw. Nay, this way, man ; see, where the
huntsmen stand. —
Now, brother of Gloster, lord Hastings, and the rest.
Stand you thus close, to steal the bishop's deer ?
Glo. Brother, the time and case requireth haste ;
Your horse stands ready at the park corner.
K. Edw. But whither shall we then ?
Hast. To Lynn, my lord, and ship from thence
to Flanders.
Glo. Well guess'd, believe me ; for that was my
meaning.
K. Edw. Stanley, I will requite thy forwardness.
Glo. But wherefore stay we ? 'tis no time to talk.
K. Edw. Huntsman, what say'st thou ? wilt thou
go along.
Scene VI.
KING HENRY VI.
527
Hunt. Better do so, than tarry and be liang'd.
Glo. Come then away ; let's have no more ado.
K. Edw. Bishop, farewell : shield thee from
Warwick's frown ;
And pray that I may repossess tlie crown. \^Exeiml.
SCENE VI. — A Room in the Tower.
Enter King Henry, Clarence, Warwick, So-
merset, Young Richmond, Oxford, Monta-
gue, Lieutenant of the Tower, and Attendants.
K. Hen. Master lieutenant, now that God and
friends
Have shaken Edward from the regal seat ;
And turn'd my captive state to liberty.
My fear to hope, my sorrows unto joys ;
At our enlargement what are thy due fees
Lieut. Subjects may challenge nothing of their
sovereigns ;
But, if an humble prayer may prevail,
1 then crave pardon of your majesty.
K. Hen. For what, lieutenant ? for well using me ?
Nay, be thou sure, I'll well requite thy kindness,
For that it made my imprisonment a pleasure :
Ay, such a pleasure as incaged birds
Conceive, when, after many moody thoughts,
At last, by notes of household harmony.
They quite forget their loss of liberty. —
But, Warwick, after God, thou set'st me free.
And chiefly therefore I thank God and thee ;
He was the author, thou the instrument.
Therefore, that I may conquer fortune's spite.
By living low where fortune cannot hurt me ;
And that the people of this blessed land
May not be punish'd with my thwarting stars ;
Warwick, although my head still wear the crown,
I here resign my government to thee.
For thou art fortunate in all thy deeds.
War. Your grace hath still been fam'd for vir-
tuous ;
And now may seem as wise as virtuous.
By spying and avoiding fortune's malice.
For few men rightly temper with the stars ^ :
Yet in this one thing let me blame your grace.
For choosing me, when Clarence is in place. ^
Clar. No, Warwick, thou art worthy of the sway,
To whom the heavens, in thy nativity,
Adjudg'd an olive branch, and laurel crown.
As likely to be blest in peace, and war ;
And therefore I yield thee my free consent.
War. And I choose Clarence only for protector.
K. Hen. Warwick, and Clarence, give me both
your hands ;
Now join your hands, and with your hands, your
hearts.
That no dissension hinder government :
I make you both protectors of this land ;
While I myself will lead a private life,
And in devotion spend my latter days.
To sin's rebuke, and my Creator's praise.
War. What answers Clarence to his sovereign's
will?
Clar. That he consents, if Warwick yield con-
sent;
For on thy fortune I repose myself.
War. Why tiien, tliough loath, yet must I be
content :
We'll yoke together, like a double shadow
'' Few men conform their temper to their destiny.
« Present
To Henry's body, and supply bis place ;
I mean in bearing weight of government.
While he enjoys the honour, and his ease.
And, Clarence, now then it is more than needful,
Forthwith that Edward be pronounc'd a traitor.
And all his lands and goods be confiscate.
Clar. What else? and that succession be deter-
min'd.
War. Ay, therein Clarence shall not want his
part.
K. Hen. But, with the first of all your chief
affairs,
Let me entreat, (for I command no more,)
That Margaret your queen, and my son Edward,
Be sent for, to return from France with speed :
For, till I see them here, by doubtful fear
My joy of liberty is half eclips'd.
Clar. It shall be done, my sovereign, with all
speed.
K. Hen. My lord of Somerset, what youth is
that.
Of whom you seem to have so tender care ?
Som. My liege, it is young Henry, earl of Rich-
mond.
K. Hen. Come hither, England's hope : If secret
powers, l^Lays his hand on Ids head.
Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts,
This pretty lad' will prove our country's bliss.
Ilis looks are full of peaceful majesty ;
His head by nature fram'd to wear a crown.
His hand to wield a scepter j and himself
Likely, in time, to bless a regal throne.
Make much of him, my lords ; for this is he,
Must help you more than you are hurt by me.
Enter a Messenger.
War. What news, my friend ?
Mess. That Edward is escaped from your brother.
And fled, as he hears since, to Burgundy.
War. Unsavoury news : But how made he
escape ?
Mess. He was convey'd by Richard duke of
Gloster,
And the lord Hastings, who attended him
In secret ambush on the forest side.
And from the bishop's huntsmen rescued him ;
For hunting was his daily exercise.
War. My brother was too careless of his charge. —
But let us hence, my sovereign, to provide
A salve for any sore that may betide.
\^Exeu7it King Henry, War., Clar., Lieut.,
and Attendants.
Som. My lord, I like not of this flight of Ed-
ward's :
For, doubtless, Burgundy will yield him help ;
And we shall have more wars, l>efore't be long.
As Henry's late presaging prophecy
Did glad my heart, with hope of this young Rich-
mond ;
So doth my heart misgive me, in these conflicts
What may lH;fall him, to his hann, and ours :
Therefore, lord Oxford, to prevent the worst.
Forthwith we'll send him hence to Britany,
Till storms be past of civil enmity.
Oif. Ay ; for, if Edward repossess the crown,
'Tis like tliat Richmond with the rest shall down.
Sonu It shall be so ; he shall to Britany.
Come therefore, let's about it speedily. [Exeunt.
7 Afterward Henry VI L
528
THIRD PART OF
Act IV.
SCENE VII. — Before York.
Enter King Edward, Gloster, Hastings, and
Forces.
jr. Edw, Now, brother Richard, lord Hastings,
and the rest ;
Yet thus far fortune maketh us amends.
And says — that once more I shall interchange
My waned state for Henry's regal crown.
Well have we pass'd, and now repass'd the seas,
And brought desired help from Burgundy ;
What then remains, we being thus arriv'd
From Ravenspurg haven before the gates of York,
But that we enter, as into our dukedom ?
Glo. The gates made fast ! — Brother, I like not this ;
For many men, that stumble at the threshold.
Are well foretold — that danger lurks within.
K. Edw' Tush, man ! abodements must not now
affright us ;
By fair or foul means we must enter in,
For hither will our friends repair to us.
Hast. My liege, I'll knock once more to summon
them.
Enter, on the Walls, the Mayor of York, and his
Brethren.
May, My lords, we were forewarned of your
coming.
And shut the gates for safety of ourselves ;
For now we owe allegiance unto Henry.
K. Edw. But, master mayor, if Henry beyour king.
Yet Edward, at the least, is duke of York.
May. True, my good lord ; I know you for no less.
K. Edw. Why, and I challenge nothing but my
dukedom ;
As being well content with that alone.
Glo. But when the fox hath once got in his nose.
He'll soon findmeans to make the body follow. \^Aside.
Hast. Why, master mayor, why stand you in a
doubt ?
Open the gates, we are king Henry's friends.
May. Ay, say you so ? the gates shall then be
open'd. [Exeunt from above.
Glo. A wise stout captain, and persuaded soon !
Hast. The good old man would fain that all were
well,
So 'twere not 'long of him : but, being enter'd,
I doubt not, I, but we shall soon persuade
Both him and all his brothers unto reason.
Re-enter the Mayor and two Aldermen, below.
K. Edw. So, master mayor: these gates must not
be shut.
But in the night or in the time of war.
What ! fear not, man, but yield me up the keys ;
[ Takes his keys.
For Edward will defend the town and thee.
And all those friends that deign to follow me.
Drum. Enter Montgomery, and Forces, marching.
Glo. Brother, this is sir John Montgomery,
Our trusty friend, unless I be deceiv'd.
A". Edw. Welcome, sir John ! But why come
you in arms ?
Mont. To help king Edward in his time of storm,
As every loyal subject ought to do.
K. Edw. Thanks, good Montgomery : But M^e
now forget
Our title to the crown ; and only claim
Our dukedom, till Heaven please to send the rest.
Mont. Then fare you well, for I will hence again ;
I came to serve a king and not a duke, —
Drummer, strike up, and let us march away.
[A March begun.
K. Edw. Nay, stay, sir John, a while ; and we'll
debate,
By what safe means the crown may be recover'd.
Mont. What, talk you of debating ? in few words.
If you'll not here proclaim yourself our king,
I'll leave you to your fortune; and be gone.
To keep them back that come to succour you
Why should we fight, if you pretend no title ?
Glo. Why, brother, wherefore stand you on ni
points ?
IT. Edw. When we grow stronger, then we'll make
our claim :
Till then, 'tis wisdom to conceal our meaning.
Hast. Away with scrupulous wit! now arms
must rule.
Glo. And fearless minds climb soonest unto
crowns.
Brother, we will proclaim you out of hand ;
The bruit 8 thereof will bring you many friends,
IT. Edw. Then be it as you will ; for 'tis my right,
And Henry but usurps the diadem.
Mont. Ay, now my sovereign speaketh like him-
self;
And now will I be Edward's champion.
Hast. Sound, trumpet; Edward shall be here
proclaim'd : —
Come, fellow-soldier, make thou proclamation.
[ Gives him a paper. Flourish.
Sold. [Reads.'] Edward the Fourth, by the grace
of God, king of England and France, and lord of
Ireland, &c.
Mont. And whosoe'er gainsays king Edward's
right.
By this I challenge him to single fight,
[Throws down his Gauntlet j
All. Long live Edward the Fourth !
JT. Edw. Thanks, brave Montgomery; — and
thanks unto you all.
If fortune serve me, I'll requite this kindness.
Now for this night, let's harbour here in York :
And, when the morning sun shall raise his car
Above the border of this horizon.
We'll forward towards Warwick, and his mates j
For, well I wot ^, that Henry is no soldier. —
Ah, froward Clarence ! — how evil it beseems thee.
To flatter Henry, and forsake thy brother !
Yet, as we may, we'll meet both thee and Warwick.
Come on, brave soldiers ; doubt not of the day ;
And, that once gotten, doubt not of large pay.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VIII. — London. A Room in the Palace.
Enter King Henry, Warwick, Clarence,
Montague, Exeter, and Oxford.
War. What counsel, lords ? Edward from Belgia,
With hasty Germans, and blunt Hollanders,
Hath pass'd in safety through the narrow seas,
And with his troops doth march amain to London;
And many giddy people flock to him.
Oxf. Let's levy men, and beat him back again.
Clar. A little fire is quickly trodden out ;
Which, being sufFer'd, rivers cannot quench.
War. In Warwickshire I have true-hearted friends,
Not mutinous in peace, yet bold in war;
8 Noise, report ^ Know.
1
ke^
Act V. Scene I.
KING HENRY VI.
529
i
Those will I muster up — and thou, son Clarence,
Shalt stir, in Suffolk, Norfolk, and in Kent,
The knights and gentlemen to come with thee : —
Thou, brother Montague, in Buckingham,
Northampton, and in Leicestershire, shalt find
Men well inclin'd to hear what thou command's! : —
And thou, brave Oxford, wondrous well belov'd,
In Oxfordshire shall muster up thy friends. —
My sovereign, with the loving citizens, —
Like to his island, girt in with the ocean,
Shall rest in London, till we come to him. —
Fair lords, take leave, and stand not to reply. —
Farewell, my sovereign.
jr. Hen. Farewell, my Hector, and my Troy's
true hope.
Cla. In sign of truth, I kiss your highness' hand.
K. Hen, Well-minded Clarence, be thou fortunate !
Moiit. Comfort, my lord ; — and so I take my
leave.
Orf. And thus \^Kissing Henry's hand.'\ I seal
my truth, and bid adieu.
K. Hen. Sweet Oxford, and my loving Montague,
And all at once, once more a happy farewell.
War. Farewell, sweet lords ; let's meet at Co-
ventry.
\^Exeunt War., Clar., Oxf., and Mont.
K. Hen. Here at the palace will I rest a while.
Cousin of Exeter, what tliinks your lordship ?
Methinks, the power that Edward hath in field,
Should not be able to encounter mine.
Eie. The doubt is, that he will seduce the rest.
K. Hen. That's not my fear, my meed * hath got
me fame.
I have not stopp'd mine ears to their demands,
Nor posted off their suits with slow delays ;
My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds,
My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs.
My mercy dry'd their water-flowing tears :
I have not been desirous of their wealth.
Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies,
Nor forward of revenge, though they much err'd ;
Then why should they love Edward more than me ?
No, Exeter, these graces challenge grace :
And, when the lion fawns upon the lamb,
The Iamb will never cease to follow him.
[Shout within. A Lancaster ! A Lancaster !
Exe. Hark, hark, ray lord! what shouts are
these ?
Enter Kino Edward, Glostxr, and Soldiers.
K. Edw. Seize on the shame-fac'd Henry, bear
him hence.
And once again proclaim us king of England. —
You are the fount, that makes small brooks to flow ;
Now stops thy spring ; my sea shall suck them dry,
And swell so much the higher by their ebb. —
Hence with him to the Tower ; let him not speak.
[Exeunt some with King Henry.
And, lords, towards Coventry bend we our course.
Where peremptory Warwick now remains ;
The sun shines hot, and, if we use delay.
Cold biting winter mars our hop'd-for hay.
Glo. Away betimes, before his forces join,
And take the great-grown traitor unawares;
Brave warriors, march amain towards Coventry.
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I. — Coventry.
Enter, upon the Walls, Warwick, the Mai/or of
Coventry, two Messengers, and others.
War. Where is the post that came from valiant
Oxford ?
How far hence is thy lord, mine honest fellow ?
1 Mess. By this at Dunsmore, marching hither-
ward.
War. How far off is our brother Montague ?
Where is the post that came from Montague ?
2 Mess. By this at Daintry, with a puissant troop.
Enter Sir John Somerville.
War. Say, Somerville, what says my loving son ?
And, by the guess, how nigh is Clarence now?
Som. At Southam I did leave him with his forces.
And do expect him here some two hours hence.
[Drum heard.
War. Then Clarence is at hand, I hear his drum.
Som. It is not his my lord ; here Southam lies ;
The drum your honour hears, marcheth from War-
wick.
War. Who should that be? belike, unlook'd-for
friends.
Sovi. They are at hand, and you shall quickly
know.
Drums. Enter Kino Edward, Glostkr, and
Forces, marching.
K. Edw. Go, trumpet, to the walls, and sound a
parle.
> Merit
Glo. See, how the surly Warwick mans the wall.
War. O, unhid spite ! is sportful Edward come ?
Where slept our scouts, or how are they seduc'd,
That we could hear no news of his repair ?
IT. Edw. Now, WaTAvick, wilt thou ope the city
gates,
Speak gentle words, and humbly bend thy knee ? —
Call Edward — king, and at his hands beg mercy.
And he shall pardon thee these outrages.
War. Nay, rather wilt thou draw thy forces hence,
Confess who set thee up and pluck'd thee down ? —
Call Warwick — patron, and be penitent.
And thou shalt still remain the duke of York.
Glo. I thought, at least, he would have said —
the king ;
Or did he make the jest against his will ?
War. Is not a dukedom, sir, a goodly gift ?
Glo. Ay, by my faith, for a poor earl to give ;
I'll do thee service for so good a gift.
War. 'Twas I, that gave the kingdom to thy
brother.
JT. Edw. Why, then, 'tis mine, if but bv Warwick's
gift.
War. Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight :
And, weakling, Warwick takes his gift again ;
And Henry is my king, Warwick his subject,
IT. Edw. But Warwick's king is Edward's pri-
soner:
And gallant Warwick, do but answer this, —
What is the body, when the head is off?
Glo. Alas, that Warwick had no more forecast,
But, whiles he thought to steal the single ten,
Mm
530
THIRD PART OF
Act V.
The king was slily finger'd from the deck ! ^
You left poor Henry at the bishop's palace,
And, ten to one, jou'll meet him in the Tower.
K. Edw. 'Tis even so; yet you are Warwick still.
Glo. Come, Warwick, take the time, kneel down,
kneel down :
Nay, when ? strike now, or else the iron cools.
War. I had rather chop this hand off at a blow.
And with the other fling it at thy face,
Than bear so low a sail, to strike to thee.
K. Edw. Sail how thou canst, have wind and tide
thy friend ;
This hand, fast wound about thy coal-black hair.
Shall, whiles the head is warm, and new cut off.
Write in the dust this sentence with thy blood, —
•^Wind-changing Warwick now can change no more.
Enter Oxford, with Drum and Colours.
War. O cheerful colours ! see where Oxford
comes !
Oxf. Oxford, Oxford, for Lancaster !
[Oxford and his Forces enter the City.
Glo. The gates are open, let us enter too.
K. Edw. So other foes may set upon our backs :
Stand we in good array ; for they, no doubt.
Will issue out again, and bid us battle :
If not, the city, being but of small defence,
We'll quickly rouse the traitors in the same.
War. O, welcome, Oxford ! for we want thy help.
Enter Montague, with Drum and Colours.
Mont. Montague, Montague, for Lancaster !
\^He and his Forces enter the City.
Glo. Thou and thy brother both shall buy this
treason
Even with the dearest blood your bodies bear.
K. Edw. The harder match'd, the greater victory ;
My mind presageth happy gain, and conquest.
Enter Somerset, with Drum and Colours.
Som. Somerset, Somerset, for Lancaster !
[jHe and his Forces enter the City.
Glo. Two of thy name, both Dukes of Somerset,
Have sold their lives unto the house of York ;
And thou shalt be the third, if this sword hold.
Enter Clarence, with Drum and Colours.
War. And lo, where George of Clarence sweeps
along,
. Of force enough to bid his brother battle ;
With whom an upright zeal to right prevails.
More than the nature of a brother's love : —
Come, Clarence, come ; thou wilt, if Warwick calls.
Clar. Father of Warwick, know you what this
means ? [ Taking the red Rose out of his Cap.
Look here, I throw my infamy at thee :
I will not ruinate my father's house.
Who gave his blood to lime the stones together.
And set up Lancaster. Why, trow'st thou, Warwick,
That Clarence is so harsh, so blunt ?, unnatural,
To bend the fatal instruments of war
Against his brother, and his lawful king ?
Perhaps, thou wilt object my holy oath :
To keep that oath, were more impiety.
I am so sorry for my trespass made,
That to deserve well at my brother's hands,
I here proclaim myself thy mortal foe ;
With resolution, wheresoe'er I meet thee,
(As I will meet thee, if thou stir abroad,)
' A pack of cards was formerlj termed a deck of cards.
3 In-sensible,
To plague thee for thy foid misleading me.
And so, proud-hearted Warwick, I defy thee,
And to my brother turn my blushing clieeks.
Pardon me, Edward, I will make amends ;
And, Richard, do not frown upon my faults,
For I will henceforth be no more unconstant.
JC. Edw. Now welcome more, and ten times more
belov'd,
Than if thou never hadst deserv'd our hate.
Glo. Welcome, good Clarence ; this is brother-like.
War. O passing 4 traitor, peijur'd, and unjust !
K. Edw. What, Warwick, wilt thou leave the [
town, and fight ? ,
Or shall we beat the stones about thine ears ?
War. Alas, I am not coop'd here for defence :
I will away towards Barnet presently,
And bid thee battle, Edward, if thou dar'st.
if. Edw. Yes, Warwick, Edward dares, and leads
the way : —
Lords, to the field ; saint George, and victory.
[March. Exeunt,
SCENE II. — A Field of Battle near Barnet.
Alarums and Excursions. Enter King Edward,
bringing in Warwick wounded.
K. Edw. So, lie thou there : die thou, and die our
fear ;
For Warwick was a bug ^ that fear'd ^ us all. —
Now, Montague, sit fast ; I seek for thee,
That Warwick's bones may keep thine company.
[ExU.
War. Ah, who is nigh ? come to me friend, or fo^
And tell me, who is victor, York, or Warwick ?
Why ask I that ? my mangled body shows,
My blood, my want of strength, my sick heart shows.
That I must yield my body to the earth,
And, by my fall, the conquest to my foe.
Thus yields the cedar to the axe's edge,
Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle,
Under whose shade the ramping lion slept ;
Whose top-branch overpeer'd Jove's spreading tree.
And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind.
These eyes that now are dimm'd with death's black
veil,
Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun.
To search the secret treasons of the world :
The wrinkles in my brows, now fill'd with blood.
Were liken'd oft to kingly sepulchres ;
For who liv'd king, but 1 could dig his grave ?
And who durst smile, when Warwick bent his brow ?
Lo, now my glory smear'd in dust and blood !
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had.
Even now forsake me : and, of all my lands.
Is nothing left me, but my body's length !
Why, what is pomp, rule, reign, but earth and dust ?
And, live we how we can, yet die we must.
Enter Oxford and Somerset.
Som. Ah, Warwick, Warwick ! wert thou as we are.
We might recover all our loss again !
The queen from France hath brought a puissant
power ;
Even now we heard the news : Ah, couldst thou fly !
^W. Why, then I would not fly — Ah, Montague,
If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand,
And with thy lips keep in my soul a while !
Thou lov'st me not ; for, brother, if thou didst,
Tl)y tears would wash this cold congealed blood,
^ Eminent, egregious.
6 Terrifieti.
5 Bugbear.
Scene IV.
KING HENRY VI.
531
I
That glues my lips, and will not let me speak.
Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead.
Som. AhjWarwick, Montaguehathbreath'dhislast;
And to the latest gasp, cried out for Warwick,
And said — Commend me to my valiant brother.
And more he would liave said ; and more he spoke,
"Which sounded like a cannon in a vault,
That might not be distinguish'd ; but at last,
I well might hear deliver'd with a groan, —
O, farewell, Warwick !
War. Sweet rest to his soul ! —
Fly, lords, and save yourselves : for Warwick bids
You all farewell, to meet again in heaven. [^Dks.
Oxf. Away, away, to meet the queen's great power.
\Exeuvii bearing off Warwick'^ Body.
SCENE III. — Another Part of the Field.
Flourish. Enter King Edward in triumph ; with
Clarence, Gloster, and the rest.
IT. Edw. Thus far our fortune keeps an upward
course.
And we are grac'd with wreaths of victory.
But in the midst of this bright-shining day,
I spy a black, suspicious, threat'ning cloud.
That will encounter with our glorious sun.
Ere he attain his easeful western bed :
I mean, my lords, — those powers that the queen
Hath rais'd in Gallia, have arriv'd our coast.
And, as we hear, march on to fight with us.
Clar. A little gale will soon disperse that cloud,
And blow it to the source from whence it came :
Thy very beams will dry those vapours up ;
For every cloud engenders not a storm.
Glo. The queen is valued thirty thousand strong.
And Somerset, with Oxford, fled to her ;
If she have time to breathe, be well assur'd,
Her faction will be full as strong as ours.
K. Edw. We are adv^rtis'd by our loving friends,
That they do hold their course towards Tewksbury ;
We, having now the best at Bamet field.
Will thither straight, for willingness rids way ;
And, as we march, our strength will be augmented
In every county as we go along. —
Strike up the drum ; cry — Courage ! and away.
{^Exeunt.
SCENE IV Plains near Tewksbury.
March. Enter Queen Margaret, Prince Ed-
ward, Somerset, Oxford, and Soldiers.
Q. Mar. Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail
their loss.
But cheerly seek how to redress their harms.
What though the mast be now blown over-board,
The cal)le broke, the holding anchor lost.
And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood?
Yet lives our pilot still : Is't meet that he
Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad,
Witli tearful eyes add water to the sea,
And give more strength to that which hath too much ;
Whiles, in his moan, the ship splits on the rock,
Which industry and courage might have sav'd ?
Ah, what a shame! ah, what a fault were tliis!
Say, Warwick was our anchor ; What of that ?
And Montague our top^mast ; W'hat of him ?
Our slaughter'd friends tlie tackles ; What of these ?
Why, is not Oxford here another anchor ?
And Somerset another goodly mast ;
The friends of France our slirouds and tacklings ?
And, though unskilful, why not Ned and I
For once allow'd the skilful pilot's charge ?
We will not from the helm, to sit and weep ;
But keep our course, though the rough wind say — no.
From shelves and rocks that threaten us with wreck.
As good to chide the waves as speak them fair.
And what is Edward, but a ruthless sea?
What Clarence, but a quicksand of deceit ?
And Richard, but a ragged fatal rock?
All these the enemies to our poor bark.
Say, you can swim ; alas, 'tis but a while ;
Tread on the sand ; why there you quickly sink :
Bestride the rock ; the tide will wash you off.
Or else you famish, that's a threefold death.
This speak I, lords, to let you understand,
In case some one of you would fly from us.
That there's no hop'd-for mercy with the brothers^
More than with ruthless waves, with sands, and rocks.
Why, courage, then ! what cannot be avoided,
'Twere childish weakness to lament or fear.
Prince. Methinks, a woman of this valiant spirit
Should, if a coward heard her speak these words,
Infuse his breast with magnanimity.
And make him, naked, foil a man at arms.
I speak not this as doubting any here :
For, did I but suspect a fearful man.
He should have leave to go away betimes ;
Lest, in our need, he might infect another
And make him of like spirit to himself.
If any such be here, as heaven forbid !
Let him depart, before we need his help.
Oxf. Women and children of so high a courage !
And warriors faint ! why, 'twere perpetual shame.—
O, brave young prince ! thy famous grandfather
Doth live again in thee ; Long mayst thou live.
To bear his image, and renew his glories !
Som. And he, that will not fight for such a hop^
Go home to bed, and, like the owl by day.
If he arise, be mock'd and wonder'd at.
Q. Mar. Thanks, gentle Somerset ; — sweet Ox-
ford, thanks.
Prince. And take his thanks, that yet hath nothing
else.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Prepare you, lords, for Edward is at hand,
Ready to fight ; therefore be resolute.
Oxf. I thought no less -. it is his policy,
To haste thus fast, to find us unprovided.
Som. But he's deceiv'd, we are in readiness.
Q. Mar. This cheers my heart, to see your for^
wardness.
Oxf. Here pitch our battle, hence we will not
budge.
March. Enter, at a distance. King Edward,
Clarence, Gloster, and Forces.
K. Edw. Brave followers, yonder stands the
thorny wood.
Which, by the heaven's assistance, and your strength.
Must by the roots be hewn up yet ere night.
I need not add more fuel to your fire,
For, well I wot 7, ye blaze to bum them out :
Give signal to the fight, and to it, lords.
Q. Mar. Lords, knights, and gentlemen, what I
should say.
My tears gain.say ; for ^very word I speak.
Ye see, I drink the water of mine eyes.
Therefore, no more but this : — Henry, your sove*
reign.
Is prisoner to the foe ; his state usurped,
J Know.
M m 3
532
THIRD PART OF
Act V,
His realm a slaugliter-house, his subjects slain,
His statutes cancell'd, and his treasure spent ;
And yonder is the wolf that makes this spoil.
You fight in justice : then, in God's name, lords,
3e valiant, and give signal to the fight.
[Exeunt, both Armies.
SCENE V. — Another Part of the same.
Alarums : Excursions .• and afterwards a Retreat.
Then enter King Edward, Clarence, Gloster,
and Forces; with Queen Margaret, Oxford,
and Somerset, Prisoners.
K. Edw. Now, here a period of tumultuous broils.
Away with Oxford to Hammes' castle 8 straight:
For Somerset, off' with his guilty head.
Go, bear them hence ; I will not hear them speak.
Oxf. For my part, I'll not trouble thee with words.
Som. Nor I ; but stoop with patience to my fortune.
[Exeunt Oxford and Somerset, guarded.
Q. Mar. So part we sadly in this troublous world,
To meet with joy in sweet Jerusalem.
K, Edw. Is proclamation made, — that, who finds
Edward,
Shall have a high reward, and he his life?
Glo. It is : and, lo, where youthful Edward comes.
Enter Soldiers, with Prince Edward.
JT. Edw. Bring forth the gallant, let us hear him
What ! can so young a thorn begin to prick ?
Edward, what satisfaction canst thou make.
For bearing arms, for stirring up my subjects.
And all the trouble thou hast turn'd me to ?
Prince. Speak like a subject, proud ambitious York !
Suppose that I am now my father's mouth ;
Resign thy chair, and, where I stand, kneel thou,
"WhDst I propose the self-same words to thee,
Which, traitor, thou wouldst have me answer to.
Q. Mar. Ah, that thy father had been so resolv'd !
jr. Edw. Peace, wilful boy, or I will charm your
tongue.
Clar. Untutor'd lad, thou art too malapert.
Prince. I know my duty ; you are all undutiful •
Lascivious Edward, — and thouperjur'd George, —
And thou mis-shapen Dick, — I tell ye all,
I am your better, traitors as ye are ; —
And thou usurp'st my father's right and mine.
JT. Edw. Take that, the likeness of this railer here.
[Stabs him.
Glo. Sprawl'st thou ? take that, to end thy agony.
[Glo. stabs him.
Clar. And there's for twitting me with perjury.
[Clar. stabs him.
Q. Mar. O, kill me too !
Glo. Marry, and shall. [OJ^ers to kill her.
K. Edw. Hold, Richard, hold, for we have done
too much.
Glo. Why should she live, to fill the world with
words ?
K. Edw. What ! doth she swoon ? use means for
her recovery.
Glo. Clarence, excuse me to the king my brother :
I'll hence to London on a serious matter:
Ere ye come there, be sure to hear some news.
Clar. What? what?
Glo. The Tower, the Tower ! [Ex\i.
Q. Mar. O, Ned, sweet Ned ! speak to thy mother,
boy !
Canst thou not speak ? — O traitors ! murderers ! —
They, that stabb'd Caesar, shed no blood at all,
8 A castle in Picardy.
Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame.
If this foul deed were by, to equal it.
He was a man : this, in respect, a child ;
And men ne'er spend their fury on a child.
What's worse than murderer, that I may name it ?
No, no ; my heart will burst, an if I speak : —
And I will speak, that so my heart may burst
Butchers and villains, bloody cannibals !
How sweet a plant have you untimely cropp'd !
You have no children, butchers ! if you had.
The thought of them would have stirr'd up remorse :
But, if you ever chance to have a child,
Look in his youth to have him so cut off,
As, deathsmen ! you have rid this sweet young prince !
K. Edw. Away with her ; go bear her hence per-
force.
Q. Mar. Nay, never bear me hence, despatch me
here;
Here sheath thy sword, I'll pardon thee my death :
What ! wilt thou not ? — then, Clarence, do it thou.
Clar. By heaven, I will not do thee so much ease.
Q. Mar. Good Clarence, do j sweet Clarence, do
thou do it.
Clar. Didst thou not hear me swear, I would not
doit?
Q. Mar. Ay, but thou usest to forswear thyself ;
'Twas sin before 9, but now 'tis charity.
What ! wilt thou not ? where is that devil's butcher,
Hard-favour'd Richard ? Richard, where art thou ?
Thou art not here : Murder is thy alms-deed ;
Petitioners for blood thou ne'er put'st back.
IT. Edw. Away, I say ; I charge ye bear her hence.
Q. Mar. So come to you, and yours, as to this
prince ! [Exit, led out forcibly.
K. Edw. Where's Richard gone ?
Clar. To London all in post ; and, as I guess.
To make a bloody supper in the Tower.
K. Edw. He's sudden, if a thing comes in his head.
Now march we hence : discharge the common sort
With pay and thanks, and let's away to London,
And see our gentle queen how well she fares ;
By this, I hope, she hath a son for me. [Exeunt.
SCENE VL — London. A Room in the Tower.
King Henry is discovered sitting with a Book in his
Hand, the Lieutenant attending. Enter Gloster.
Glo. Good day, my lord ! What, at your book so
hard?
K. Hen. Ay, my good lord : My lord, I should
say rather ;
'Tis sin to flatter, good was little better;
Good Gloster, and good devil, were alike,
And both preposterous ; therefore, not good lord.
Glo. Sirrah, leave us to ourselves : we must confer.
[Exit Lieutenant.
K. Hen. So flies the reckless shepherd from the
wolf :
So first the harmless sheep doth yield his fleece,
And next his throat unto the butcher's knife. —
What scene of death hath Roscius now to act ?
Glo. Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind j
The thief doth fear each bush an officer.
K. Hen. The bird, that hath been limed in a bush,
With trembling wings misdoubteth • every bush :
And I, the hapless male to one sweet bird.
Have now the fatal object in my eye.
Where my poor young was lim'd, was caught, and
kiU'd.
9 She alludes to the desertion of Clarence.
1 'J'o misdoubt is to suspect danger, to fear.
Scene VI.
KING HENRY VI.
533
Glo. Why, what a peevisli - fool was that of Crete,
That taught his son the office of a fowl ?
And yet, for all his wings, the fool was drown'd.
JT. Hen. I, Daedalus ; my poor boy, Icarus ;
Thy father, Minos, that denied our course ;
The sun, that sear'd the wings of my sweet boy,
Thy brother Edward ; and thyself, the sea.
Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life.
Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words !
My breast can better brook thy dagger's point,
Than can my ears that tragick history. —
But wherefore dost thou come? is't for my life ?
Glo. Think'st thou, I am an executioner ?
IT. Hen. A persecutor, I am sure, thou art ;
If murdering innocents be executing,
Why, then thou art an executioner.
Glo. Thy son I kill'd, for his presumption.
IT. Hen. Hadst tliou been kill'd, when first thou
didst presume.
Thou hadst not liv'd to kill a son of mine.
And tlius I prophesy, — that many a thousand,
Which now mistrust no parcel of my fear ;
And many an old man's sigh, and many a widow's,
And many an orphan's water-standing eye, —
Men for their sons', wives for their husbands' fate.
And orphans for their parents' timeless deatli, —
Shall rue the hour that ever thou wast born.
The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign ;
The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time j
Dogshowl'd, and hideous tempests shook down trees ;
The raven rook'd^ her on the chimney's top,
And chattering pies in dismal discords sung.
Thy mother felt more than a mother's pain.
And yet brought forth less than a mother's hope ;
To wit, — an indigest deformed lump.
Not like the fruit of such a goodly tree.
Teeth hadst thou in tliy head, when thou wast born.
To signify, — thou cam'st to bite the world :
And, if the rest be true which I have beard.
Thou cam'st —
Glo. I'll hear no more ; — Die, prophet, in thy
speech; [Stabs him.
For this, amongst the rest, was I ordain 'd.
IT. Hen. Ay, and for much more slaughter after this.
O God ! forgive my sins, and pardon thee ! [Dies.
Glo. Wliat, will the aspiring blood of Lancaster
Sink in the ground? I thought it would have
mounted.
See, how my sword weeps for the poor king's death !
0, may such purple tears be always slied
From those that wish the downfal of our house ! —
If any spark of life be yet remaining,
Down, down to hell j and say — I sent thee thither,
[Stabs him again.
1, that have neither pity, love, nor fear. —
Indeed, 'tis true, that Henry told me of;
As I have often heard my mother say,
I came into the world with my legs forward :
Had I not reason, think ye, to make haste.
And seek their ruin that usurp'd our right?
The midwife wonder'd ; and tlie women cried,
O, Heamn bless M4, he is born with teeth !
And so 1 was; which plainly signified —
Tliat I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog.
Then, since the heavens have shap'd my body so,
I^t hell make crook 'd my mind to answer iL
I have no brother, I am like no brotlier :
And this word — love, which greybeards call divine
Be resident in men like one anotiier,
« Childuh. 3 To rook signified to lodge on any thing.
And not in me ; I am myself alone. —
Clarence, beware ; thou keep'st me from the light ;
But I will sort ^ a pitchy day for thee :
For I will buz abroad such prophecies.
That Edward shall be fearful of his life ;
And then, to purge his fear, I'll be thy death.
King Henry, and the prince his son, are gone :
Clarence, thy turn is next, and then the rest ;
Counting myself but bad, till I be best. —
I'll throw thy body in another room.
And triumph, Henry, in thy day of doom. [Esit,
SCENE VII. —^ Room in the Palace.
King Edward is discovered sitting on his Throne ;
QuE£N Elizabeth with the infant Prince^ Cla-
rence, Gloster, Hastings, and others, near him.
JC.Edw. Once more wesit in England'sroyal throne,
Re-purchas'd with the blood of enemies.
What valiant foe-men, like to autumn's com.
Have we mow'd down, in tops of all their pride ?
Three dukes of Somerset, threefold renown 'd
For hardy and undoubted champions :
Two Cliffords, as the father and the son,
And two Northumberlands ; two braver men
Ne'er spurr'd their coursers at the trumpet's sound :
With them, the two brave bears, Warwick and Mon-
tague,
That in their chains fetter'd the kingly lion,
And made the forest tremble when they roar'd.
Thus have we swept suspicion from our seat.
And made our footstool of security. —
Come hither, Bess, and let me kiss my boy : —
Young Ned, for thee, thine uncles, and myself.
Have in our armours watch'd the winter's night ;
Went all a-foot in summer's scalding heat,
That thou mightst repossess the crown in peace ;
And of our labours thou shalt reap the gain.
Glo. I'll blast his harvest, if your head were laid.
For yet I am not look'd on in the world.
This shoulder was ordain'd so thick, to heave ;
And heave it shall some weight, or break my back : —
Work thou the way, — and thou shalt execute.
[Aside.
K, Edw. Clarence, and Gloster, love my lovely
queen ;
And kiss your princely nephew, brothers both.
Clar. The duty, that I owe unto your majesty,
I seal upon tlie lips of this sweet babe.
JT. Edw. Thanks, noble Clarence; worthy brother,
thanks.
Glo. And, that I love the tree from whence thou
sprang'st.
Witness the loving kiss I give the fruit. —
IT. Edw. Now am I seated as my soul delights.
Having my country's peace, and brothers' loves.
Clar. What will your grace have done with Mar-
garet?
Reignier, her father, to the king of France
Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Jerusalem,
And hither have they sent it for her ransome.
A". Edw. Away with her, and waft her hence to
France.
And now what rests, but that we spend the time
With stately triumphs, mirthful comick shows,
Such as befit the pleasures of the court ? —
Sound, drums and trumpets ! — farewell, sour annoy !
For here, I hoi>e, begins our lasting joy. [ExeunU
* Select
M m 3
A
P
^
-^'l
LIFE AND DEATH OF
KING RICHARD III.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
1
Soils to the King.
•others
King.
to the
afienvards King
King Edward the Fourth.
Edward, Prince o/* Wales, after
wards King Edward V.,
Richard, Duke of York,
George, Duke ©^Clarence,
Richard, Duke of Gloster, after-
wards King Richard III.
ji young Son of Clarence.
Henry, Earl of Richmond,
Henry VII.
Cardinal Bourchier, Archbishop of Canterbury.
Thomas Rotherham, Archbishop of York.
John Morton, Bishop of Ely.
Duke of Buckingham.
Duke of Norfolk.
Earl of Surrey, his Son.
Earl of Rivers, Brother to King Edward's Queen.
Marquis of Dorset, and Lord Grey, her Sons.
Earl of Oxford.
Lord Hastings.
Lord Stanley.
Lord Lovel.
Sir Thomas Vauchan.
Sir Richard Ratcliff. ^
Sir William Catesby.
Sir James Tyrrfl.
Sir James Blount.
Sir Walter Herbert.
Sir Robert Brakenbury, Lieutenant of the Tower*
Christopher Urswick, a Priest.
Another Priest.
Lord Mat/or of London.
iSAer^o/"' Wiltshire.
Elizabeth, Queen of King Edward IV.
Margaret, JFidow of King Henry VI.
Duchess of York, Mother to King Edward IV.,
Clarence, and Gloster.
Lady Anne, Widow of Edward, Prince of Wales,
Son to King Henry VI. ; afterwards married to
the Duke of Gloster.
A young Daughter of Clarence.
Lords, and other Attendants; two Gentlemen, a
Pursuivant, Scrivener, Citizens, Afurderers, Mes-
sengers, Ghosts, Soldiers, (.fc
SCENE, — England.
1 Kr.l., MB. THOC VI
iERK ARffi I^Y GHILljREh
LIFE AND DEATH OF
KING RICHARD III
ACT L
SCENE I. — London, A Street.
Enter Gloster.
Glo. Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York ;
And all the clouds, that low'r'd upon our house,
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths ;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments ;
Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. >
Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now, — instead of mounting barbed ^ steeds,
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, —
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber,
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, — that am not shap'd for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass ;
1, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty,
1 Dances "^ Arinec).
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph ;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion.
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up
And that so lamely and unfashionable,
That dogs bark at me, as I halt by them ; —
Why I, in this weak piping time of peace.
Have no delight to pass away the time ;
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun,
And descant on mine own deformity ;
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days, —
I am determined to prove a villain,
And hate the idle pleasures of these days, —
Plots have I laid, inductions^ dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams.
To set my brother Clarence, and the king.
In deadly hate the one against the other :
^ Preparations for mischief.
Act I. Scene I.
KING RICHARD III.
535
And, if king Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle, false, and treacherous.
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up ;
About a prophecy, which says — that G
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul ! here Clarence
comes.
Enter Clarencx, guarded, and Bbakenbury.
Brother, good day : What means this armed guard
That waits upon your grace ?
Clar. His majesty,
Tendering my person's safety, hath appointed
This conduct to convey me to the Tower.
Glo. Upon what cause ?
Clar. Because my name is — George.
Glo, Alack, my lord, that fault is none of yours ;
He should, for that, commit your godfathers :
Belike his majesty hath some intent,
That you shall be new christened in the Tower.
But what's the matter, Clarence ? may I know ?
Clar. Yea, Richard, when I know ; for I protest,
As yet I do not : But, as I can learn,
He hearkens after prophecies, and dreams ;
And from the cross- row plucks the letter G,
And says — a wizard told him, that by G
His issue disinherited should be ;
And, for my name of George begins with G,
It follows in his thought that I am he :
These as I learn, and such like toys as these,
Have mov'd his highness to commit me now.
G/o. Why,thisitis,when men are rul'd by women: —
'Tis not the king, that sends you to the Tower ;
My lady Grey, his wife, Clarence, 'tis she.
That tempers him to this extremity.
Was it not she, and that good man of worship,
Antony Woodeville, her brother there,
That made him send lord Hastings to the Tower ;
From whence this present day he is deliver'd ?
We are not safe, Clarence, we are not safe.
Clar. By heaven, I think, there is no man secure.
But the queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds
That trudge betwixt the king and mistress Shore.
Heard you not what an humble suppliant
Lord Hastings was to her for his delivery ?
Glo. Humbly complaining to her deity
Got my lord chamberlain his liberty.
I'll tell you what, — I think, it is our way,
If we will keep in favour with the king,
To be her men, and wear her livery :
The jealous o'er-wom widow, and herself*.
Since that our brother dubb'd them gentlewomen,
Are mighty gossips in this monarchy.
Brak. I beseech your graces both to pardon me ;
His majesty hath straitly given in charge.
That no man shall have private conference,
Of what degree soever with his brother.
Glo. Even so ? an please your worship, Braken-
bury,
You may partake of any thing we say :
We speak no treason, man ; — We say, the king
Is wise, and virtuous ; and his noble queen
Well struck in years ; fair, and not jealous :
We sayj that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot,
A cherry lip,
A bonny eye, a passing pleasing tongue ;
And the queen's kindred are made gentlefolks :
How say you, sir? can you deny all this?
^ra*. With this, my lord, myself have nought to do,
* The queen and Shore.
And 1 beseech your grace to pardon me ; and, withal.
Forbear your conference with the noble duke.
Clar. We know thy charge, Brakenburj', and
vnll obey.
Glo. We are the queen's abjects, and must obey.
Brother, farewell : I will unto the king j
And wliatsoever you will employ me in, —
Were it, to call king Edward's widow — sister,^
I will perform it to enfranchise you.
Mean time, this deep disgrace in brotherhood,
Touches me deeper than you can ihiagine,
Clar. I know it picaseth neither of us well.
Glo. Well, your imprisonment shall not be long;
I will deliver you, or else lie for you :
Mean time, have patience.
Clar. I must perforce ; farewell.
lExeunt Clarence, Brakenbury, and
Guard.
Glo. Go, tread the path that thou shalt ne'er return.
Simple, plain Clarence ! — I do love thee so,
That I will shortly send thy soul to heaven.
If heaven will take the present at our hands.
But who comes here ? the new-deliver'd Hastings ?
Ertier Hastings.
Hast, Good time of day unto my gracious lord !
Glo. As much unto my good lord chamberlain !
Well are you welcome to this open air.
How hath your lordship brook'd imprisonment?
Hast. With patience, noble lord, as prisoners
must:
But I shall live, my lord, to give them thanks.
That were the cause of my imprisonment.
Glo. No doubt, no doubt ; and so shall Clarence
too ;
For they, that were your enemies, are his.
And have prevail'd as much on him, as you.
Hast. More pity that the eagle should be mew'd.
While kites and buzzards prey at liberty.
Glo. What news abroad ?
Hast. No news so bad abroad, as this at home ; —
Tiie king is sickly, weak, and melancholy.
And his physicians fear him mightily.
Glo. Now, by saint Paul, this news is bad indeed.
O, he hath kept an evil diet long,
And over-much consum'd his royal person ;
'Tis very grievous to be thought upon.
What, is he in his bed?
Hast. He is.
Glo. Go you before, and I will follow you.
\^Exit Hastings.
He cannot live, I hope ; and must not die.
Till George be pack'd with post-horse up to heaven.
I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence,
With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments ;
And, if I fail not in my deep intent,
Clarence hath not another day to live :
Which done, Heaven take king Edward to hismercy.
And leave the world for me to bustle in !
For then I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter:
What though I kill'd her husband, and her father?
The readiest way to make the wench amends,
Is — to become her husband, and her father :
The which will I ; not all so much for love,
As for another secret close intent.
By marrying her, which I must reach unto.
But yet I run before my horse to market :
Clarence still breathes: Edwardstill livis, and reigns;
When they are gone, then must I count my gains.
{Exit.
M m 4
536
KING RICHARD III.
Act I.
SCENE II. ^ Another Street.
Enter the Corpse of King Henry the Sixth, borne in
an open Coffin; Gentlemen bearing Halberds, to
guard it ; and Ladt Anne as Mourner.
Anne. Set down, set down your honourable load, —
If honour may be shrouded in a hearse, —
Whilst T a while obsequiously ^ lament
The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster. —-
Poor key-cold figure of a holy king !
Pale ashes of the house of I^ancaster !
Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood !
Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost.
To hear the lamentations of poor Anne,
Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son,
Stabb'd by the self-same hand that made these wounds !
Lo, in these windows, that let forth thy life,
I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes : —
O, cursed be the hand that made these holes !
Cursed the heart, that had the heart to do it !
Cursed the blood, that let this blood from hence ! ,
More direful hap betide that hated wretch,
That makes us wretched by the death of thee,
Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads.
Or any creeping venom'd thing that lives !
If ever he have child, abortive be it,
Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,
Whose ugly and unnatural aspect
May fright the hopeful mother at the view ;
And that be heir to his unhappiness !
If ever he have wife, let her be made
More miserable by the death of him.
Than I am made by my young lord, and thee ! —
Come, now, toward Chertsey with your holy load,
Taken from Paul's to be interred there ;
And still, as you are weary of the weight,
Rest you, whiles I lament king Henry's corse.
[The Bearers lake up the Corpse, and advance.
Enter Gloster.
Glo. Stay you that bear the corse, and set it down.
Anne. What black magician conjures up this fiend,
To stop devoted charitable deeds ?
Glo. Villains, set down the corse; or, by saint Paul,
I'll make a corse of him that disobeys.
1 Gent. My lord, stand back, and let the coffin
pass.
Glo. Unmanner'd dog : stand thou when I com-
mand :
Advance thy halberd higher than my breast.
Or, by saint Paul, I'll strike thee to my foot.
And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness.
[TAe Bearers set down the Coffin.
Anne. What, do you tremble ? are you all afraid ?
Alas, I blame you not ; for you are mortal.
And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil. ^ —
Avaunt, thou dreadful minister of hell !
Thou hadst but power over his mortal body.
His soul thou canst not have ; therefore, begone.
Glo. Sweet saint, for charity, be not so curst.
Anne. Foul devil, for heaven's sake, hence, and
trouble us not ;
For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell,
Fill'd it with cursing cries, and deep exclaims.
If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds.
Behold this pattern of thy butcheries : —
O, gentlemen, see, see ! dead Henry's wounds
Open their congeal'd mouths, and bleed afresh ! —
Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity ;
* With becoming reverence for the dead.
For 'tis thy presence that exhales this blood
From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells ;
Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural.
Provokes this deluge most unnatural. - ■
O Thou, which this blood mad'st, revenge his death !
O earth, which this blood drink'st, revenge his death !
Either, Heaven, with lightning strike the murderer
dead.
Or, earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick ;
As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood.
Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered !
Glo. Lady, you know no rules of charity.
Which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.
Anne. Villain, thou know'st no law of God nor
man ;
No beast so fierce, but knows some touch of pity.
Glo. But I know none, and therefore am no beast.
Anne. O wonderful, when devils tell the truth !
Glo. More wonderful, when angels are so angry.—
Vouchsafe, divine perfection of a woman.
Of these supposed evils, to give me leave,
By circumstance, but to acquit myself.
Anne. Vouchsafe, difFus'd infection of a man.
For these known evils, but to give me leave,
By circumstance, to curse thy cursed self.
Glo. Fairer than tongue can name thee, let me
have
Some patient leisure to excuse myself.
Anne. Fouler than heart can think thee, thou canst
make
No excuse current, but to hang thyself.
Glo. By such despair, I should accuse myself.
Anne. And, by despairing, shalt thou stand excus'd ;
For doing worthy vengeance on thyself.
That didst unworthy slaughter upon others.
Glo. Say, that I slew them not ?
Anne. Why, then, they are not dead :
But dead they are, and, devilish slave, by thee.
Glo. I did not kill your husband.
Anne. Why, then he is alive.
Glo. Nay, he is dead; and slain by Edward's hand.
Anne. In thy soul's throat thou liest : queen
Margaret saw
Thy murd'rous faulchion smoking in his blood ;
The which thou once didst bend against her breast,
But that thy brothers beat aside the point.
Glo. I was provoked by her sland'rous tongue.
That laid their guilt upon my guiltless shoulders.
Anne. Thou w^ast provoked by thy bloody mind.
That never dreamt on aught but butcheries ;
Didst thou not kill this king ?
Glo. I grant ye.
Anne. O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous.
Glo. The fitter for the Kingof heaven that hath him.
Anne. He is in heaven, where thou shalt never
come.
Glo. Let him thank me, that holp to send him
thither ;
For he was fitter for that place, than earth.
Anne. And thou unfit for any place but hell.
Glo. Yes, one place else, if you will hear me
name it.
Anne. Some dungeon.
Glo. Your bed-chamber.
Anne. Ill rest betide the chamber where thou liest I
Glo. So will it, madam, till I lie with you.
Anne. I hope so.
Glo. I know so But, gentle lady Anne, —
To leave this keen encounter of our wits.
And fall somewhat into a slower method ; —
Scene IT.
KING RICHARD III.
537
Is not the causer of the timeless deaths
Of these Plantagenets, Henry and Edward,
As blameful as the executioner ?
Anne. Thou wast the cause, and most accurs'd
effect.
Glo. Your beauty was the cause of that effect ;
Your beauty which did haunt me in my sleep,
To undertake the death of all the world.
Anne. If I thought that, I tell thee, homicide,
These nails should rend that beauty from my cheeks.
Glo. These eyes could not endure that beauty's
wreck ;
You should not blemish it, if I stood by :
As all the world is cheered by the sun.
So I by that ; it is my day, my life.
Anne, Black night o'ershade thy day, and death
thy life !
Glo. Curse not thyself, fair creature; thou art
both.
Anne. I would I were, to be reveng'd on thee.
Glo. It is a quarrel most unnatural.
To be reveng'd on him that loveth thee.
Anne. It is a quarrel just and reasonable.
To be reveng'd on him that kill'd my husband.
Glo. He that bereft thee, lady, of thy husband,
Did it to help thee to a better husband.
Anne- His better doth not breathe upon the
earth.
do. He lives, that loves you better than he could.
Anne. Name him.
Glo. Plantagenet.
Anne. Why, that was he.
Glo. The self-same name, but one of better nature.
Anne. Where is he ?
Glo. Here : [Slie spits at him.} Why
dost thou spit at me ?
Anne. 'Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake !
Glo. Never came poison from so sweet a place.
Anne. Never hung poison on a fouler toad.
Out of my sight ! thou dost infect mine eyes.
Glo. Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.
Anne. 'Would they were basilisks, to strike thee
dead !
Glo. I would they were, that I might die at once ;
For now they kill me with a living death.
Those eyes of tliine from mine have drawn salt tears,
Sham'd their aspects with store of childish drops :
These eyes, which never shed remorseful ^ tear, —
Nor when my father York and Edward wept,
To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made.
When black-fac'd Clifford shook his sword at him :
Nor when thy warlike father, like a child,
Told the sad story of my father's death ;
And twenty times made pause, to sob and weep.
That all tlie standers-by had wet their cheeks,
Like trees bedash 'd with rain : in that sad time.
My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear ;
And what these sorrows could not hence exhale.
Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping.
I never su'd to friend, nor enemy ;
My tongue could never learn sweet sootliing word ;
But now thy beauty is propos'd my fee.
My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to
speak. [She looks scomjfuUy at him.
Teach not thy lip such scorn ; for it was made
For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
If tliy revengeful heart cannot forgive,
Ix) ! here I lend thee this shar]>-pointed sword ;
Which if thou please to hide in this true breast,
• Pitying.
And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,
I lay it naked to the deadly stroke.
And humbly beg the death upon my knee.
[He lays his Breast open ; she offers at it with
his Sword.
Nay, do not pause ; for I did kill king Henry ; —
But 'twas thy beauty that provok'd me.
Nay, now despatch ; 'twas I that stabb'd young
Edward ; — [She again offers at his Breast.
But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.
[She lets fall the Sword.
Take up the sword again, or take up me.
Anne. Arise, dissembler : though I wish thy death,
I will not be thy executioner.
Glo. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.
Anne. I have already.
Glo. That was in thy rage :
Speak it again, and, even with the word.
This hand, which for thy love, did kill thy love.
Shall, for thy love, kill a far truer love ;
To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary.
Anne. 1 would, I knew thy heart.
Glo. *Tis figur'd in my tongue.
Anne. I fear me, both are false.
Glo. Then man was never true.
Anne. Well, well, put up your sword.
Glo. Say then, my peace is made.
Anne. ITiat shall you know hereafter.
Glo. But shall I live in hope ?
Anne- All men, I hope, live so.
Glo. Vouchsafe to wear this ring.
Anne. To take, is not to give.
[She puts on the Ring,
Glo. Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger,
Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart ;
Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.
And if thy poor devoted servant may
But beg one favour at thy gracious hand.
Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever.
A?ine. What is it ?
Glo. That it may please you leave these sad de-
signs
To him that hath more cause to be a mourner.
And presently repair to Crosby-place 7 :
Where — after I have solemnly interr'd,
At Chertsey monast'ry this noble king.
And wet his grave with my repentant tears, —
I will with all expedient duty see you.
For divers unknown reasons, I beseech you.
Grant me this boon.
Anne. With all my heart ; and much it joys me too,
To see you are become so penitent. —
Tressel, and Berkley go along with me.
G/o. Bid me farewell.
Anjie. 'Tis more tlian you deserve ;
But, since you teach me how to flatter you.
Imagine I have said farewell already.
[Exeunt Lady Annk, Tressel, and Bkrklet.
Glo. Take up the corse, sirs.
Gent. Towards Chertsey, noble lord ?
Glo. No, to White Friars ; there attend my
coming. [Exeunt the rest, with the Corpse.
Was ever woman in this humour woo'd ?
Was ever woman in tliis humour won ?
I'll have her, — but I will not keep her long.
What ! I, that kill'd her husband, and his father.
To take her in her heart's cxtremest hate ;
With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes.
The bleeding witness of her hatred by ;
7 In Bishc^gatcttrcet
538
KING RICHARD III.
Act I.
"With Heaven, her conscience, and these bars against
me,
And I no friends to back my suit withal.
But the plain devil and dissembling looks,
And yet to win her, — • all the world to nothing !
Ha!
Hath she forgot already that brave prince,
Edward, her lord, whom I some three months since,
Stabb'd in my angry mood at Tewksbury ?
A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, —
Fram'd in the prodigality of nature, "^
Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right royal, —
The spacious world cannot again afford :
And will she yet abase her eyes on me,
That cropp'd the golden prime of this sweet prince.
And made her widow to a woful bed ?
On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety ?
On me, that halt, and am misshapen thus ?
My dukedom to a beggerly denier 8,
I do mistake my person all this while :
Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
Myself to be a marvellous proper man.
I'll be at charges for a looking glass ;
And entertain a score or two of tailors.
To study fashions to adorn my body ;
Since I am crept in favour with myself,
I will maintain it with some little cost.
But, first, I'll turn yon' fellow in his grave ;
And then return lamenting to my love. —
Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass.
That I may see my shadow as I pass. [Exit.
SCENE III. — A room in the Palace.
Enter Queen Elizabeth, Lord Rivers, and
Lord Grey.
Riv. Have patience, madam ; there's no doubt,
his majesty
Will soon recover his accustom'd health.
Grei/. In that you brook it ill, it makes him
worse :
Therefore, for heaven's sake, entertain good comfort,
And cheer his grace with quick and merry words.
Q. Eliz. If he were dead, what would betide of
me?
Grey. No other harm but loss of such a lord.
Q. Eliz. The loss of such a lord includes all harms.
Grey. The heavens have bless'd you with a
goodly son.
To be your comforter, when he is gone.
Q. Eliz. Ah, he is young ; and his minority
Is put unto the trust of Richard Gloster,
A man that loves not me, nor none of you.
Riv. Is it concluded, he shall be protector ?
Q. Eliz. It is determin'd, not concluded yet :
But so it must be, if the king miscarry.
Enter Buckingham and Stanley.
Grey. Here come the lords of Buckingham and
Stanley.
Buck. Good time of day unto your royal grace !
Stan. Heaven make your majesty joyful as you
have been !
Q. Eliz. The countess Richmond, good my lord
of Stanley,
To your good prayer will scarcely say — amen.
Yet, Stanley, notwithstanding she's your wife.
And loves not me, be you, good lord, assur'd,
I hate not you for her proud arrogance.
» A small French coin.
Stan. I do beseech you, either not believe
The envious slanders of her false accusers ;
Or, if she be accus'd on true report,
Bear with her weakness, which, I think, proceeds
From wayward sickness, and no grounded malice.
Q. Eliz. Saw you the king to-day, my lord of
Stanley ?
Stan. But now the duke of Buckingham, and I,
Are come from visiting his majesty.
Q. Eliz. What likelihood of his amendment,
lords ?
Buck. Madam, good hope ; his grace speaks
cheerfully.
Q. Eliz. God grant him health ! Did you confer
with him ?
Buck. Ay, madam, he desires to make atonement
Between the duke of Gloster and your brothers,
And between them and my lord chamberlain ;
And sent to warn them to his royal presence.
Q. Eliz. Would all were well ! — But that will
never be ; —
I fear, our happiness is at the height.
Enter Gloster, Hastings, and Dorset.
Glo. They do me wrong, and I will not endure
it. —
Who are they, that complain unto the king.
That I, forsooth, am stern, and love them not ?
By holy Paul, they love his grace but lightly.
That fill his ears v/ith such dissentious rumours.
Because I cannot flatter, and speak fair.
Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog.
Duck with French nods, and apish courtesy,
I must be held a rancorous enemy.
Cannot a plain man live, and think no harm,
But thus his simple truth must be abus'd
By silken, sly, insinuating Jacks ?
Grey. To whom in all this presence speaks your
grace ?
Glo. To thee, that hast nor honesty, nor grace.
When have I injur'd thee ? when done thee wrong ?
Or thee ? — or thee ? — or any of your faction ?
X plague upon you all ! His royal grace, —
Whom God preserve better than you would wish ! —
Cannot be quiet scarce a breathing-while.
But you must trouble him with rude complaints.
Q. Eliz. Brother of Gloster, you mistake the
matter ;
The king, of his own royal disposition.
And not provok'd by any suitor else :
Aiming, belike, at your interior hatred.
That in your outward action shows itself.
Against my children, brothers, and myself.
Makes him to send ; that thereby he may gather
The groimd of your ill-will, and so remove it.
Glo. I cannot tell ; — The world is grown so bad.
That wrens may prey where eagles dare not perch.
Since every Jack 9 became a gentleman,
There's many a gentle person made a Jack.
Q. Eliz. Come, come, we know your meaning,
brother Gloster :
You envy my advancement, and my friends ;
Heaven grant, we never may have need of you !
Glo. Meantime, heaven grants that we have need
of you !
Our brother is imprison'd by your means.
Myself disgrac'd, and the nobility
Held in contempt ; while great promotions
ArS daily given, to ennoble those
• Low fellow.
I
i
Scene III.
KING RICHARD III.
539
Tliat scarce, some two days since, were worth a
noble. '
Q. Eliz. By him that rais'd me to tliis careful
height
From that contented hap which I enjoy'd,
I never did incense his majesty
Against the duke of Clarence, but have been
An earnest advocate to plead for him.
My lord, you do me shameful injury,
Ftdsely to draw me in these vile suspects.
Glo. You may deny that you were not the cause
Of my lord Hastings' late imprisonment.
Jiiv. She may, my lord ; for ^^—
Glo. She may, lord Rivers ? — why, who knows
not so?
She may do more, sir, than denying that :
She may help you to many fair preferments ;
And then deny her aiding band therein.
And lay those honours on your high desert.
What may she not ? She may, — ay, marry may
she. —
Itiv. What, marry, may she?
Glo. What, marry, may she ? marry with a king,
A bachelor, a handsome stripling too :
I wis 2, your grandam had a worser match.
Q. Eliz. My lord of Gloster, I have too long borne
Your blunt upbraidings, and your bitter scoffs :
By heaven, I will acquaint his majesty.
Of those gross taunts I often have endur'd.
I had rather be a country servant-maid,
Than a great queen with this condition —
To be so baited, scom'd, and stormed at :
Small joy have I in being England's queen.
Enter Queen Margaret, behind.
Q. Mar. And lessen'd be that small, God, I be-
seech thee !
Thy honour, state, and seat, is due to me.
Glo. What ? threat you me with telling of the
king?
Tell him, and spare not : look, what I have said
I will avouch, in presence of the king :
I dare adventure to be sent to the Tower.
'Tis time to speak, my pains are quite forgot.
Q. Mar. Out, devil ! I remember them too well :
Thou kill'dst my husband Henry in the Tower,
And Edward, my poor son, at Tewksbury.
Glo. Ere you were queen, ay, or your husband
king,
I was a pack-horse in his great affairs ;
A weeder-out of his proud adversaries,
A liberal rewarder of his friends ;
To royalize his blood, I spilt mine own.
Q. Mar. Ay, and much better blood than his, or
thine.
Glo. In all which time, you, and your husband
Grey,
Were factious for the house of Lancaster ? —
And, Rivers, so were you : — Was not your hus-
band
In Margaret's battle at Saint Alban's slain?
Let me put in your minds, if you forget.
What you have been ere now, and what you are ;
Witlial, what I have been, and what I am.
Q. Mar. A murd'rous villain, and so still thou art.
Glo. Poor Clarence did forsake his father War-
wick,
Ay, and forswore himself, — Which Jesu pardon ! —
Q. Mar. Which God revenge !
> A coin rated at 6ft. 8d. « Think.
Glo. To fight on Edward's party, for the crown ;
And, for his meed, poor lord, he is mew'd up :
I would to heaven, my heart were flint like Ed-
ward's,
Or Edward's soft and pitiful, like mine ;
I am too childish-foolish for this world.
Q. Mar. Hie thee to hell for shame, and leave
this world.
Riv. My lord of Gloster, in those busy days.
Which here you urge to prove us enemies.
We foUow'd then our lord, our lawful king ;
So should we you, if you should be our king.
Glo. If I should be ? — I had rather be a pedlar.
Far be it from my heart, tlie thought thereof!
Q. Eliz. As little joy, my lord, as you suppose
You should enjoy, were you this country's king ;
As little joy you may suppose in me.
That I enjoy, being the queen thereof.
Q. Mar. A little joy enjoys the queen thereof;
For I am she, and altogether joyless.
I can no longer hold me patient. — [Advancing.
Hear me, you wrangling pirates, that fall out
In sharing that which you have piird3 from me :
Which of you trembles not, that looks on me :
If not, that I being queen, you bow like subjects
Yet that, by you depos'd, you quake like rebels? —
Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away !
Glo. Foul wrinkled witch, what mak'st thou in
my sight ?
Q. Mar. But repetition of what thou hast marr'd ;
That will I make, before I let thee go.
Glo. Wert thou not banished on pain of death ?
Q. Mar. I was ; but I do find more pain in
banishment.
Than death can yield me here by my abode.
A husband, and a son, thou ow'st to me, —
And thou, a kingdom ; — all of you, allegiance :
This sorrow that I have, by right is yours ;
And all the pleasures you usurp are mine.
Glo. The curse my noble father laid on thee.
When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper,
And with thy scorns drew'st rivers from his eyes ;
And then, to dry them, gav'st the duke a clout,
Steep'd in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland ; —
His curses, then from bitterness of soul
Denounc'd against thee, are all fall'n upon thee ;
And God, not we, hath plagu'd thy bloody deed.
Q. Eliz. So just is God, to right the innocent.
Hast. O, 'twas the foulest deed to slay that babe.
And the most merciless, that e'er was heard of.
Riv. Tyrants themselves wept when it was re-
ported.
J}ors. No man but prophesied revenge for it.
Buck. Northumberland, then present, wept to see it.
Q. Mar. What ! were you snarling all, before I
came.
Ready to catch each other by the throat.
And turn you all your hatred now on me ?
Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven,
That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death,
Their kingdom's loss, my woful banishment.
Could all but answer for that peevish brat ?
Can curses pierce the clouds, and enter heaven ? —
Why, then give way, dull clouds, to my quick
curses ! —
Though not by war, by surfeit die your king.
As ours by murder, to make him a king !
Edward, thy son, that now is prince of Wales,
For Edward, my son, that was prince of Wales,
s Pillaged.
5M)
KING RICHARD III.
Act I.
Die in his youth, by like untimely violence !
Thyself a queen, for me that was a queen,
Outlive thy glory like my wretched self!
Long mayst thou live, to wail thy children's loss ;
And see another, as I see thee now,
Deck'd in thy rights, as thou art stall'd in mine !
I^ong die thy happy days before thy death ;
And after many lengthen'd hours of grief.
Die neither mother, wife, nor England's queen ! —
Rivers, — and Dorset, — you were standers by, —
And so wast thou, lord Hastings, — when my son
Was stabb'd with bloody daggers ; God, I pray him.
That none of you may live your natural age,
But by some unlook'd accident cut off !
Glo. Have done thy charm, thou hateful wither'd
hag.
Q. Mar. And leave out thee ? stay, dog, for thou
shalt hear me.
If heaven have any grievous plague in store,
Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee,
O, let them keep it, till thy sins be ripe,
And then hurl down their indignation
On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace !
The worm of conscience still be-gnaw thy soul !
Thy friends suspect for traitors while thou liv'st.
And take deep traitors for thy dearest friends !
No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine.
Unless it be while some tormenting dream
Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils !
Thou elvish mark'd, abortive, rooting hog !
Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity
The slave of nature, and the son of hell !
Thou rag of honour ! thou detested ■
Glo. Margaret.
Q. Mar. Richard !
Glo. Ha?
Q. Mar. I call thee not.
Glo. I cry thee mercy then ; for I did think.
That thou hadst call'd me all these bitter names.
Q. Mar. Why, so I did ; but look'd for no reply,
O, let me make the period to my curse.
Glo. 'Tis done by me ; and ends in — Margaret.
Q. Eliz. Thus have you breath'd your curse
against yourself.
Q. Mar. Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my
fortune !
Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider'*.
Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?
Fool, fool ! thou whet'st a knife to kill thyself.
The day will come, that thou shalt wish for me
To help thee curse this pois'nous hunch-back'd toad.
Hist. False-boding woman, end thy frantick curse j
Lest, to thy harm, thou move our patience.
Q. Mar. Foul shame upon you ! you have all
mov'd mine.
Riv. Were you well serv'd, you would be taught
your duty.
Q. Mar. To serve me well, you all should do me
duty.
Teach me to be your queen, and you my subjects :
O, serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty.
Dors. Dispute not with her, she is lunatick.
Q. Mar. Peace, master marquis, you are malapert :
Your fire-new stamp of honour is scarce current * :
O, that your young nobility could judge,
What 'twere to lose it and be miserable !
They that stand high, have many blasts to shake them;
And, if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces.
4 Alluding to Gloster's form and venom
' He was just created marquis of Dorset
Glo. Good counsel, marry ; — learn it, learn it,
marquis.
Dors. It touches you, my lord, as much as me.
Glo. Ay, and much more : But I was born so high,
Our aieryS buildeth in the cedar's top.
And dallies with the wind, and scorns the sun.
Q. Mar. And turns the sun to shade ; — alas !
alas ! —
Witness my son, now in the shade of death ;
Whose bright out-shining beams thy cloudy wrath
Hath in eternal darkness folded up.
Your aiery buildeth in our aiery's nest : —
O God, that seest it, do not suffer it ;
As it was won with blood, lost be it so !
Buck. Peace, peace, for shame, if not for charity.
Q. Mar. Urge neither charity nor shame to me ;
Uncharitably with me have you dealt.
And shamefully by you my hopes are butcher'd.
My charity is outrage, life my shame, —
And in my shame still live my sorrow's rage !
JBuck. Have done, have done.
Q. Mar. O princely Buckingham, I kiss thy hand,
In sign of league and amity with thee :
Now fair befall thee, and thy noble house !
Thy garments are not spotted with our blood.
Nor thou within the compass of my curse.
Buck. Nor no one here ; for curses never pass
The lips of those that breathe them in the air.
Q. Mar. I'll not believe but they ascend the sky
0 Buckingham, beware of yonder dog ;
Look, when he fawns, he bites ; and, when he bites.
His venom tooth will rankle to the death :
Have not to do with him, beware of him ;
Sin, death, and hell have set their marks on him ;
And all their ministers attend on him ;
Glo. What doth she say, my lord of Buckingham?
Buck. Nothing that I respect, my gracious lord.
Q. Mar. What, dost thoi* scorn me for my gentle
counsel ?
And soothe the devil that I warn thee from ?
O, but remember this another day.
When he shall split thy very heart with sorrow ;
And say, poor Margaret was a prophetess. —
Live each of you the subjects to his hate,
And he to yours, and all of you to God's ! [Exil.
Hast. My hair doth stand on end to hear her
curses.
Riv. And so doth mine ; I muse 7, why she's at
liberty.
Glo. I cannot blame her,
S!ie hath had too much wrong, and I repent
My part thereof, that I have done to her.
Q. Eliz. I never did her any, to my knowledge.
Glo. Yet you have all the vantage of her wrong.
1 was too hot to do some body good,
That is too cold in thinking of it now.
Marry, as for Clarence, he is well repaid ;
He is frank'd » up to fatting for his pains ; —
Heaven pardon them that are the cause thereof !
Riv. A virtuous and a christian-like conclusion.
To pray for them that have done scath 9 to us.
Glo. So do I ever, being well advis'd ; —
For had I curs'd now, I had curs'd myself. [Aside.
Enter Catesbt.
Cates. Madam, his majesty doth call for you, —
And for your grace, — and you, my noble lords.
Q. Eliz. Catesby, I come ; — Lords, will you go
with me ?
6 Nest 7 Wonder. « Put in a sty. » Harm.
I
Scene IV.
KING RICHARD III.
541
Riv. Madam, we will attend upon your grace.
[Exeunt all but Gloster.
Glo. T do the wrong, and first begin to brawl.
The secret mischiefs that I set abroach,
1 lay unto the grievous charge of others.
Clarence, — whom I, indeed, have laid in dark-
ness, —
I do beweep to many simple gulls ;
Namely, to Stanley, Hastings, Buckingham ;
And tell them — 'tis the queen, and her allies,
That stir the king against the duke my brother.
Now they believe it ; and withal whet me
To be reveng'd on Rivers, Vaughan, Grey :
But then I sigh, and, with a piece of scripture,
Tell them — that God bids us do good for evil :
And thus I clothe my naked villainy
With old odd ends, stol'n forth of holy writ ,
And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.
Enter two Murderers.
But soft, here come my executioners. —
How now, my hardy, stout resolved mates?
Are you now going to despatch this thing ?
1 Murd. We are, my lord; and come to have
the warrant,
That we may be admitted where he is.
Glo. Well thought upon, 1 have it here about
me: [Gives the Jf ''arrant.
When you have done, repair to Crosby-place.
But, sirs, be sudden in the execution,
Withal obdurate, do not hear him plead ;
For Clarence is well spoken, and, perhaps,
May move your hearts to pity, if you mark him.
1 Murd. Tut, tut, my lord, we will not stand to
prate,
We go to use our hands, and not our tongues.
Talkers are no good doers ; be assur'd.
Glo. Your eyes drop mill-stones, when fools' eyes
drop tears :
I like you, lads ; — about your business straight ;
Go, go, despatch.
1 Murd. We will, my noble lord. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — A Room in the Tower.
Enter Clarence and Brakenbury.
Brak. Why looks your grace so heavily to day ?
Clar. O, I have pass'd a miserable night,
So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights,
That as I am a Christian faithful man,
I would not spend another such a night.
Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days ;
So full of dismal terror was the time.
Brak. What was your dream, my lord ? I pray
you, tell me.
Clar. Methought that I had broken from the
Tower,
And was embark'd to cross to Burgundy ;
And, in my company, my brother Gloster :
Who from my cabin tempted me to walk
Upon the hatches; thence we look'd toward England,
And cited up a thousand heavy times.
During the wars of York and Lancaster
Tliat had befallen us. As we pac'd along
Upon the giddy footing of the hatches,
Methought, that Gloster stumbled ; and, in falling,
Struck me, tJiat thought to stay him, overboard,
Into the tumbling billows of the main.
O heaven ! methought, what pain it was to drown !
What dreadful noise of water in mine ears !
What sights of ugly death within mine eyes!
Methought, I saw a thousand fearful wrecks ;
A thousand men, that fishes knaw'd upon ;
Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl.
Inestimable stones, unvalu'd jewels.
All scattered in the bottom of the sea.
Some lay in dead men's skulls ; and, in those holes
Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept
(As 't were in scorn of eyes) reflecting gems,
That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep.
And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by.
Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death,
To gaze upon these secrets of the deep ?
Clar. Methought, I had ; and often did I sti ive
To yield the ghost : but still the envious flood
Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth
To seek the empty, vast, and wand'ring air ;
But smother'd it within my panting bulk.
Which almost burst to belch it in the sea.
Bra/c. Awak'd you not with this sore agony ?
Clar. O, no, my dream was lengthen 'd after life;
O, then began the tempest to my soul !
I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood.
With that grim ferryman which poets write of.
Unto the kingdom of perpetual night.
The first that there did greet my stranger soul,
Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick,
Who cry'd aloud — What scourge for perjury
Can this dark monarcht/ a^ord false Clarence 9
And so he vanish'd : Then came wand'ring by
A shadow like an angel, with bright hair
Dabbled in blood ; and he shriek'd out aloud, —
Clarence is come, — false,fleeting, perjur d Clarence,—
That stabb'd me in thefeld by Tewksbury ; —
Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments I
With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends
Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears
Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise,
I trembling wak'd, and, for a season after.
Could not believe but that I was in hell ;
Such terrible impression made my dream.
Brak. No marvel, lord, though it affrighted you ;
I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it.
Clar. O, Brakenbury, I have done these things, —
That now give evidence against my soul, —
For Edward's sake ; and, see, how he requites me .' —
0 God ! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee,
But thou wilt be aveng'd on my misdeeds,
Yet execute thy wrath on me alone :
O, spare my guiltless wife, and my poor children ! —
1 pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me ;
My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.
Brak. I will, my lord ; God give your grace good
rest ! —
[Clarence reposes himself on a Chair.
Sorrow breaks seasons, and reposing hours.
Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night.
Princes have but their titles for their glories.
An outward honour for an inward toil ;
And, for unfelt imaginations.
They often feel a world of restless cares :
So that between their titles, and low name.
There's nothing differs but the outward tame.
Enter the two Murderers.
1 Murd. Ho ! who's here ?
Brak. What would'st tliou, fellow? and how
cam'st thou hither?
1 Murd. I would speak with Clarence, and 1
came hither on my legs.
54.2
KIN(i RICHARD III.
Act I.
Brak. What, so brief?
2 Murd. O, sir, 'tis better to be brief tlian te-
dious : —
Let him see our commission ; talk no more.
[^ Paper is delivered to Brakeneory,
who reads it.
Brak. I am, in this, commanded to deliver
The noble duke of Clarence to your hands : —
I will not reason what is meant hereby,
Because I will be guiltless of the meaning.
Here are the keys ; — there sits the duke asleep :
I'll to the king ; and signify to him,
That I thus have resign'd to you my charge.
1 Murd. You may, sir ; 'tis a point of wisdom :
Fare you well. [Exit Brakenbury.
2 Murd. What, shall we stab him as he sleeps ?
1 Murd. No ; he'll say, 'twas done cowardly,
when he wakes.
2 Murd. When he wakes ! why, fool, he shall
never wake until the great judgment day.
1 Murd. Why, then he'll say, we stabb'd him
sleeping.
2 Murd. The urging of that word, judgment,
hath bred a kind of remorse in me.
1 Murd. What ? art thou afraid ?
2 Murd. Not to kill him, having a warrant for it ;
but to be damn'd for killing him, from the which
no warrant can defend me.
1 Murd. I thought, thou hadst been resolute.
2 Murd. So I am, to let him live.
1 Murd. I'll back to the duke of Gloster, and
tell him so.
2 Murd. Nay, I pr'ythee, stay a little : I hope,
this holy humour of mine will change ; it was wont
to hold me but while. one would tell twenty.
1 Murd. How dost thou feel thyself now ?
2 Murd. 'Faith some certain dregs of conscience
are yet within me.
1 Murd. Remember our reward, when the deed's
done.
2 Murd. Come, he dies ; I had forgot the reward.
1 Murd. Where's thy conscience now ?
2 Murd. In the duke of Gloster's purse.
1 Murd. So when he opens his purse to give us
our reward, thy conscience flies out.
2 Murd. 'Tis no matter ; let it go ; there's few,
or none, will entertain it.
1 Murd. What, if it come to thee again ?
2 Murd. I'll not meddle with it, it is a dangerous
thing, it makes a man a coward; a man cannot
steal, but it accuseth him ; a man cannot swear,
but it checks him. 'Tis a blushing shame-faced
spirit, that mutinies in a man's bosom ; it fills one
full of obstacles : it made me once restore a purse
of gold, that by chance I found ; it beggars any
man that keeps it : it is turned out of all towns and
cities for a dangerous thing ; and every man, that
means to live well, endeavours to trust to himself,
and live without it.
1 Murd. 'Zounds, it is even now at my elbow,
persuading me not to kill the duke.
2 Murd. Take the devil in thy mind, and believe
him not : he would insinuate vnth thee, but to
make thee sigh.
1 Murd. I am strong-fram'd, he cannot prevail
with me.
2 Murd. Spoke like a tall 9 fellow, that respects
his reputation. Come, shall we fall to work ?
1 Murd. Take him over the costard ' with the
9 Brave ' Head.
hilts of thy sword, and then throw him into the
malmsey-butt, in the next room.
2 Murd. O excellent device ! and make a sop
of him.
1 Murd. Soft ! he wakes.
2 Murd. Strike.
1 Murd. No, we'll reason with him.
Clar. Where art thou, keeper? give me a cup
of wine.
1 Murd. You shall have wine enough, my lord,
anon.
Clar. In God's name, what art thou ?
1 Murd. A man, as you are.
Clar. But not, as I am, royal.
1 Murd. Nor you, as we are, loyal.
Clar. Thy voice is thunder, but thy looks are
humble.
1 Murd. My voice is now the king's, my looks
mine own.
Clar. How darkly, and how deadly dost thou
speak !
Your eyes do menace me : Why look you pale ?
Who sent you hither ? Wherefore do you come ?
Both Murd. To, to, to,
Clar. To murder me ?
Both Murd. Ay, ay.
Clar. You scarcely have the hearts to tell me so,
And therefore cannot have the hearts to do it.
Wherein, my friends, have I offended you ?
1 Murd. Offended us you have not, but the king.
Clar. I shall be reconcil'd to him again.
2 Murd. Never, my lord ; therefore prepare to die.
Clar. Are you call'd forth from out a world of men,
To slay the innocent ? What is my offence ?
Where is the evidence that doth accuse me ?
What lawful quest '2 have given their verdict up
Unto the frowning judge ? or who pronounc'd
The bitter sentence of poor Clarence' death ?
Before I be convict by course of law.
To threaten me with death is most unlawful.
I charge you, as you hope for any goodness,
By Christ's dear blood shed for our grievous sins
That you depart, and lay no hands on me ;
The deed you undertake is damnable.
1 Murd. What we will do, we do upon command.
2 Murd. And he, that hath commanded, isour king.
Clar. Erroneous vassal ! the great King of kings
Hath in the table of his law commanded.
That thou shalt do no murder : Wilt thou then
Spurn at His edict, and fulfil a man's?
Take heed ; for he holds vengeance in his hand.
To hurl upon their heads that break his law.
2 Murd. And that same vengeance doth he hurl
on thee.
For false forswearing, and for murder too :
Thou didst receive the sacrament, to fight
In quarrel 3 of the house of Lancaster.
1 Murd. And like a traitor to the name of God,
Didst break that vow ; and, with thy treacherous
blade,
Unrip'dst the bowels of thy sovereign's son.
2 Murd. Whom thou wast sworn to cherish and
defend.
1 Murd. How canst thou urge God's dreadful law
to us.
When thou hast broke it in such dear degree ?
Clar. Alas ! for whose sake did I that ill deed ?
For Edward, for my brother, for his sake :
He sends you not to murder me for this ;
3 Inquest, jury. ^ On the part
Act II. Scene I.
KING RICHARD III.
543
For in that sin he is as deep as I.
If God will be avenged for the deed,
O, know you, that he doth it publickly ;
Take not the quarrel from his powerful arm ;
He needs no indirect nor lawless course,
To cut off those that have offended him.
1 Murd. Who made thee tlien a bloody minister.
When gallant-springing, brave Plantagenet,
That princely novice, was struck dead by thee ?
Ctar. My brother's love, the devil, and my rage.
1 Murd. Thy brother's love, our duty, and thy
fault,
Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.
Clar. If you do love my brother, hate not me ;
I am his brother, and I love him well.
If you are hir'd for meed *, go back again.
And I will send you to my brother Gloster;
Wlio shall reward you better for my life.
Than Edward will for tidings of my death.
2 Murd. You are deceiv'd, your brother Gloster
hates you.
Clar. O, no ; he loves me, and he holds me dear :
Go you to him from me.
Both Murd. Ay, so we will.
Clar. Tell him, when that our princely father York
Bless'd his three sons with his victorious arm,
And charg'd us from his soul to love each other.
He little thought of this divided friendship :
Bid Gloster think on this, and he will weep.
1 Murd. Ay, mill-stones ; as he lesson'd us to weep.
Clar. O, do not slander him, for he is kind.
1 Murd. Right, as snow in harvest. — Come, you
deceive yourself;
'Tis he that sends us to destroy you here.
Clar. It cannot be ; for he bewept my fortune,
And hugg'd me in his arms, and swore, with sobs,
'i'hat he would labour my delivery.
1 Murd. Why, so he doth, when he delivers you
From this earth's thraldom to the joys of heaven.
2 Murd. Make peace with God, for you must die,
my lord.
Clar, Hast thou that holy feeling in thy soul,
To counsel me to make my peace with God,
And art thou yet to thy own soul so blind.
That thou wilt war wiUi God, by murd'ring me ?
Ah, sirs, consider, he that set you on
To do tliis deed, will hate you for the deed.
2 Murd. What shall we do ?
Clar. Relent, and save your souls.
1 Murd. Relent ! 'tis cowardly, and womanish.
Clar. Not to relent, is beastly, savage, devilish. —
Which of you, if you were a prince's son.
Being pent * from liberty, as I am now, —
If two such murderers as yourselves came to you, — ■
Would not entreat for life ? —
My friend, I spy some pity in thy looks ;
O, if thine eye be not a flatterer.
Come thou on my side, and entreat for me.
As you would beg, were you in my distress,
A begging prince what beggar pities not ?
2 Murd. Look behind you, my lord.
1 Murd. Take that, and that ; if all this will not
do, [Stabs him.
I'll drown you in the malmsey-butt within.
[Exit with the body.
2 Murd. A bloody deed, and desperately de-
spatch'd !
How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands
Of this most grievous guilty murder done !
Re-enter Jir St Murderer.
1 Murd. How now ? what mean'st thou, that thou
help'st me not ?
By heaven, the duke shall know how slack you have
been.
2 Murd. I would he knew, that I had sav'd his
brother !
Take thou the fee, and tell him what I say ;
For I repent me that the duke is slain. [Exit.
1 Murd. So do not I : go, coward, as thou art. —
Well, I'll go hide the body in some hole.
Till that the duke give order for his burial :
And when I have my meed, I will away ;
For this will out, and then I must not stay. [ExU.
ACT II.
SCENE I. — A Room in the Palace.
Enter Kino Edward (led in sick), Queen Eliza-
beth, Dorset, Rivers, Hastings, Buckingham,
Gret, and others.
K. Ediv. Why, so : — now have I done a good
day's work ; —
You peers continue this united league :
I every day expect an embassage
From my Redeemer to redeem me hence ;
And more in peace my soul shall part to heaven.
Since I have made my friends at peace on earth.
Rivers, and Hastings, take each other's hand ;
Dissemble not your hatred, swear your love.
Rith By heaven, my soul is purg'd from grudging
hate !
And witli my hand I seal my true heart's love.
Hast. So thrive I, as I truly swear the like !
if. Edw. Take heed, you dally not before your
king;
Lest he, that is the supreme King of kiugs,
* Ucward.
Confound your hidden falsehood, and award
Either of you to be the other's end.
Hast. So prosper I, as I swear perfect love !
Riv. And I, as I love Hastings with my heart !
IT. Edw. Madam, yourself are not exempt in this, —
Nor your son Dorset, — Buckingham, nor you ; —
You have been factious one against the other.
Wife, love lord Hastings, let him kiss your hand ;
And what you do, do it unfeignedly.
Q. Eliz. There, Hastings ; — I will never more
remember
Our former hatred ; So thrive I, and mine !
X. Edw. Dorset, embrace him, — Hastings, love
lord marquis.
Dor. This interchange of love, I here protest.
Upon my part shall be inviolable.
Hast. And so swear I. [Embraces Dorset.
X. Edw. Now, princely Buckingham, seal thou
this league.
With thy embracements to my wife's allies,
And make me happy in your unity.
> Shut up.
54-4
KING RICHARD III.
Act II.
Buck. Whenever Buckingham doth turn his hate
Upon your grace, [To tlie Queen.] but with all
duteous love
Doth cherish you, and yours, Heaven punish me
With hate in those where I expect most love !
When I have most need to employ a friend,
And most assured that he is a friend,
Deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile,
Be he unto me ! this do 1 beg of heaven.
When I am cold in love, to you or yours.
[Embracing Rivers, ^c.
JT. HdW' A pleasing cordial, princely Bucking-
ham,
Is this thy vow unto my sickly heart.
There wanteth now our brother Gloster here,
To make the blessed period of this peace.
£uck. And, in good time, here comes the noble
duke.
Enter Gloster.
Glo. Good morrow to my sovereign king, and
queen ;
And, princely peers, a happy time of day !
jr. Edw. Happy, indeed, as we have spent the
day : —
Brother, we have done deeds of charity ;
Made peace of enmity, fair love of hate.
Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers.
Glo. A blessed labour, my most sovereign liege. —
Among this princely heap, if any here.
By false intelligence, or wrong surmise.
Hold me a foe ;
If I unwittingly, or in my rage,
Have aught committed that is hardly borne
By any in this presence, I desire
To reconcile me to his friendly peace :
'Tis death to me, to be at enmity ;
I hate it, and desire all good men's love. ^
First, madam, I entreat true peace of you.
Which I will purchase with my duteous service ; —
Of you, my noble cousin Buckingham,
If ever any grudge were lodg'd between us ;
Of you, lord Rivers, — and lord Grey, of you,
1'hat all without desert have frown'd on me ; —
Dukes, earls, lords, gentlemen ; indeed, of all.
I do not know that Englishman alive,
With whom my soul is any jot at odds.
More than the infant that is born to-night ;
I tliank my God for my humility.
Q. Eliz. A holy-day shall this be kept here-
after : —
I would to heaven all strifes were well com-
pounded. —
My sovereign lord, I do beseech your highness
To take our brother Clarence to your grace.
Glo. Why, madam, have I ofFer'd love for this,
To be so flouted in this royal presence ?
Who knows not, that the gentle duke is dead ?
[Thej/ all start.
You do him injury to scorn his corse.
IT. Edw. Who Knows not he is dead ! who knows
he is?
Q. Eliz. All-seeing heaven, what a world is this
Buck. Look I so pale, lord Dorset as the rest ?
Dor. Ay, my good lord ; and no man in the pre-
sence.
But his red colour hath forsook his cheeks.
iT. Edw. Is Clarence dead ? the order was re-
vers'd.
Glo. But he, poor man, by your first order died.
And that a winged Mercury did bear ;
Some tardy cripple bore the countermand.
That came too lag to see him buried : —
Heaven grant, that some, less noble, and less loyal,
Nearer in bloody thoughts, and not in blood.
Deserve not worse than wretched Clarence did,
And yet go current from suspicion !
Enter Stanley.
Stan. A boon, my sovereign, for my service done.
iT. Edw. I pr'ythee, peace ; my soul is full of
sorrow.
Stan. I will not rise, unless your highness hear me.
IT. Edw. Then say at once, what is it thou re-
quest'st.
Stan. The forfeit, sovereign, of my servant's life;
Who slew to-day a riotous gentleman.
Lately attendant on the duke of Norfolk.
IT. Edw. Have I a tongue to doom my brother's
death.
And shall that tongue give pardon to a slave ?
My brother kill'd no man, his fault was thought.
And yet his punishment was bitter death.
Who sued to me for him ? who, in my wrath,
Kneel'd at my feet, and bade me be advis'd ?
Who spoke of brotherhood ? who spoke of love ?
Who told me, how the poor soul did forsake
The mighty Warwick, and did fight for me ?
Who told me, in the field of Tewksbury,
When Oxford had me down, he rescued me.
And said, Dear brother, live, and be a king F
Who told me, when we both lay in the field.
Frozen almost to death, how he did lap me
Even in his garments ; and did give himself,
All thin and naked, to the numb-cold night ?
All this from my remembrance brutish wrath
Sinfully pluck'd, and not a man of you
Had so much grace to put it in my mind.
But when your carters or your waiting-vassals.
Have done a drunken slaughter, and defac'd
The precious image of our dear Redeemer,
You straight are on your knees for pardon, pardon ;
And I, unjustly too, must grant it you . —
But for my brother, not a man would speak, —
Nor I (ungracious) speak unto myself
For him, poor soul. — The proudest of you all
Have been beholden to him in his life ;
Yet none of you would once plead for his life. —
O God ! I fear thy justice will take hold
On me, and you, and mine, and yours, for this. — •
Come, Hastings, help me to my closet. O,
Poor Clarence !
[Exeunt King, Queen, Hastings, Rivers,
Dorset, and Grey.
Glo. This is the fruit of rashness ! — Mark'd you
not.
How that the guilty kindred of the queen
Look'd pale, when they did hear of Clarence' death ?
O ! they did urge it still unto the king ;
Heaven will revenge it. Come, lords ; will you go.
To comfort Edward with our company ?
Buck. We wait upon your grace. [Exeunt.
SCENE IL — The same.
Enter tlu Duchess of York, with a Son and
Daughter of Clarence.
Son. Good grandam, tell us, is our father dead ?
Duch. No, boy.
Daugh. Why do you so weep soft ? and beat your
breast ;
And cry — 0 Clarence, mi/ unhappy son /
Scene 11.
KING RICHARD III.
545
Son. Why do you look on us, and shake your head^
And call us — orphans, wretches, cast-aways,
If that our noble father be alive ?
Duck. My pretty cousins you mistake me both.
I do lament the sickness of the king,
As loath to lose him, not your father's death ;
It were lost soitow, to wail one that's lost.
Son. Then, grandam, you conclude that he is dead.
The king my uncle is to blame for this.
Duck. Peace, children, peace ! the king doth love
you well:
Incapable ^ and shallow innocents,
You cannot guess who caus'd your father's death.
Son. Grandam, we can : for my good uncle Gloster
Told me, the king, provok'd to't by the queen,
Devis'd impeachments to imprison him :
And when my uncle told me so, he wept,
And pitied me, and kindly kiss'd my cheek ;
Bade me rely on him, as on my father,
And he would love me dearly as his child.
Duck. Ah, tliat deceit should steal such gentle
shapes
And with a virtuous visor hide deep vice !
He is my son, ay, and therein my shame,
Yet from my breast he drew not this deceit.
Son. Think you, my uncle did dissemble, gran-
dam ?
Dnch. Ay, boy.
Son. I cannot think it. Hark ! what noise is this?
Enter Queen Elizabeth, distractedly; Rivers
and Dorset, following her.
Q. Eliz. Ah ! who shall hinder me to wail and
weep?
To chide my fortune, and torment myself?
I'll join with black despair against my soul,
And to myself become an enemy.
Duch. What means this scene of rude impatience?
Q. Eliz. To make an act of tragick violence : —
Edward, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead.
Why grow the branches, when the root is gone ?
Why wither not the leaves, that want their sap ? —
If you will live, lament ; if die, be brief ;
That our swift- winged souls may catch the king's;
Or, like obedient subjects, follow him
To his new kingdom of perpetual rest.
Duck. Ah, so much interest have I in thy sorrow.
As I had title in thy noble husband !
I have bewept a worthy husband's death.
And liv'd by looking on his images :
But now two mirrors of his princely semblance
Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death ;
And I for comfort have but one false glass,
Tl)at grieves me when I see my shame in him.
Tliou art a widow ; yet thou art a mother.
And hast the comfort of thy children left thee :
But death hath snatch'd my husband from my arms.
And pluck'd two crutches from my feeble hands,
Clarence and Edward. O, what cause have I,
(Tliine being but a moiety of my grief,)
To over-go thy plaints, and drown thy cries !
Son. Ah, aunt ! you wept not for our father's
death;
How can we aid you with our kindred tears ?
Daugh. Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd,
Your widow-dolour likewise l)e unwept !
Q. Elix. Give me no help in lamentation,
I am not barren to bring forth laments :
All springs reduce their currents to mine eye^
• Ignorant
That I, being govem'd by the wat'ry moon,
May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world !
Ah, for my husband, for my dear lord Edward !
Chil. Ah, for our father, for our dear lord Cla-
rence !
Duch Alas, for both, both mine, Edward and
Clarence !
Q. Eliz. What stay had I, but Edward ? and he's
gone.
Chil. What stay had we, but Clarence ? and he's
gone.
Duch. What stays had I, but they ? and they are
gone.
Q. Etiz. Was never widow, had so dear a loss.
Chil. Were never orphans, had so dear a loss.
Duch. Was never mother, had so dear a loss.
Alas ! I am the mother of these griefs ;
Their woes are parcell'd ', mine are general.
She for an Edward weeps, and so do I ;
I for a Clarence weep, so doth not she :
These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I :
I for an Edward weep, so do not they :
Alas ! you three, on me, threefold distress'd,
Pour all your tears ; I am your sorrow's nurse.
And I will pamper it with lamentations.
Dor. Comfort, dear mother ; God is much dis-
pleas'd.
That you take with unthankfulness his doing ;
In common worldly things, 'tis called — ungrateful,
With dull unwillingness to repay a debt.
Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent ;
Much more to be thus opposite with heaven,
For it requires the royal debt it lent you.
Riv. Madam, bethink you, like a careful mother.
Of the young prince your son : send straight for him,
I^t him be crown'd ; in him your comfort lives :
Drown desperate sorrow in dead Edward's grave.
And plant your joys in living Edward's throne.
Enter Gloster, Buckingham, Stanley, Hastings,
Ratcliff, and others.
Glo. Sister, have comfort : all of us have cause
To wail the dimming of our shining star ;
But none can cure their harms by wailing them. —
Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy,
I did not see your grace : — Humbly on my knee
I crave your blessing.
Duch. God bless thee ; and put meekness in thy
breast,
Love, charity, obedience, and true duty !
Glo. Amen ; and make me die a good old man ! —
Tliat is the butt-end of a mother's blessing ; \^Asidje.
I marvel that her grace did leave it out.
Buck. You cloudy princes, and heart-sorrowing
peers.
That bear this mutual heavy load of moan.
Now cheer each other in eacli other's love :
Though we have spent our harvest of tliis king.
We are to reap the harvest of his son.
The broken rancour of your high-swoln hearts,
But lately splinted, knit, and join'd together.
Must gently be preserv'd, cherish'd, and kept:
Me scemeth good, that, with some little train.
Forthwith from Ludlow the young prince be fetch'd
Hither to London, to be crown'd our king.
Riv. Why with some little train, my lord of Buck-
ingham ?
Buck. Marry, my lord, lest by a multitude.
The new-heal'd wound of malice should break out ;
i 7 Divided.
N u
54<6
KING RICHARD III.
Act II.
Which would be so much the more dangerous,
By how much the estate is green, and yet ungovern'd :
Wliere every horse l)cars his commanding rein,
And may direct his course as please himself,
As well the fear of harm, as harm apparent.
In my opinion, ought to be prevented.
Glo. I hope, the king made peace with all of us ;
And the compact is firm, and true, in me.
Rlv. And so in me ; and so, I think, in all :
Yet, since it is but green, it should be put
To no apparent likelihood of breach,
Which, haply, by much company might be urg'd :
Therefore I say, with noble Buckingham,
That it is meet so few should fetch the prince.
Hast. And so say I.
Glo. Then be it so ; and go we to determine
Who they shall be that straight shall post to Ludlow.
Madam, — and you my mother, — will you go
To give your censures 8 in this weighty business ?
[Exeunt all but Buckingham and Gloster.
liuck. My lord, whoever journeys to the prince,
For heaven's sake, let not us two stay at home :
For, by the way, I'll sort occasion.
As index 9 to the story we late talk'd of,
To part the queen's proud kindred from the prince.
Glo. My other self, my counsel's consistory,
My oracle, my prophet ! — My dear cousin,
I, as a child, will go by thy direction.
Towards Ludlow then, for we'll not stay behind.
\_Exeunt.
SCENE III. — A Street.
Enter two Citizens, meeting.
1 Cit. Good morrow, neighbour : Whither away
so fast ?
2 Cit. I promise you, I scarcely know myself :
Hear you the news abroad ?
1 Cit. Yes ; the king's dead.
2 Cit. Ill news, by'r lady ; seldom comes the better ;
I fear, I fear, 'twill prove a giddy world.
Enter another Citizen.
1 Cit. Give you good morrow, sir.
3 Cit. Doth the news hold of good king Edward's
death ?
2 Cit. Ay, sir, it is too true.
3 Cit. Then, masters, look to see a troublous world.
1 Cit. No, no ; by God's good grace, his son shall
reign.
3 Cit. Woe to that land, that's govern'd by a child !
2 Cit. In him there is a hope of government ;
That in this nonage ', council under him.
And, in his full and ripen'd years, himself.
No doubt, shall then, and till then, govern well.
1 Cit. So stood the state, when Henry the Sixth
Was crown' d in Paris but at nine months old.
3 Cit. Stood the state so ? no, no, good friends,
not so ;
For then this land was famously enrich'd
With politick grave counsel ; then the king
Had virtuous uncles to protect his grace.
1 Cit. Why, so hath this, both by his father and
mother.
3 Cit. Better it were they all came by his father ;
Or, by his father, there were none at all :
For emulation now, who shall be nearest.
Will touch us all too near, if heaven prevent not.
O, full of danger is the duke of Gloster ;
8 Opinions. 9 t. e. Preparatory. i Minority.
And the queen's sons, and brothers, haught and
proud :
And were they to be rul'd, and not to rule.
This sickly land might solace as before.
1 Cit. Come, come, we fear the worst ; all will be
well.
3 Cit. When clouds are seen, wise men put on
their cloaks ;
When great leaves fall, then winter is at hand ;
When the sun sets, who doth not look for night ?
Untimely storms make men expect a dearth :
All may be well ; but, if heaven sort it so,
'Tis more than we deserve, or I expect.
2 Cit. Truly, the hearts of men are full of fear :
You cannot reason '2 almost with a man
That looks not heavily, and full of dread.
3 Cit. Before the days of change, still is it so :
By a divine instinct, men's minds mistrust
Ensuing danger ; as, by proof, we see
The water swell before a boist'rous storm.
But leave it all to heaven. Whither away ?
2 Cit. Marry, we were sent for to the justices.
3 Cit. And so was I j I'll bear you company.
\^Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — A Room in the Palace.
Enter the Archbishop of York, the young Duke op
York, Queen Elizabeth, and the Duchess of
York.
Arch. Last night, I heard, they lay at Stony-
Stratford ;
And at Northampton they do rest to-night :
To-morrow, or next day, they will be here.
Duch. I long with all my heart to see the prince ;
I hope, he is much grown since last I saw him.
Q. Eliz. But I hear no ; they say my son of York
Hath almost overta'en him in his growth.
York. Ay, mother, but I would not have it so.
Duch. Why, my young cousin? it is good to grow.
York. Grandam, one night, as we did sit at supper,
My uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow
More than my brother ; Ay, quoth my uncle Gloster,
Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace :
And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast.
Because sweet flowers are slow, and weeds make
haste.
Duch. ' Good faith, 'good faith, the saying did not
hold
In him that did object the same to thee :
He was the wretched'st thing, when he was young,
So long a growing, and so leisurely.
That, if his rule were true, he should be gracious.
Arch. And so, no doubt, he is, my gracious madam.
Duch. I hope, he is ; but yet let mothers doubt.
York. Now, by my troth, if I had been remember'd,
I could have given my uncle's grace a flout.
To touch his growth, nearer than he touch'd mine.
Duch. How, my young York ? I pr'ythee, let me
hear it.
York. Marry, they say my uncle grew so fast,
That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old ;
'Twas full two years ere I could get a tooth.
Grandam, this would have been a biting jest.
Duch. I pr'ythee, pretty York, who told you this ?
York. Grandam, his nurse.
Duch. His nurse? why, she was dead ere tliou
wast born.
York. If 'twere not she, I cannot tell who told me
2 Converse.
Act III. Scene I.
KING RICHARD III.
547
Q. Eliz. A parlous boy : Go to, you aretoo shrewd.
Arch. Good madain, be not angry with the child.
Q. Eliz. Pitchers have ears.
Enter a Messenger.
Ardi. Here comes a messenger :
What news ?
Mess. Such news, my lord,
As grieves me to unfold.
Q.. Eliz. How doth the prince ?
Mess. Well, madam, and in health.
Duch. Wliat is thy news ?
Mess. Lord Rivers, and lord Grey, are sent to
Pomfrct,
With them sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners.
Duch. Who hath committed them ?
Mess. The mighty dukes,
Gloster and Buckingham.
Q. Eliz. For what offence ?
Mess. The sum of all I can, I liave disclos'd ;
Why, or for what, the nobles were committed,
Is all unknown to me, my gracious lady.
Q. Eliz. Ah me, I see the ruin of my house !
The tiger now hath seized the gentle hind :
Insulting tyranny begins to jut
Upon the innocent and awless throne : —
Welcome destruction, blood, and massacre '.
I see, as in a map, tlie end of all.
Duch. Accursed and unquiet wrangling days !
How many of you have mine eyes beheld?
My husband lost his life to get the crown ;
And often up and down my sons were tost.
For me to joy and weep, their gain and loss :
And being seated, and domestic broils
Clean over-blown, themselves, the conquerors.
Make war upon themselves ; brother to brother.
Blood to blood, self 'gainst self: — O, preposterous
And frantick courage, end thy wicked spleen !
Or let me die, to look on deatn no more !
Q. Eliz. Come, come, my boy, we will to sanc-
tuary. —
Madam, farewell.
Duch. Stay, I will go with you.
Q. Eliz. You have no cause.
Af-ch. My gracious lady, go,
[To the QiJEKN.
And thither bear your treasure and your goods.
For my part, I'll resign unto your grace
The seal I keep ; And so betide me.
As well I tender you, and all of yours !
Come, I'll conduct you to the sanctuary. [Ercttnt.
ACT III.
SCENE l.—A Street.
The Trumpets soimd. Enter the Prince of Wai.es,
Gloster, Buckingham, Cardinal Bourchier, and
others.
Buck. Welcome, sweet prince, to London, to
your chamber.
do. Welcome, dear cousin, my thoughts' sove-
reign :
The weary way hath made you melancholy.
Prince. No, uncle ; but our crosses on the way
Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy :
1 want more uncles here to welcome me.
Glo. Sweet prince, the untainted virtue of your
years
Hath not yet div'd into the world's deceit :
No more can you distinguish of a man,
Than of his outward show ; which, heaven knows,
Seldom, or never, jumpeth with the heart.
Those uncles, which you want, were dangerous ;
Your grace attended to their sugar'd words.
But look'd not on the poison of their hearts :
Heaven keep you from them, and from such false
friends !
Prince. Heaven keep me from false friends ! but
they were none.
Glo. My lord, the mayor of London comes to
greet you.
Enter the Lord Mayor, and his Train.
May. God bless your grace with health and
happy days !
Prince. I thank you, good my lord, — and thank
you all [Exeunt Mayor, c^c.
I tliought my mother, and my brother York,
Would long ere this have met us on the way :
Fye ! what a slug is Hastings, that he comes not
To tell us, whetlier tliey will come, or no.
Enter Hastings.
Buck. And in good time, here comes the sweat-
ing lord.
Prince. Welcome, my lord ; What, will our mo-
ther Come ?
Hast. On what occasion, heaven knows, not I,
The queen your mother, and your brother York,
Have taken sanctuary : The tender prince
Would fain have come with me to meet your
grace.
But by his mother was perforce withheld.
Buck. Fye ! what an indirect and peevish course
Is this of hers ? — Lord cardinal, will your grace
Persuade the queen to send the duke of York,
Unto his princely brother presently ?
If she deny, — lord Hastings, go with him.
And from ^er jealous arms pluck him perforce.
Card. My lord of Buckingham, if my weak
oratory
Can from his mother win the duke of York,
Anon expect him here ; But if she be obdurate
To mild entreaties, God in heaven forbid
We should infringe the holy privilege
Of blessed sanctuary ! not for all this land.
Would I be guilty of so deep a sin.
Buck. You are too senseless-obstinate, my lord,
Too ceremonious, and traditional :
Weigh it but with the grossness of tliis age,
You break not sanctuary in seizing him.
The benefit thereof is always granted
To those whose dealings have deserv'd the place,
And those who have the wit to claim the place :
This prince hath neither claim'd it, nor deserv'd it.
And therefore, in mine opinion, cannot have it :
'ITien, taking him from thence, that is not there,
You break no privilege nor charter there.
Oft have I heard of sanctuary men ;
But sanctuary children, ne'er till now.
Nn 2
548
KING IIICIIARD III.
Act III.
Card. My lord, you shall o'er-rule my mind for
once. —
Come on, lord Hastings, will you go with me ?
Hast. I go, my lord.
Prince. Good lords, make all the speedy haste you
may. [Exetint Cardinal and Hastings.
Say, uncle Gloster, if our brother come,
Where shall we sojourn till our coronation ?
Glo. Where it seems best unto your royal self.
Tf 1 may counsel you, some day or two,
Your highness shall repose you at the Tower :
Then where you please, and shall be thought most fit
For your best health and recreation.
Prince. I do not like tlie Tower, of any place : —
Did Julius Caesar build that place, my lord?
Glo. He did, my gracious lord, begin that place :
Which, since, succeeding ages have re-edified.
Prince. Is it upon record ? or else reported
Successively from age to age he built it?
Puck. Upon record, my gracious lord.
Prince. But say, my lord, it were not register'd;
Methinks, the truth should live from age to age.
As 'twere retail'd to all posterity,
Even to the general all-ending day.
Glo. So wise so young, they say, do ne'er live
long. [Aside.
Prince. What say you, uncle?
Glo. I say, without characters, fame lives long.
Thus like the formal'* vice, Iniquity, "1 r ^ •/
I moralize two meanings in one word. J L * •
Prince. That Julius Caesar was a famous man ;
With what his valour did enrich his wit,
His wit set down to make his valour live :
Death makes no conquest of tliis conqueror ;
For now he lives in fame, though not in life. —
I'll tell you what, my cousin Buckingham.
Buck. What, my gracious lord ?
Prince. An if I live until I be a man,
I'll win our ancient right in France again.
Or die a soldier, as I liv'd a king.
Glo. Short summers lightly ^ have a forward
spring, [Aside.
Enter YoiiK, Hastings, and the Cardinal.
Puck. Now, in good time, here comes the duke
of York.
Prince. Richard of York ! how fares our loving
brother ?
York. Well, my dread lord ; so must I call you
now.
Prince. Ay, brother ; to our grief, as it is yours;
Too late 6 he died, that might have kept that title,
Which by his death hath lost much majesty.
Glo. How fares our cousin, noble lord of York ?
York. I thank you, gentle uncle. O, my lord.
You said, that idle weeds are fast in growth :
The prince, my brother, hath outgrown me far.
Glo. He hath, my lord.
York. And therefore is he idle ?
Glo. O, my fair cousin, I must not say so.
York. Then is he more beholden to you, than I.
Glo. He may command me, as my sovereign ;
But you have power in me as in a kinsman.
York. I pray you, uncle, then, give me this dagger.
Glo- My dagger, little cousin? with all my heart.
Prince. A beggar, brother ?
York. Of my kind uncle, that I know will give ;
And being but a toy, which is no grief to give.
"" Sensible Vice, the buffoon in the old plays.
* Commonly. 6 Lately.
Glo. A greater gift than that 1 11 give my cousin.
York. A greater gift ! O, tliat's the sword to it ?
Glo. Ay, gentle cousin, were it light enough.
York. O tlien, I see, you'll part but with light gifts;
In weightier things you'll say a beggar nay.
Glo. It is too weighty for your grace to wear.
York. I weigh it lightly, were it heavier.
Glo. What, would you have my weapon, little
lord?
Yo7-k. I would, that I might thank you as you
call me.
Glo. How?
York. Little.
Prince. My lord of York will still be cross in
talk; —
Uncle, your grace knows how to bear with him.
York. You mean, to bear me, not to bear with
me : —
Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me ;
Because that I am little, like an ape,
He thinks that you shouldbear me on yourshoulders.
Buck. With what a sharp-provided wit he reasons!
To mitigate the scorn he gives his uncle,
He prettily and aptly taunts himself:
So cunning, and so young, is wonderful.
Glo. My gracious lord, will't please you pass
along ?
Myself, and my good cousin Buckingham,
Will to your mother ; to entreat of her.
To meet you at the Tower, and welcome you.
York. What, will you go unto the Tower, my
lord?
Prince. My lord protector needs will have it so.
York. I shall not sleep in quiet at the Tower.
Glo. Why, sir, what should you fear?
York. Marry, my uncle Clarence' angry ghost ;
My grandam told me, he was murder'd there.
Prince. I fear no uncles dead.
Glo. Nor none that live, I hope.
Prince. An if they live, I hope, I need not fear.
But come, my lord, and, with a heavy heart.
Thinking on them, go I unto the Tower,
[Exeunt Prince, York, Hastings, Cardinal,
and Attendants.
Buck. Think you, my lord, this little prating York
Was not incensed 7 by his subtle mother.
To taunt and scorn you thus opprobriously ?
Glo. No doubt, do doubt ; O, 'tis a parlous boy ;
Bold, quick, ingenious, forward, capable 8 ;
He's all the mother's, from the top to toe.
Buck. Well, let them rest
Come hither, gentle Catesby ; thou art sworn
As deeply to effect what we intend,
As closely to conceal what we impart :
Thou know'st our reasons urg'd upon the way ; —
What think'st thou, is it not an easy matter
To make William lord Hastings of our mind.
For the instalment of this noble duke
In the seat royal of this famous isle ?
Cate. He for his father's sake so loves the prince,
That he will not be won to aught against him.
Buck. What think'st thou then of Stanley ? will
not he ?
Cate. He will do all in all as Hastings doth.
Buck. Well then, no more but this : Go, gentle
Catesby.
And, as it were far off, sound thou lord Hastings,
How he doth stand affected to our purpose ;
And summon him to-morrow to the Tower,
I 7 Incited. ^ Intelligent.
I
Scene U.
KING RICHARD III.
549
To sit about tlie coronation.
If tliou dost find him tractable to us,
Encourage him, and tell him all our reasons :
If he be leaden, icy, cold, unwilling.
Be thou so too ; and so break oft" the talk,
And give us notice of his inclination :
For we to-morrow hold divided 9 councils,
Whereir\ thyself shalt highly be employ'd.
Glo. Commend me to lord William : tell him,
Catesby,
His ancient knot of dangerous adversaries
To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret-castle ;
And bid my friend for joy of this good news,
Give mistress Shore one gentle kiss the more.
Buck. Good Catesby, go, effect this business
soundly.
Cate. My good lords both, with all the heed
I can.
Gio. Shall we hear from you, Catesby, ere we
sleep ?
Cate. You shall, my lord.
Glo. At Crosby-place, there shall you find us
both. [Exit Catesbt.
Buck. Njw, my lord, what shall we do, if we
perceive
Lord Hastings will not yield to our complots ?
Glo. Chop off his head, man : — somewhat we
will do : —
And, look, when I am king, claim thou of me
The earldom of Hereford, and all the movables
Whereof the king my brother was possess'd.
Buck. I'll claim that promise at your grace's hand.
Glo. And look to have it yielded with all kind-
ness.
Come, let us sup betimes ; that afterwards
We may digest our complots in some form. [Exeunt.
SCENE II Before Lord Hastings'* House.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My lord, my lord, -— [ITnocking.
Hast. [mihin.'\ Who knocks?
Mess. One from lord Stanley.
Hast. [Within.^ What is't o'clock ?
Mess. Upon the stroke of four.
Enter Hastings.
Hast. Cannot thy master sleep the tedious nights?
Mess. So it should seem by that I have to say.
First he commends him to your noble lordship.
Hast. And then, —
Mess. And then he sends you word, he dreamt
To-night the boar had rased off his helm :
Besides, he says, there are two councils held ;
And tliat may be determin'd at the one,
Which may make you and him to rue at the other.
Therefore he sends to know your lordship's plea-
sure, —
If presently, you will take horse with him,
And with all speed post with him toward the north,
To shun the danger that his soul divines.
Ilast. Go, fellow, go, return unto thy lord ;
Bid him not fear the separated councils :
His honour, and myself, are at the one ;
And, at the other, is my good friend Catesby ;
Where nothing can proceed, that toucheth us.
Whereof I shall not have intelligence.
Tell him, his fears are sliallow, wanting instance ' :
And for his dreams — I wonder, he's so fond ^
» Sei>arate. > Example. « Weak.
To trust the mockery of unquiet slumbers :
To fly the boar, before the boar pursues.
Were to incense the boar to follow us,
And make pursuit, where he did mean no chase.
Go, bid thy master rise and come to me ;
And we will both together to the Tower,
Where, he shall see, tlie boar 3 will use us kindly.
Mess. I'll go, my lord, and tell him what you say.
\_Eiit.
Enter Catesby.
Cate. Many good morrows to my noble lord !
Hast. Good morrow, Catesby j you are early
stirring :
What news, what news, in this our tottering state ?
Cate. It is a reeling world, indeed, my lord ;
And, I believe, will never stand upright,
Till Richard wear the garland of the realm.
Hast. How ! wear the garland ? dost thou mean
the crown ?
Cate. Ay, my good lord.
Hast. I'll have this crown of mine cut from my
shoulders.
Before I'll see the crown so foul misplac'd.
But canst thou guess that he doth aim at it ?
Cate. Ay, on my life; and hopes to find you forward
Upon his party, for the gain thereof;
And, thereupon, he sends you this good news, —
That, this same very day, your enemies.
The kindred of the queen, must die at Pomfret.
Hast. Indeed, I am no mourner for that news.
Because they have been still my adversaries :
But, that I'll give my voice on Richard's side,
To bar my master's heirs in true descent,
God knows, I will not do it, to the death.
Cate. God keep your lordship in that gracious
mind !
Hast. But I shall laugh at this a twelve-month
hence.
That they, who brought me in ray master's hate,
I live to look upon their tragedy.
Well, Catesby, ere a fortnight make me older,
I'll send some packing, that yet think not on't.
Cate. 'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord.
When men are unprepar'd, and look not for it.
Hast. O monstrous, monstrous! and so falls it out
With Rivers, Vaughan, Grey : and so 'twill do
With some men else, who think themselves as safe
As thou, and I ; who, as thou know'st, are dear
To princely Richard, and to Buckingham.
Cate. The princes both make high account of you, —
For they account his head upon the bridge. [Aside.
Hast. I know, they do j and I have well deserv'd it!
Enter Stanley.
Come on, come on, where is your boar-spear, man ?
Fear you the boar, and go so unprovided ?
Stan. My lord, good morrow j and good morrow,
Catesby : —
You may jest on, but, by the holy rood ♦,
I do not like these several councils, I.
Hast. My lord, I hold my life as dear as yours ;
And never, in my life, I do protest.
Was it more precious to me than 'tis now :
Think you, but that I know our state secure,
I would be so triumphant as I am ?
Stan. Tlie lords at I'omfret, when they rode from
London,
Were jocund, and suppos'd their states were sure.
I. e. Glostcr, who had a boar for his arms.
N n 3
* Cxou,
550
KING RICHARD III.
Act III.
And they, indeed, had no cause to mistrust;
Hut yet, you see, how soon the day o'er-cast.
This sudden stab of rancour I misdoubt ;
Pray Heaven, I say, I prove a needless coward !
What, shall we toward the Tower ? the day is spent.
Hast. Come, come, have with you. — Wot * you
what, my lord ?
To-day, the lords you talk of are beheaded.
Stan. They for tlieir truth, might better wear their
heads,
Than some, that have accus'd them, wear their hats.
But come, my lord, let's away.
Enter a Pursuivant.
Hast. Go on before, I'll talk with this good fellow.
[Exeunt Stanley and Catesby.
How now, sirrah, how goes the world with thee ?
Purs. The better that your lordship please to ask.
Hast. I tell thee, man, 'tis better with me now,
Than when thou met'st me last where now we meet :
Then was I going prisoner to the Tower,
By the suggestion of the queen's allies ;
But now I tell thee, (keep it to thyself,)
This day those enemies are put to death,
And I in better state than e'er I was.
Purs. Heaven hold it, to your honour's good
content !
Hast. Gramercy, fellow : There, drink that for
me. [ Throwing him his Purse.
Purs. I thank your honour. [Exit Pursuivant.
Enter a Priest.
Pr. Well met, my lord ; I am glad to see your
honour.
Hast. I thank thee, good sir John, with all my
heart.
I am in your debt for your last exercise ;
Come the next Sabbath, and I will content you.
Enter Buckingham.
Buck. What, talking with a priest, lord chamber-
lain ?
Your friends at Pomfret, they do need the priest ;
Your honour hath no shriving ^ work in hand.
Hast. 'Good faith, and when 1 met this holy man,
The men you talk of came into my mind.
What, go you toward the Tower ?
Buck. I do, my lord ; but long I cannot stay there :
I shall return before your lordship thence.
Hast. Nay, like enough, for I stay dinner there.
Puck. And supper too, although thou know'st it
not. [Aside.
Come, will you go ?
Hast. I'll wait upon your lordship. [Exeurit.
SCENE III. — Pomfret. Before the Castle.
Enter Ratcliff, wUh a Guard, conducting Rivers,
Grey, and Vaughan, to Execution.
Bat. Come, bring forth the prisoners.
Biv. Sir Richard Ratcliff let me tell thee this, —
To-day, shalt thou behold a subject die.
For truth, for duty, and for loyalty.
Grey. God keep the prince from all the pack of you !
Vangh, You live, that shall cry woe for this here-
after.
Bat. Despatch ; the limit of your lives is out.
Biv. O Pomfret, Pomfret ! O thou bloody prison.
Fatal and ominous to noble peers !
•' Know. « Confession.
Within the guilty closure of thy walls,
Richard the Second here was hack'd to death :
And, for more slander to thy dismal seat.
We give thee up our guiltless blood to drink.
Grey. Now Margaret's curse is fall'n upon our
heads.
When she exclaim'd on Hastings, you, and I,
For standing by when Richard stabb'd her son.
Biv. Then curs'd she Hastings, curs'd she Buck-
ingham,
Then curs'd she Richard ; — O, remember, God,
To hear her prayers for them, as now for us !
And for my sister, and her princely sons, —
Be satisfied, great God, with our true bloods.
Which, as thou know'st, unjustly must be spilt !
Bat. Make haste, the hour of death is expiate. 7
Biv- Come, Grey, — come, Vaughan, — let us here
embrace :
Farewell, until we meet again in heaven. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — London. A Boom in the Tower.
Buckingham, Stanley, Hastings, the Bishop of
Ely, Catesby, Lovel, and others, sitting at a
Table : Officers of the Council attending.
Hast. Now, noble peers, the cause why we are met
Is — to determine of the coronation :
In God's name speak, when is the royal day ?
Buck. Are all things ready for that royal time ?
Stan. They are ; and wants but nomination.
EIj/. To-morrow, then, I judge a happy day.
Buck. Whoknows the lord protector's mind herein ?
Who is most inward 8 with the noble duke ?
Ell/. Your grace, we think, should soonest know
his mind.
Buck.Weknow each other's faces; for our hearts, —
He knows no more of mine, than I of yours ;
Nor I, of his, my lord, than you of mine : —
Lord Hastings, you and he are near in love.
Hast. I thank his grace, I know he loves me well ;
But, for his purpose in the coronation,
I have not sounded him, nor he deliver'd
His gracious pleasure any way therein :
But you, my noble lord, may name the time ;
And in the duke's behalf I'll give my voice.
Which, I presume, he'll take in gentle part.
Enter Gloster.
Elt/. In happy time, here comes the duke himself.
Glo. My noble lords and cousins, all, good morrow:
I have been long a sleeper ; but, I trust.
My absence doth neglect no great design.
Which by my presence might have been concluded.
Buck. Had you not come upon your cue, my lord,
William lord Hastings had pronounc'd your part, —
I mean, your voice, — for crowning of the king.
Glo. Than my lord Hastings, no man might be
bolder ;
His lordship knows me well, and loves me well. —
My lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn,
I saw good strawberries in your garden there ;
I do beseech you, send for some of them.
EIj/. Marry, and will, my lord, with all my heart.
[Exit Ely.
Glo. Cousin of Buckingham, a word with you.
[Takes him aside.
Catesby hath sounded Hastings in our business j
And finds the testy gentleman so hot.
That he will lose his head, ere give consent,
^ Expiated, completed. ^ Intimate.
Scene IV.
KING RICHARD III.
551
His master's child, as worshipfully he terms it,
Shall lose the royalty of England's throne.
Buck. Withdraw yourself awhile, I'll go with you.
lExeu?it Gloster and Buckingham.
Stan. We have not yet set down this day of triumph.
To-morrow, in my judgment, is too sudden ;
For I myself am not so well provided,
As else I would be were the day prolong'd.
Re-enter Bishop of Elt.
Eti/. Where is my lord protector ? I have sent
For these strawberries.
Hast. His grace looks cheerfully and smooth this
morning ;
There's some conceit 9 or other likes him well,
When he doth bid good morrow with such spirit.
I think, there's ne'er a man in Christendom,
Can lesser hide his love, or hate, than he ;
For by his face straight shall ye know his heart
Stan. What of his heart perceive you in his face,
By any likelihood he show'd to-day ?
Hast. Marry, that with no man here he is of-
fended ;
For, were he, he had shown it in his looks.
Re-enter GtosTEa and Buckingham.
Glo. I pray you all, tell me what they deserve.
That do conspire my death with devilish plots
Of damned witchcraft j and that have prevail'd
Upon my body with their hellish charms ?
Hast. The tender love I bear your grace, my lord,
Makes me most forward in this noble presence
To doom the offenders : Whosoe'er they be,
I say, my lord, they have deserved death.
Glo. Then be your eyes the witness of their evil.
Look how I am bewitch'd ; behold mine arm
Is, like a blasted sapling, wither'd up :
And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch,
Consorted with tliat harlot, strumpet Shore,
That by their witchcraft thus have marked me.
Hast. If they have done this deed, my noble
lord, —
Glo. If! thou protector of this wanton strumpet,
Talk'st thou to me of ifs? — Thou art a traitor : —
Off with his head : — now, by saint Paul I swear,
I will not dine until I see tlie same. —
Lovel, and Catesby, look that it be done ;
The rest that love me, rise, and follow me.
[^Exeunt Council, with Gloster and
Buckingham.
Hast. Woe, woe, for England! not a whit for me ;
For I, too fond, might have prevented this :
Stanley did dream, the boar did rase his helm ;
But I disdain'd it, and did scorn to fly.
Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble.
And startled, when he look'd upon the Tower,
As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house.
O, now 1 want the priest that spake to me :
I now repent I told the pursuivant.
As too triumphing, how mine enemies
To-day at Pomfret bloodily were butcher'd.
And I myself secure in grace and favour.
O, Margaret, Margaret, now thy heavy curse
Is lighted on poor Hastings' wretched head.
Cate. Despatch, my lord, the duke would be at
dinner ;
Make a short shrift, he longs to see your head.
Hast. O momentary grace of mortal men.
Which we more hunt for than the grace of Heaven,
» Thought
Who builds his hope in air of your fair looks.
Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast ;
Ready, with every nod, to tumble down
Into the fatal bowels of the deep.
Lov. Come, come, despatch ; 'tis bootless to ex-
claim.
Hast. O, bloody Richard! — miserable England!
I prophesy the fearful'st time to thee.
That ever wretched age hath look'd upon. —
Come, lead me to the block, bear him my head ;
They smile at me, who shortly shall be dead.
\^Exeunl.
SCENE V. — The Tower IValls.
Enter Gloster and BvcKiVGHxyt, in ru^ty Armour,
marvellous ill-favour d.
Glo. Come, cousin, canst thou quake, and change
thy colour ?
Murder thy breath in middle of a word, —
And then again begin, and stop again.
As if thou wert distraught, and mad with terror ?
Ruck. Tut, I can counterfeit the deep tragedian ;
Speak, and look back, and pry on every side,
Tremble and start at wagging of a straw.
Intending ' deep suspicion : ghastly looks
Are at my service, like enforced smiles ;
And both are ready in their offices.
At any time, to grace my stratagems.
But what, is Catesby gone ?
Glo. He is ; and, see, he brings the mayor along.
Enler the Lord Mayor and Catesby.
Buck. Let me alone to entertain him. — Lord
mayor,
Glo. Look to the draw-bridge there.
Buck. Hark, liark I a drum.
Glo. Catesby, o'erlook the walls.
Buck. Lord mayor, the reason we have sent for
you,
Glo. Look back, defend thee, here are enemies.
Buck. Heaven and our innocence defend and
guard "US !
Enter Lovel and Ratcliff, with Hastings's Head.
Glo. Be patient, they are friends ; Ratcliff, and
Lovel.
Lov. Here is the head of that ignoble traitor.
The dangerous and unsuspected Hastings.
Glo. So dear 1 lov'd the man, that I must weep.
I took him for the plainest harmless't creature.
That breath'd upon the earth a Christian ;
Made him my book, wherein my soul recorded
The history of all her secret thoughts :
So smooth he daub'd his vice with show of virtue.
That, his apparent open guilt omitted, —
I mean, his conversation with Shore's wife, —
He liv'd from all attainder of suspect
Buck. Well, well, he was tlie covert'st shelter 'd
ti-aitor
That ever liv'd. — Look you, my lord mayor.
Would you imagine, or almost l)elieve,
(Wer't not, that by great preservation
We live to tell it you,) the subtle traitor
TIjis day had plotted in the council-house
To murder me, and my good lord of Gloster ?
May. What ! had he so ?
Glo. Wliat ! tliink you we are Turks, or infidels?
Or that we would, against the form of law,
• Pretending.
N n 4
552
KING RICHARD III.
Act 111.
Proceed thus rashly in the villain's death j
But that the extreme peril of the case,
The peace of England, and our persons* safety,
Enforc'd us to this execution ?
May. Now, fair befall you ! he deserv'd his death ;
And your good graces both have well proceeded,
To warn false traitors from the like attempts.
I never look'd for better at his hands,
After he once fell in with mistress Shore.
Buck. Yet had we not determin'd he should die,
Until your lordship came to see his end ;
Which now the loving haste of these our friends,
Somewhat against our meaning, hath prevented :
Because, my loi:dj we would have had you heard
The traitor speak, and timorously confess
The manner and the purpose of his treasons ;
That you might well have signified the same
Unto the citizens, who, haply, may
Misconstrue us in him, and wail his death.
May. But, my good lord, your grace's word shall
serve.
As well as I had seen, and heard him speak :
And do not doubt, right noble princes both,
But I'll acquaint our duteous citi^ns
With all your just proceedings in this case.
Glo. And to that end we wish'd your lordship here.
To avoid the censures of the carping world.
Buck. But since you came too late of our intent,
Yet witness what you hear we did intend ;
And so, my good lord mayor, we bid farewell.
{Exit Lord Mayor.
Glo. Go after, after, cousin Buckingham.
The mayor towards Guildhall hies him in all post : —
There, at your meetest vantage of the time,
Infer the bastardy of Edward's children :
Tell them, how Edward put to death a citizen.
Only for saying — he would make his son
Heir to the crown ; meaning, indeed, his house.
Which, by the sign thereof, was termed so.
Moreover, urge his hateful luxury,
And restless appetite in change of lust ;
Which stretch'd unto their servants, daughters, wives.
Even where his raging eye, or savage heart,
Witliout controul, listed to make his prey.
Nay, for a need, thus far come near my person : —
Tell them, when that my mother went with child
Of that insatiate Edward, noble York,
My princely father, then had wars in France ;
And, by just computation of the time.
Found, that the issue was not his begot ;
Which well appeared in his lineaments.
Being nothing like the noble duke my father :
Yet touch this sparingly, as 'twere far off;
Because, my lord, you know, my mother lives.
Buck. Doubt not, my lord ; I'll play the orator,
As if the golden fee, for which I plead,
Were for myself: and so, my lord, adieu.
Glo. If you thrive well, bring them to Baynard's
castle ;
Where you shall find me well accompanied.
With reverend fathers, and well-learned bishops.
Buck. I go ; and, towards three or four o'clock,
Ivook for the news that the Guildhall affords.
\^ExU Buckingham.
do. Go, Lovel, with all speed to doctor Shaw, —
Go thou [ To Cat. ] to friar Penker ; — bid them both
Meet me, within this hour, at Baynard's castle.
[Exeunt Lovel and Catesby.
Now will I in, to take some privy order
To draw the brats of Clarence out of sight ;
And to give notice, that no manner of person
Have, any time, recourse unto the princes. \^Exit.
SCENE VL — ^5'*ree^
Enter a Scrivener.
Scriv. Here is the indictment of the good lord
Hastings ;
Which in a set hand fairly is engross'd,
That it may be to-day read o'er in Paul's.
And mark how well the sequel hangs together : —
Eleven hours I have spent to write it over.
For yesternight by Catesby was it sent me ;
The precedent^ was full as long a doing:
And yet within these five hours Hastings liv'd.
Untainted, unexamined, free, at liberty.
Here's a good world the while ! — Who is so gross.
That cannot see this palpable device ?
Yet who so bold, but says — he sees it not ?
Bad is the world ; and all will come to nought.
When such bad dealing must be seen in thought.
lExit.
SCENE VII. — Court of Baynard's Castle.
Enter Gloster and Buckingham, meeting,
Glo. How now, how now? what say the citizens?
Buck. The citizens are mum, say not a word.
Glo. Touch'd you the bastardy of Edward's chil-
dren?
Buck. I did ; with his contract with lady Lucy,
And his contract by deputy in France :
The insatiate greediness of his desires.
And his enforcement of the city wives ;
His tyranny for trifles ; his own bastardy, —
As being got, your father then in France ;
And his resemblance, being not like the duke.
Withal, I did infer your lineaments, —
Being the right idea of your father.
Both in your form and nobleness of mind :
Laid open all your victories in Scotland,
Your discipline in war, wisdom in peace.
Your bounty, virtue, fair humility ;
Indeed, left nothing, fitting for your purpose,
Untouch'd, or slightly handled, in discourse.
And, when my oratory grew to an end,
I bade them, that did love their coimtry's good.
Cry — God save Richard, England's royal king !
Glo. And did they so?
Buck. No, so Heaven help me, they spake not a
word;
But like dumb statues, or breathless stones,
Star'd on each other, and look'd deadly pale.
Which when I saw I reprehended them ;
And ask'd the mayor, what meant this wilful silence :
His answer was, — the people were not us'd
To be spoke to, but by the recorder.
Then he was urg'd to tell my tale again :
77ms saith the duke, thus hath the duke in/err d ;
But nothing spoke in warrant from himself.
When he had done, some followers of mine own.
At lower end o'the hall, hurl'd up their caps.
And some ten voices cried, God save king Richard !
And thus I took the vantage of those few, —
Thanks, gentle citizens, and friends, quoth I ;
This general applause, and cheerful shout,
Argues your wisdom, and your love to Richard :
And even here brake off and came away.
Glo. What tongueless blocks were they ; Would
they not speak ?
Will not the mayor then, and his brethen, come ?
2 Original draft
Scene VII.
KING RICHARD III.
553
Btick. The mayor is here at hand : intend 3 some
fear;
Be not you spoke with, but by mighty suit :
And look you, get a prayer-book in your hand,
And stand between two churchmen, good my lord;
For on that ground I'll make a holy descant :
And be not easily won to our requests.
Glo. I go ; and if you plead as well for them,
As I can say nay to thee for myself,
No doubt we'll bring it to a happy issue.
Buck. Go, go, up to tlie leads ; the lord mayor
knocks. [Exit Glosteb.
Enter the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, and Citizens.
Welcome, my lord ; I dance attendance here ;
I think the duke will not be spoke withal. —
Enter, from the Castle, Catesby.
Now, Catesby ! what says your lord to my request ?
Cate. He doth entreat your grace, my noble lord,
To visit him to-morrow, or next day :
He is within, with two right reverend fathers,
Divinely bent to meditation ; .
And in no worldly suit would he mov'd,
To draw him from his holy exercise.
Buck. Return, good Catesby, to the gracious duke :
Tell him, myself, the mayor and aldermen.
In deep designs, in matter of great moment,
No less importing than our general good,
Are come to have some conference with his grace.
Cate. I'll signify so much unto him straight.
{Exit.
Buck. Ah, ha, my lord, this prince is not an
Edward !
He is not lolling on a wanton bed,
But on his knees at meditation ;
Not dallying with a brace of courtezans,
But meditating with two deep divines ;
Not sleeping, to engross ^ his idle body,
But praying, to enrich his watchful soul :
Happy were England, would this virtuous prince
Take on himself the sovereignty thereof:
But, sure, I fear, we shall ne'er win him to it.
May. Marry, Heaven forbid, his grace should say
us nay !
Bvrk, I fear, he will ; Here Catesby comes
again; —
Re-enter Catesby.
XNow, Catesby, what says his grace?
Cate. He wonders to what end you have assembled
Such troops of citizens to come to him ;
His grace not being wam'd tliereof before.
He fears, my lord, you mean no good to him.
Buck. Sorry I am, my noble cousin should
SusiH'ct me, that I mean no good to him :
By heaven, we come to him in perfect love ;
And so once more return and tell his grace.
•{Exit Catesby.
When holy and devout religious men
Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence ;
So sweet is zealous contemplation.
Enter Gloster, in a Gallery above, between two
Bishojis. Catesby returns.
May. See, where his grace stands 'tween two
clergymen !
Duck. Two props of virtue for a christian prince,
To stay him from the faUI of vanity :
' Pretend. * Fatten.
And, see, a book of prayer in his hand ;
True ornaments to know a holy man. —
Famous Plantagenet, most gracious prince,
Lend favourable ear to our requests;
And pardon us the interruption
Of thy devotion, and right-christian zeal.
Glo. My lord, there needs no such apology ;
I rather do beseech you pardon me.
Who, earnest in the service of my God,
Neglect the visitation of my friends.
Bu% leaving this, what is your grace's pleasure ?
Buck. Even that, I hope, which pleaseth Heaven
above.
And all good men of this ungovem'd isle.
do. I do suspect, I have done some offence,
That seems disgracious in the city's eye ;
And that you come to reprehend my ignorance.
Buck. You have, my lord ; Would it might please
your grace.
On our entreaties to amend your fault !
Glo. Else wherefore breathe I in a christian land ?
Buck. Know, then, it is your fault, that you resign
The supreme seat, the throne majestical.
The scepter 'd office of your ancestors.
Your state of fortune, and your due of birth,
The lineal glory of your royal house.
To the corruption of a blemish'd stock :
Whilst, in the mildness of your sleepy thoughts,
(Which here we waken to our country's gooid,)
The noble isle doth want her proper limbs ;
Her face defac'd with scars of infamy.
Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants,
And almost shoulder'd ^ in the swallowing gulf
Of dark forgetfulness and deep oblivion.
Which to recure 6, we heartily solicit
Your gracious self to take on you the charge
And kingly government of this your land :
Not as protector, steward, substitute,
Or lowly factor for another's gain :
But as successively, from blood to blood,
Your right of birth, your empery 7, your own.
For this, consorted with the citizens,
Your very worshipful and loving friends.
And by their vehement instigation, ••
In this just suit come I to move your grace.
Glo. I cannot tell, if to depart in silence,
Or bitterly to speak in your reproof.
Best fitteth my degree, or your condition :
If, not to answer, — you might haply think.
Tongue-tied ambition, not replying, yielded
To bear the golden yoke of sovereignty.
Which fondly you would here impose on me ;
If to reprove you for this suit of yours.
So season'd with your faithful love to me,
Then, on the other side, I check'd my friends.
Therefore — to speak, and to avoid the first ;
And, then in speaking, not to incur the last, —
Definitively thus I answer you.
Your love deserves my tlianks ; but my desert
Unmeritable, shuns your high request.
First, if all obstacles were cut away.
And that my path were even to the crown.
As the ripe revenue and due of birth ;
Yet so much is my poverty of spirit.
So mighty, and so many my defects.
That I would rather hide me from my greatness, —
Being a bark to brook no mighty sea.
Than in my greatness covet to be hid,
And in the vapour of my glory smother'd.
> Thriut inta « Recover. ' Empire.
554,
KING RICHARD III.
Act IV,
But, Heaven be tliank'd, there is no need of me ;
(And much I need ^ to help you, if need were ;)
The royal tree hath left us royal fruit,
Which mellow'd by the stealing hours of time,
Will well become the seat of majesty.
And make, no doubt, us happy by his reign.
On him I lay what you would lay on me,
The right and fortune of his happy stars, —
Which, God defend, that I should wring from him !
Buck. My lord, this argues conscience in your
grace ;
But the respects thereof are nice 9 and trivial.
All circumstances well considered.
You say, that Edward is your brother's son ;
So say we too, but not by Edward's wife :
Foi* first he was contract to lady Lucy,
Your mother lives a witness to his vow ;
And afterwards by substitute betroth'd
To Bona, sister to the king of France.
These both put by, a poor petitioner,
A care-craz'd mother to a many sons,
A beauty-waning and distressed widow,
Even in the afternoon of her best days,
Made prize and purchase of his wanton eye,
Seduc'd the pitch and height of all his thoughts
To base declension and loath'd bigamy :
By her, in his unlawful bed, he got
This Edward, whom our manners call -^ the prince.
More bitterly could I expostulate,
Save that, for reverence to some alive,
I give a sparing limit to my tongue ;
Then, good my lord, take to your royal self
This profFer'd benefit of dignity :
If not to bless us and the land withal.
Yet to draw forth your noble ancestry
From the corruption of abusing time,
Unto a lineal true-derived course.
May. Do, good my lord; your citizens entreat you.
Buck. Refuse not, mighty lord, this profFer'd love
Cate. O make them joyful, grant their lawful suit.
Glo. Alas, why would you heap those cares on me?
I am unfit for state and majesty : —
I do beseech you, take it not amiss ;
I cannot, nor I will not, yield to you.
Buck. If you refuse it, — as in love and zeal,
Loath to depose the child, your brother's son ;
As well we know your tenderness of heart,
And gentle, kind, effeminate remorse •,
Which we have noted in you to your kindred,
And equally, indeed, to all estates, —
Yet know, whe'r you accept our suit or no.
Your brother's son shall never reign our king ;
But we will plant some other in your throne,
To the disgrace and downfall of your house.
And, in this resolution, here we leave you j
Come, citizens, we will entreat no more.
\^Exeunt Buckingham anrf Citizens.
Cate. Call them again, sweet prince, accept their
suit ;
If you deny them, all the land will rue it.
Glo. Will you enforce me to a world of cares ?
Well, call them again ; I am not made of stone.
But penetrable to your kind entreaties,
[Exit Catksbv.
Albeit against my conscience ilnd my soul. —
Re-enter Buckingham and the rest.
Cousin of Buckingham, — and sage, grave men, —
Since you will buckle fortune on my back,
To bear her burden, whe'r I will, or no,
I must have patience to endure the load :
But if black scandal, or foul-fac'd reproach,
Attend the sequel of your imposition,
Your mere enforcement shall acquittance me
From all the impure blots and stains thereof;
For Heaven best knows, and you may partly see.
How far I am from the desire of this.
May. God bless your grace ! we see it, and will
say it.
Glo. In saying so, you shall but say the truth.
Buck. Then I salute you with this royal title, —
Long live king Richard, England's worthy king !
All. Amen.
Buck. To-morrow may it please you to be crown'd?
Glo. Even when you please, since you will have
it so.
Buck. To-morrow then we will attend your grace;
And so, most joyfully, we take our leave.
Glo. Come, let us to our holv work again : — '
[2'o t/ie Bishops.
farewell, gentle friends.
l^Exc'unt,
ACT IV.
SCENE I. — Before the Tower.
Enter, on one side, Queen Elizabeth, Duchess of
York, and Marquis of Dorset; on the other,
Anne, Duchess of Gloster, leading Lady Marga-
ret Plantagenet, Clarence's young Daughter.
Duck. Who meets us here — my niece Plantagenet
Led in the hand of her kind aunt of Gloster ?
Now, for my life, she's wandering to the Tower,
On pure heart's love, to greet the tender prince. —
Daughter, well met.
Anne. Heaven give your graces both
A happy and a joyful time of day !
Q. Eliz. As much to you, good sister ! Whither
away?
Anne. No further than the Tower; and, as I guess,
8 Want ability. ^ Minute.
Upon the like devotion as yourselves.
To gratulate the gentle princes there.
Q. Eliz. Kind sister, thanks ; we'll enter all to-
gether :
Enter Brakenbury.
And, in good time, here the lieutenant comes. —
Master lieutenant, pray you, by your leave,
How doth the prince, and my young son of York ?
Brak. Right well, dear madam: By your patience,
I may not suffer you to visit them ;
The king hath strictly charg'd the contrary.
Q. Eliz. The king ! who's that ?
Brak. I mean the lord protector.
Q. Eliz. The Lord protect him from that kingly
title !
Hath he set bounds between their love, and me ?
I am their mother, who shall bar me from them ?
Pity.
m
Scene I.
KING RICHARD III.
555
Duch. I am tlieir father's motlier, I will see them.
Anne. Their aunt I am in law, in love their
mother :
Then bring me to their sights ; I'll bear thy blame,
And take thy office from thee, on thy peril.
Bnik. No, madam, no, 1 may not leave it so ;
I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me,
[Exit Brakenburv.
Enter Stanley.
Stan. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence,
And I'll salute your grace of York, as mother,
And reverend looker-on of two fair queens.
Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster.
[To the Duchess of Gloster.
There to be crowned Richard's royal queen.
Q. Eliz. Ah, cut my lace asunder !
That my pent heart may have some scope to beat,
Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news.
Atuie. Despiteful tidings ! O impleasing news !
Dor. Be of good cheer : Mother, how fares your
grace ?
Q. Eliz. O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee gone.
Death and destruction dog thee at the heels ;
Thy mother's name is ominous to children :
If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas,
And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell,
(•o, hie thee, hie thee, from this slaughter-house.
Lest thou increase the number of the dead ;
And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse, —
Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen.
Stan. Full of wise care is this your counsel,
madam : —
Take all the swift advantage of the hours ;
You shall have letters from me to my son
In your behalf, to meet you on the way:
Be not ta'en tardy by unwise delay.
Duck. O ill-dispersing wind of misery ! —
O my accursed womb, tlie bed of death ;
A cockatrice hast tliou hatch'd to the world.
Whose unavoided eye is murderous !
Stan. Come, madam, come; I in all haste was
sent.
Anne. And I with all unwillingness will go. —
O, would to heaven that the inclusive verge
Of golden metal, that must round my brow,
Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain !
Anointed let me be with deadly venom ;
And die, ere men can say — God save the queen !
Q Eliz. Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy glory ;
To feed my humour, wish thyself no harm.
Anne. No ! why ? — When he, that is my husband
now.
Came to me, as I foUow'd Henry's corse ;
Wlien scarce the blood was well wash'd from his
hands.
Which issu'd from my other angel husband.
And that dead saint which then I weeping follow'd ;
O, when, I say, I look'd on Richard's face,
Tills was my wish, — Be thou, quoth L accurs'd,
For making vie so i/oung, so old a widow/
Andy when thou wed'st, let sorrow haunt thy bed ;
And be thy wife {if any be so mad)
Afore miserable by the life qfthee^
Than thou hast made me by my dear lord's death I
\m, ere I can repeat this curse again,
Even in so short a space, my woman's heart
Grossly grew captive to his lioney words.
And prov'd the subject of mine own soul's curse :
Whicli ever since hatli held mine eyes from rest ;
For never yet one hour in his bed
Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep,
But with his timorous dreams was still awak'd.
Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick ;
And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.
Q. Eliz. Poor heart, adieu ; 1 pity thy complaining.
Anne. No more tlian with my soul I mourn for
yours.
Dor. Farewell, thou woful welcomer of glory !
Anne. Adieu, poor soul, that tak'st thy leave of it !
Duch. Go thou to Richmond, and good fortune
guide thee ! — [To Dorset.
Go thou to Richard, and good angels tend thee ! —
[To Anne,
Go thou to sanctuary, and good thoughts possess
thee ! — [To Q,. Elizabeth.
I to my grave, where peace and rest lie with me !
Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen,
And each hour's joy wreck 'd witli a week of leen. ^
Q. Eliz. Stay yet : look back, with me, unto the
Tower. —
Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes,
Whom envy hath immur'd within your walls!
Rough cradle for such little pretty ones !
Rude ragged nurse ! old sullen play-fellow
For tender princes, use my babies well !
So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.— A Room of State in the Palace.
Flourish of Trumpets. Richard, as Xing, upon his
Throne; Buckingham, Catesby, a Page, and
others.
K. Rich. Stand all apart. — Cousin of Bucking^
ham,
Buck. My gracious sovereign.
K. Rich. Give me thy hand. Thus high, by thy
advice,
And thy assistance, is king Richard seated : —
But shall we wear these glories for a day ?
Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them ?
Buck. Still live they, and for ever let them last !
K. Rich. Ah, Buckingham, now do I play tlie
touch 3,
To try if thou be current jrold, indeed : —
Young Edward lives ; — Think i^uw what I would
speak.
Buck. Say on, my loving lord.
K. TiicA. Why, Buckingham, I say, I would be king.
Buck. Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned liege.
K. Rich. Ha! am I king? 'Tis so: but Edward
lives.
Buck. True, noble prince.
A'. Rich. O bitter consequence.
That Edward still should live, — true, noble prince ! —
Cousin, thou wast not wont to be so dull :
Shall I be plain ? I wish the bastards dead ;
And I would have it suddenly perform'd.
What say'st thou now? speak suddenly, be brief.
Buck. Your grace may do your pleasure,
IT. Rich. Tut, tut, thou art all ice, tliy kindness
freezes :
Say, have I thy consent, that they shall die ?
Buck. Give me some breath, some little pause,
dear lord.
Before I positively speak in this :
I will resolve your grace immediately,
[Exit Buckingham.
Cate. The king is angry ; see, lie gnaws his lip.
[Aside.
' Sorrow ' Touchstone.
556
KING RICHARD III.
Act IV.
JT. Rkh. I will converse with iron-witted fools,
[Descends from his Throne.
And unrespcctive '♦ boys : none are for me,
That look into me with considerate eyes ;
High-reacliing Buckingham grows circumspect.
Boy,
Page. My lord.
JT. Rich. Know'st thou not any, whom corrupting
gold
Would tempt unto a close exploit ^ of death ?
Page. I know a discontented gentleman,
Whose humble means match not his haughty mind :
Gold were as good as twenty orators,
And will, no doubt, tempt him to any thing.
JT. Rich. What is his name ?
Page. His name, my lord, is — Tyrrel.
A". Rich. I partly know the man ; Go, call him
hither, boy. [JExit Page.
The deep-revolving witty 6 Buckingham
No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels :
Hatli he so long held out with me untir'd,
And stops he now for breath ? — well, be it so. —
Enter Stanley.
How now, lord Stanley ? what's the news ?
Stan. Know, my loving lord,
The marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled
To Richmond, in the parts where he abides.
JT. Rich. Come hither, Catesby : rumour it abroad,
That Anne, my wife, is very grievous sick ;
I will take order for her keeping close.
Inquire me out some mean-born gentleman,
Whom I will marry straight to Clarence's daughter :
The boy is foolish, and I fear not him. —
Look, how thou dream 'st ! — I say again, give out.
That Anne my queen is sick, and like to die :
About it; for it stands me much upon?,
To stop all hopes, whose growth may damage me. —
[Exii Catesby.
I must be married to my brother's daughter.
Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass :
Murder her brothers, and then marry her !
Uncertain way of gain ! But 1 am in
So far in blood, that sin will pluck on sin.
Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye. —
Re-enter Page, with Tyrrei,.
Is thy name Tyrrel ?
Tyr. James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject.
K. Rich. Art thou, indeed ?
Ti/r. Prove me, my gracious lord.
JT. Rich. Dar'st thou resolve to kill a friend of
mine?
Tyr. Please you ; but I had rather kill two ene-
mies.
JT. Rich. Why, then thou hast it ; two deep ene-
mies !
Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers,
Are they that I would have thee deal 8 upon ;
Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower.
Tyr. Let me have open means to come to them,
And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them.
JC. Rich. Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come
hither, Tyrrel ;
Go, by this token : — Rise, and lend thine ear :
[ Whispers.
There is no more but so : — Say, it is done.
And I will love thee, and prefer thee for it.
Tyr. I will despatch it straight. [Exit.
* Inconsiderate. * Secret act. ^ Cunning.
7 It is of great consequence to my designs. ^ Acu
Re-enter Buckingham.
Buck. My lord, I have considered in my mind
The late demand that you did sound me in.
A". Rich. Well, let that rest. Dorset is fled to
Richmond.
Ruck. I hear the news, my lord.
K. Rich. Stanley, he is your wife's son : — Well,
look to it.
Buck. My lord, I claim the gift, my due by
promise.
For which your honour and your faith is pawn'd ;
The earldom of Hereford, and the movables.
Which you have promised I shall possess.
A". Rich. Stanley, look to your wife ; if she convey
Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it.
Buck. What says your highness to my just re-
quest ?
JT. Rich. I do remember me, — Henry the sixth
Did prophecy, that Richmond should be king,
When Richmond was a little peevish 9 boy.
A king ! — perhaps
Buck. My lord,
IT. Rich. How chance, the prophet could not at
that time,
Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him ?
Buck. My lord, your promise for the earldom, —
jr. Rich. Richmond ! — When last I was at
Exeter,
Tlie mayor in courtesy show'd me the castle,
And call'd it — Rouge-mont: at which name, I
started ;
Because a bard of Ireland told me once,
I should not live long after I saw Richmond.
Buck. My lord,
Ai Rich. Ay, what's o'clock ?
Buck. I am thus bold
To put your grace in mind of what you promis'd me.
JT. Rich. Well, but what is't o'clock ?
Buck. Upon the stroke
Of ten.
IT. Rich. Well, let it strike.
Buck. Why, let it strike ?,
IT. Rich. Because that, like a Jack ', thou keep'fet
the stroke
Betwixt thy begging and my meditation.
I am not in the giving vein to-day.
Buck. Why, then resolve me whe'r you will, or no.
IT. Rich. Thou troublest me ; I am not in the vein.
[Exeunt King Richard and Train.
Buck. And is it thus ? repays he my deep service
With such contempt ? made I him king for this ?
O, let me think on Hastings ; and begone
To Brecknock % while my fearful head is on. [Exit.
SCENE 111. — The same.
Enter Tyrrel.
Tyr. The tyrannous and bloody act is done j
The most arch deed of piteous massacre.
That ever yet this land was guilty of.
Dighton and Forrest, whom I did suborn
To do this piece of ruthless butchery.
Albeit they were flesh'd villains, bloody dogs,
Melting with tenderness and mild compassion.
Wept like two children, in their death's sad story.
0 thus, quoth Dighton, lay the gentle babes, —
9 Foolish.
' A Jack of the clock-house is an image like those at St..
Dunstan's church in Fleet-street, and was then a commoii
appendage to clocks.
•^ His castle in Wales.
Scene IV.
KING RICHARD III.
557
Thiis, thus, quoth Forrest, girdling one another,
Within their alabaster innocent arms :
Their lips were four red roses on a stafk,
Which in their summer beautt/ kiss\l each other,
A hook of prayers on their pi/loio lay.
Which once, quoth Forrest, almost changd mxj mind.
But, 0, the devil — there the villain stopp'd ;
When Dighton tlms told on, — we smothered
The vutst replenished sweet toork (f nature,
That, from the prime creation, e'er shefrarnd. —
Hence both are gone with conscience and remorse,
Tluy could not speak ; and so I left them both,
To bear these tidings to the bloody king.
Enter Kino Richard.
And here he comes : — all health, my sovereign lord !
A". Rich. Kind Tyrrel ! am I happy in thy news ?
Ti/r. If to have done the thing you gave in charge
Beget your happiness, be happy then,
For it is done.
A". Rich. But didst thou see them dead ?
Ti/r. I did, my lord.
A\ Rich. And buried, gentle Tyrrel ?
Ti/r. The chaplain of the Tower hath buried
them ;
But where, to say the truth, I do not know.
Jl. Rich. Come to me, Tyrrel, soon, at after supper,
When thou shalt tell the process of their death.
Mean time, but think how I may do thee good,
And be inheritor of tliy desire.
Farewell, till then.
Tyr. I humbly take my leave. [Exit.
A'. Rich. The son of Clarence have I penn'd up
close;
His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage ;
The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom,
And Anne my wife hath bid the world good night.
Now, for I know the Bretagne 3 Richmond aims
At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter,
And, by that knot, looks proudly on the crown,
,To her go I, a jolly thriving woer.
Enter Catesby.
Cate. My lord, —
A". Rich. Good news, or bad, that thou com'st in
so bluntly ?
Cate. Bad news, my lord: Morton 4 is fled to
Richmond ;
And Buckingham, back'd with the hardy Welshmen,
Is in the field, and still his power increaseth.
JT. Rich. Ely with Richmond troubles me more
near,
Tlian Buckingham and his rash-levied strength.
Come, — I have learn 'd, that fearful commenting
Is leaden servitor to dull delay ;
Delay leads impotent and snail-pac'd beggary -.
Then fiery expedition be my wing,
Jove's Mercury, and herald for a king !
Go, muster men : My counsel is my shield ;
We must be brief, when traitors brave the field.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — JBe/ore the Palace.
Enter Queen Makoaret.
Q. Mar. So, now prosperity begins to mellow,
And drop into tl>e rotten mouth of deatli.
Here in these confines slily have I lurk'd,
=* The country in which Richmond had taken rcAigc.
* Bishop of Ely. *
To watch the waning of mine enemies.
A dire induction am I witness to.
And will to France ; hoping the consequence
Will prove as bitter, black, and tragical.
Withdraw thee, wretched Margaret ! who comes
here?
Enter Queen Elizabeth and the Duchess of
York.
Q. Eliz. Ah, my poor princes ! ah, my tender
babes !
My unblown flowers, new-appearing sweets !
If yet your gentle souls fly in the air.
And be not fix'd in doom perpetual.
Hover about me with your airy wings,
And hear your mother's lamentation !
Q. Mar. Hover about her ; say, that right for right
Hath dimm'd your infant morn to aged night.
Duch. So many miseries have craz'd my voice,
That my woe-wearied tongue is still and mute, —
Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead ?
Q. Mar. Plantagenet doth quit Plantagenet.
Edward for Edward pays a dying debt.
Dv£h. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal-living
ghost.
Woe's scene, world's shame, grave's due, by life
usurp'd.
Brief abstract and record of tedious days.
Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth,
[Sitting down.
Unlawfully made drunk with innocent blood !
Q. Eliz. Ah, that thou wouldst as soon afford a
grave.
As thou canst yield a melancholy seat ;
Then would I hide my bones, not rest them here !
Ah, who hath any cause to mourn, but we ?
[Sitting down by her.
Q. Mar. If ancient sorrow be most reverent.
Give mine the benefit of seniory *,
And let my griefs frown on tlie upper hand.
If sorrow can admit society,
[Sitting down with them.
Tell o'er your woes again by viewing mine : —
I had an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him ;
I had a husband, till a Richard kill'd him :
Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him ;
Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kill'd him.
Duch. I had a Richard too, and Ihou didst kill
him ;
I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him.
Q. Mar. Thou hadst a Clarence too, and Richard
kiird him.
From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept
A hell-hound, that doth hunt us all to death :
That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes,
To worry lambs, and lap their gentle blood ;
That excellent grand tj-rant of the earth,
That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls.
Thy womb let loose, to chase us to our graves. —
O upright, just, and true-disposing God,
How do I thank thee, tliat this carnal cur
Preys on the issue of his mother's body.
And makes her pew-fellow ^ with others' m.oan !
Duch. O, Harrj-'s wife, triumph not in my woes ;
Heaven witness with me, I have wept for thine.
Q. Mar. Bear with me, I am hungry for revenge,
And now I cloy me with beholding it.
Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward ;
Thy other Edward dead to quit my Edv%ard ;
» Seniority. • Companion.
558
KING IMCHARD III.
Act IV.
Young York he is hut boot ", hccause both they
Match not the high perfection of my loss.
'J'hy Chirence he is dead, that stabb'd ray Edward ;
And the beholders of this tragick play,
The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan. Grey,
Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves.
Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer;
. Only reserv'd their factor to buy souls,
And send them thither : But at hand, at hand,
Ensues his piteous and unpitied end :
Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray.
To have him suddenly convey 'd from hence : —
Cancel his bond of life, great God, I pray.
That I may live to say. The dog is dead !
Q. Eliz. O, thou didst prophesy the time would
come.
That I should wish for thee to help me curse
That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad.
Q. Mar. I call'd thee then, vain flourish of my
fortune ;
I call'd thee then, poor shadow, painted queen ;
The presentation of but what I was.
The flattering index of a direful pageant, '
One heav'd a high, to be hurl'd down below :
A mother only mock'd with two fail' babes ;
A dream of what thou wast ; a garish 9 flag,
To be the aim of every dangerous shot ;
A sign of dignity, a breath, a bubble ;
A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.
Where is thy husband now ? where be thy brothers ?
Where be thy two sons ? wherein dost thou joy ?
Who sues, and kneels, and says — God save the
queen ?
Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee ?
Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee ?
Decline all this, and see what now thou art.
For happy wife, a most distressed widow ;
For joyful mother, one that wails the name ;
For one being sued to, one that humbly sues ;
For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care ;
For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me ;
For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one ;
For one commanding all, obey'd of none.
Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about,
And left thee but a very prey to time ;
Having no more but thought of what thou wert.
To torture thee the more, being what thou art.
Thou didst usurp my place ; and dost thou not
Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow ?
Now thy proud neck bears half my burden'd yoke ;
From which even here I slip my wearied head.
And leave the burden of it all on thee.
Farewell, York's wife, — and queen of sad mis-
chance,—
These English woes shall make me smile in France.
Q. Eliz. O thou well skill'd in curses, stay a while,
And teach me how to curse mine enemies !
Q. Mar. Forbear to sleep the night, and fast the
day ;
Compare dead happiness with living woe ;
Think that thy babes were fairer than they were.
And he that slew them, fouler than he is :
Bettering thy loss makes the bad-causer worse ;
Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.
Q. Eliz. My words are dull, O, quicken them
with thine !
Q. Mar. Thy woes will make them sharp, and
pierce like mine. \^Exit Q. Margaret.
Duch. Why should calamity be full of words ?
8 Thrown into the bargain. » Flaring.
Q. Eliz. Windy attomies to their client woes,
Airy succeeders of intestate joys,
l*oor breathing orators of miseries !
Let them have scope : though what they do impart
Help nothing else, yet do they ease the heart.
Duch. If so, then be not tongue-ty'd : go with me,
And in the breath of bitter words let's smother
My cruel son, that thy two sweet sons smother'd.
[Drum within.
I hear his drum, — be copious in exclaims.
Enter King Richard, and his Train, marching.
K. Rich. Who intercepts me in my expedition ?
Duch. O, she, that might have intercepted thee,
By strangling thee in her unhappy womb.
From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done.
Q. Eliz. Hid'st thou that forehead with a golden
crown.
Where should be branded, if that right were right,
The slaughter of the prince that ow'd ' that crown.
And the dire death of my poor sons and brothers?
Tell me, thou villain-slave, where are my children ?
Duch. Thou toad, thou toad, where is thy brother
Clarence ?
And little Ned Plantagenet, his son ?
Q. Eliz. Where is the gentle Rivers, Vaughan,
Grey ?
Duch. Where is kind Hastings ?
K. Rich. A flourish, trumpets ! — strike alarum,
drums !
Let not the heavens hear these tell-tale women
Rail on the Lord's anointed : Strike, I say. —
[Floujish Alarums.
Either be patient, and entreat me fair.
Or with the clamorous report of war
Thus will I drown your exclamations.
Duch. Art thou my son?
K. Rich. Ay ; I thank heaven, my father, and
yourself.
Duch. Then patiently hear my impatience.
K. Rich. Madam, I have a touch of your con-
dition "2,
That cannot brook the accent of reproof.
Duch. O, let me speak.
K. Rich. Do, then ; but I'll not hear.
Duch. I will be mild and gentle in my words.
X. Rich. And brief, good mother; for I am in
haste.
Duch. Art thou so hasty ? I have staid for thee.
Heaven knows, in torment and in agony.
K. Rich. And came I not at last to comfort you ?
Duch. No, by the holy rood 3, thou know'st it well.
Thou cam'st on earth to make the earth my hell.
A grievous burden was thy birth to me ;
Tetchy ^ and wayward was thy infancy ;
Thy school-days, frightful, desperate, wild, and
furious ;
Thy prime of manhood, daring, bold, and venturous;
Thy age confirm'd, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody,
More mild, but yet more harmful, kind in hatred •
What comfortable hour canst thou name.
That ever grac'd me in thy company ?
K. Rich. 'Faith none, but Humphrey Hour, that
call'd your grace
To breakfast once, forth of my company.
If I be so disgracious in your sight,
Let me march on, and not offend you, madam.
Strike up the drum.
> Owned.
3 Cross,
Disposition.
I'ouchy, fretful
Scene IV.
KING RICHARD III.
)59
Duck. I pr'ythee, hear me speak.
JT. Rich. You speak too bitterly.
Duck. Hear me a word ;
For I shall never speak to thee again.
K. Rich. So.
Duch. Either thou wilt die, by God's just ordi-
nance,
Ere from this war thou turn a conqueror ;
Or I with grief and extreme age shall perish,
And never look upon thy face again.
Therefore, take with thee my most heavy curse ;
Which, in the day of battle, tire thee more.
Than all the complete armour that thou wear'st !
My prayers on the adverse party fight ;
And there the little souls of Edward's children
Whisper the spirits of thine enemies,
And promise them success and victory.
IJloody thou art, bloody will be thy end ;
Shame serves thy life, and doth thy death attend.
[Eiit.
Q. Eliz. Though far more cause, yet much less
spirit to curse
Abides in me ; I say amen to her. [Going.
K. Rich. Stay, madam, I must speak a word witli
you.
Q. Eliz. I have no more sons of the royal blood,
For thee to murder : for my daughters, Richard, —
They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens j
And therefore level not to hit their lives.
A". Riclu You have a daugliter call'd — Elizabeth,
Virtuous and fair, royal and gracious.
Q. Eliz. And must she die for this ? O, let her live.
And I'll corrupt her manners, stain her beauty ;
Slander myself, as false to Edward's bed;
Throw over her the veil of infamy :
So she may live unscarr'd of bleeding slaughter,
I will confess she was not Edward's daughter.
K. Rich. Wrong not her birth, she is of royal blood.
Q. Eliz. To save her life, I'll say — she is
not so.
K. Rich. Her life is safest only in her birth.
Q. Eliz. And only in that safety died her brothers.
K. Rich. Lo, at their births, good stars were
opposite.
Q. Eliz. No, to their lives bad friends were con-
trary.
K. Rich. All unavoided * is the doom of destiny.
Q. Eliz. True, when avoided grace makes destiny :
My babes were destin'd to a fairer death,
If grace had bless'd thee with a fairer life.
A'. Rich. You speak, as if that I had slain my
cousins.
Q. Eliz. Cousins, indeed ; and by their uncle cozen'd
Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life.
WJiose hands soever lanc'd tlieir tender liearts.
Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction :
No doubt the murderous knife was dull and blunt.
Till it was whetted on thy stone-hard heart.
To revel in the entrails of my lambs.
IJut that still 6 use of grief makes wild grief tame.
My tongue should to thy ears not name my boys,
Till that my nails were anchor'd in thine eyes;
And I, in such a desperate bay of death,
JAke a poor bark, of sails and tackling reft,
Uush all to pieces on thy rocky bosom.
A'. Rich. Madam, so thrive I in my enterprize,
And dangerous success of bloody wars.
As I intend more good to you and yours,
Tlian ever you or yours by me were harm'd !
^ Unavoidable. 6 Constant.
Q. Eliz. What good is cover'd with the face of
heaven.
To be discover'd, that can do me good ?
IT. Rich- The advancement of your children, gentle
lady.
Q. Eliz. Up to some scaffold, there to lose their
heads?
IT. Rich. No, to the dignity and height of fortune.
The high imperial type of this earth's glory.
Q. Eliz. Flatter my sorrows with report of it ;
Tell me, what state, what dignity, what honour.
Canst thou demise 7 to any child of mine ?
A'. Rich. Even all I have ; ay, and myself and all,
Will I withal endow a child of thine ;
So in the Lethe of thy angry soul
Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs,
Which thou supposest, I have done to thee.
Q. Eliz. Be brief, lest that the process of thy
kindness
Last longer telling than thy kindness' date.
A'. Rich. Then know, that from my soul I love
thy daughter.
Q. Eliz. My daughter's mother thinks it with her
soul.
IT. Rich. What do you think ?
Q. Eliz. That thou dost love my daughter from
thy soul.
So, from thy soul's love, didst thou love her brothers.
And, from my heart's love, I do thank thee for it.
A'. Rich. Be not so hasty to confound my meaning :
I mean, that with my soul I love thy daughter.
And do intend to make her queen of England.
Q. Eliz. Well then, who dost thou mean shall be
her king ?
A". Rich. Even he, that makes her queen : Who
else should be?
Q. Eliz. What, thou ?
IT. Rich. Even so : What think you
of it, madam ?
Q. Eliz. How canst thou woo her ?
A". Rich. That I would learn of you.
As one being best acquainted with her humour.
Q. Eliz. And wilt thou learn of me ?
IT. Rich. Madam, with all my heart.
Q. Eliz. Send to her, by the man that slew her
brothers,
A pair of bleeding hearts ; thereon engrave,
Edward, and York ; then, haply 8, will she weep :
Therefore present to her, — as sometime Margaret
Did to thy father, steep'd in Rutland's blood, —
A handkerchief; which, say to her, did drain
The purple sap from her sweet brother's body.
And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal.
If this inducement move her not to love.
Send her a letter of thy noble deeds ;
Tell her, thou mad'st away her uncle Clarence,
Her uncle Rivers ; ay, and for her sake,
Mad'st quick conveyance with her good aunt Anne.
jr. Rich. You mock me, madam ; this is not the way
To win your daughter.
Q. Eliz. There is no other way ;
Unless thou couldst put on some other shape,
And not be Richard tliat hath done all this.
A' Rich. Say, that I did all this for love of her ?
Q. Eliz. Nay, then indeed, she cannot choose but
have thee,
Having bought love with such a bloody spoil.
A'. Rich. Look, what is done cannot l)e now
amended ;
7 Bequeath. ' rcrhaofc
560
KING RICHARD III.
Act IV.
"Men shall deal unadvisedly sometimes,
Which after-hours give leisure to repent.
If I did take the kingdom from your sons,
To make amends, I'l) give it to your daughter.
A grandam's name is little less in love.
Than is the doting title of a mother !
They are as children, but one step below.
Your children were vexation to your youth,
But mine shall be a comfort to your age.
The loss you have, is but — a son being king,
And, by that loss, your daughter is made queen.
I cannot make you what amends I would,
Therefore accept such kindness as I can.
Dorset, your son, that, with a fearful soul,
Leads discontented steps in foreign soil.
This fair alliance quickly shall call home
To high promotions and great dignity :
The king, that calls your beauteous daughter — wife.
Familiarly shall call thy Dorset — brother j
Again shall you be mother to a king.
And all the ruins of distressful times
Repair'd with double riches of content.
What ! we have many goodly days to see :
The liquid drops of tears that you have shed.
Shall come again, transform'd to orient pearl ;
Advantaging their loan, with interest
Of ten-times double gain of happiness.
Go then, my mother, to thy daughter go ;
Make bold her bashful years with your experience :
Prepare her ears to hear a wooer's tale :
Put in her tender heart the aspiring flame
Of golden sovereignty ; acquaint the princess
That, when this arm of mine hath chastised
The petty rebel, dull-brain'd Buckingham,
Bound with triumphant garlands will I come.
And lead thy daughter to a conqueror's bed !
To whom T will retail my conquest won.
And she shall be sole vict'ress, Caesar's Caesar.
Q. Eliz. What were I best to say ? her father's
brother
Would be her lord ? Or shall I say, her uncle ?
Or, he that slew her brothers and her uncles ?
Under what title shall I woo for thee.
That God, the law, my honour, and her love.
Can make seem pleasing to her tender years ?
K. Rich. Infer fair England's peace by this alliance.
Q. Eliz. Which she shall purchase with still lasting
war.
K. Rich. Tell her, the king, that may command,
entreats.
Q. Eliz. That at her hands, which the king's King
forbids. 9
JT. Rich. Say, she shall be a high and mighty queen.
Q. Eliz. To wail the title, as her mother doth.
K. Rich. Say, I will love her everlastingly.
Q. Eliz. But how long shall that title, ever, last ?
K. Rich. Sweetly in force unto her fair life's end.
Q. Eliz. But how long fairly shall her sweet life
last?
K. Rich. As long as heaven, and nature, lengthens it.
Q. Eliz. As long as hell, and Richard, likes of it.
K. Rich. Say, I, her sovereign, am her subject low.
Q. Eliz. But she, your subject, loathes such sove-
reignty.
K. Rich. Be eloquent, in my behalf, to her.
Q. Eliz. An honest tale speeds best, being plainly
told.
K. Rich. Then, in plain terms tell her my loving
tale.
* In the Levitical Law, chap, xviii. 14.
Q. Eliz. Plain, and not honest, is too harsh a style.
K. Rich. Your reasons are too shallow, and too
quick.
Q. Eliz. O, no, my reasons are too deep and
dead ; —
Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves.
JC. Rich. Harp not on that string, madam, that is
past.
Q. Eliz. Harp on it still shall I, till heart-strings
break.
IT. Rich. Now, by my George, my garter ', and
my crown, —
Q- Eliz. Profan'd, dishonour'd, and the third
usurp'd.
IT. Eich. I swear.
Q. Eliz. By nothing ; for this is no oath.
Thy George, profan'd, hath lost his holy honour ;
Thy garter, blemish'd, pawn'd his knightly virtue ;
Thy crown, usurp'd, disgrac'd his kingly glory:
If something thou wouldst swear to be believ'd.
Swear then by something that thou hast not wrong'tl.
IT. Rich. Now, by the world, —
Q. Eliz. 'Tis full of thy foul wrongs.
JT. Rich. My father's death, —
Q. Eliz. Thy life hath that dishonour'd.
IT. Rich. Then, by myself, —
Q. Eliz. Thyself is self-misus'd.
IT. Rich. Why then, by God, —
Q. Eliz. God's wrong is most of all.
If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by him.
The unity, the king thy brother made.
Had not been broken, nor my brother slain ;
If thou hadst fear'd to break an oath by him,
The imperial metal, circling now thy head.
Had grac'd the tender temples of my child ;
And both the princes had been breathing here,
Which now, two tender bed-fellows for dust.
Thy broken faith hath made a prey for worms.
What canst thou swear by now ?
jr. Rich. By the time to come.
Q. Eliz. That thou hast wrong'd in the time o'er-
past;
For I myself have many tears to wash
Hereafter time, for time past, wrong'd by thee.
The children live, whose parents thou hast slaughter 'd,
Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age :
The parents live, whose children thou hast butcher'd.
Old barren plants, to wail it in their age :
Sweai- not by time to come ; for that thou hast
Misus'd, ere us'd, by times ill-us'd o'er-past.
JT. Rich. As I intend to prosper, and repent,
So thrive I in my dangerous attempt
Of hostile arms ! myself myself confound !
Heaven, and fortune, bar me happy hours !
Day yield me not thy light ; nor, night, thy rest !
Be opposite all planets of good luck
To my proceeding, if, with pure heart's love.
Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts,
I tender not thy beauteous princely daughter !
In her consists my happiness, and thine ;
Without her, follows to myself, and thee.
Herself, the land, and many a christian soul,
DeatTi, desolation, ruin, and decay :
It cannot be avoided, but by this ;
It will not be avoided, but by this.
Therefore, dear mother, (I must call you so,)
Be the attorney of my love to her.
Plead what I will be, not what I have been ;
Not my deserts, but what I will deserve :
1 The ensigns of the Order of the Garter.
Scene IV.
KING RICHARD III.
561
Urge the necessity and state of times,
And be not peevish ' found in great designs.
Q. Eliz. Sliall I be tempted of the devil thus?
K. Rich. Ay, if tlie devil tempt thee to do good.
Q. Eliz. Shall I forget myself to be myself?
K. Rich. Ay, if yourselfs remembrance wrong
yourself.
Q. Eliz. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will ?
K. Rich. And be a happy mother by the deed.
Q. Eliz. I go. — Write to me very shortly,
And you shall understand from me her mind.
K. Rich. Bear her my true love's kiss, and so
farewell.
{Kissing her. Exit Q. Elizabeth.
Relenting fool, and shallow, changing — woman !
How now? what news?
Enter Ratcliff; Catzs^y following.
Rat. Most mighty sovereign, on the western coast
Rideth a puissant navy ; to the shore
Throng many doubtful hollow-hearted friends,
Unarm'd, and unresolv'd to beat them back :
'Tis thought tliat Richmond is their admiral ;
And there they hull, expecting but the aid
Of Buckingham, to welcome them ashore.
JT. Rich. Some light-foot friend post to the duke
of Norfolk : —
Ratcliff, thyself, — or Catesby; where is he?
Cate. Here, my good lord.
A'. Rich. Catesby, fly to the duke.
Cole. I will, my lord, with all convenient haste.
JC. Rich. Ratcliff, come hither: Post to Salisbury ;
When thou com'st thither, — Dull unmindful villain,
[To Catesby.
Why stay'st thou here, and go'st not to the duke ?
Cate. First, mighty liege, tell me your highness'
pleasure,
What from your grace I shall deliver to him.
IT. Rich. O, true, good Catesby ; — Bid him levy
straight
The greatest strength and power he can make.
And meet me suddenly at Salisbury.
Cate. T go. [Erit.
Rat. What, may it please you, shall I do at
Salisbury ?
JT. Rich. Why, what wouldst thou do there, before
I go?
Rat, Your highness told me, I should post before.
Enter Stanley.
JT. Rich. My mind is chang'd. — Stanley, what
news with you ?
5/071. None good, my liege, to please you with
the hearing ;
Nor none so bad, but well may be reported.
JC. Rich. Heyday, a riddle ! neither good nor bad !
T hat need'st thou run so many miles about.
When thou mayst tell thy tale tlie nearest way ?
Once more, what news?
Stan. Richmond is on the seas.
A'. Rich. There let him sink, and be the seas on
him !
White-liver 'd runagate, wliat doth he there ?
Stan. I know not, mighty sovereign, but by guess.
A". Rich. Well, as you guess ?
Stan. Stirr'd up by Dorset, Buckingham, and
Morton,
He makes for England, here to claim the crown.
K. Rich. Is the chair empty? is the sword un-
sway'd ?
« Fooliih.
Is the king dead ? the empire unpossess'd ?
What heir of York is there alive, but we?
And who is England's king, but great York's heir?
Then, tell me, what makes he upon the seas ?
Stan. Unless for that, my liege, I cannot guess.
IT. Rich. Unless for that he comes to be your liege,
You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes.
Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear.
Stan. No, mighty liege ; therefore mistrust me not.
A'. Rich. Where is thy power then, to beat him
back?
Where be thy tenants, and thy followers ?
Are they not now upon the western shore,
Safe-conducting the rebels from their ships?
Stan. No, my good lord, my friends are m the
north.
A". Rich. Cold friends to me : what do they in the
north.
When they should serve their sovereign in the west ?
Stan. They have not been commanded, mighty
king:
Pleaseth your majesty to give me leave,
I'll muster up my friends ; and meet your grace.
Where, and what time, your majesty shall please.
JT. Rich. Ay, ay, thou wouldst be one to join with
Richmond :
I will not trust you, sir.
Stan. Most mighty sovereiprn.
You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtlul ;
I never was, nor never will be false.
AT. Rich. Well, go, muster men. But, hear you,
leave behind
Your son, George Stanley ; look your heart be firm.
Or else his head's assurance is but frail.
Stan. So deal with him, as I prove true to you.
[Exit Stanley.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My gracious sovereign, now in Devonshire,
As I by friends am well advertised.
Sir Edward Courteney, and the haughty prelate.
Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother,
With many more confederates, are in arms.
Enter another Messenger.
2 Mess. In Kent, my liege, the Guildfords are in
arms;
And every hour more competitors'
Flock to the rebels, and their power grows strong.
Enter another Messenger.
3 Mess. My lord, the army of great Bucking-
ham—
JT. Rich. Out on ye, owls ! nothing but songs of
death? [He strikes him.
There, take thou that, till thou bring better news.
3 Mess. The news I have to tell your majesty,
Is, — that, by sudden floods and fall of waters,
Buckingham's army is dispers'd and scatter'd ;
And he himself wander'd away alone,
No man knows whither.
jr. Rich. O, I cry you mercy :
There is my purse to cure that blow of thine.
Hath any well-advised friend proclaim'd
Reward to him that brings the traitor in ?
3 Mess. Such proclamation hath been made, my
liege.
Enter another Messenger.
4 Mess. Sir Thomas LotcI, and lord marquis
Dorset,
* Auociatr.
Oo
562
KING RICHARD III.
Act V
'Tis said, my liege, in Yorkshire are in arms.
But this good comfort bring I to your high-
ness, —
The Bretagne navy is dispers'd by tempests :
Richmond, in Dorsetshire, sent out a boat
Unto tlie shore, to ask those on the banks,
If they were his assistants, yea, or no ;
Who answer'd him, they came from Buckingham
Upon his party; he, mistrusting them,
Hois'd sail, and made his course again for Bre-
tagne.
K, Rich. March on, march on, since we are up
in arms;
If not to fight with foreign enemies,
Yet to beat down these rebels here at home.
Enter Catesby.
Cate. My liege, the duke of Buckingham is taken.
That is the best news ; That the earl of Richmond
Is with a mighty power landed at Milford,
Is colder news, but yet they must be told.
K. Rich. Away towards Salisbury ; while we reason
here,
A royal battle might be won and lost : —
Some one take order, Buckingham be brought
To Salisbury ; — the rest march on with me.
\_Exeunt.
SCENE v. — A Room in Lord Stanley'* Huiisc.
Enter Stanley, and Sir Christopher Urswick. ^
Stan. Sir Christopher, tell Richmond this from
me: —
That, in the sty of this most bloody boar.
My son George Stanley is frank'd ^ up in hold ;
If I revolt, off goes young George's head ;
The fear of that withholds my present aid.
But, tell me, where is princely Richmond now ?
Chris. At Pembroke, or at Ha'rford-west, in
Wales.
Stan. What men of name resort to him ?
Chris. Sir Walter Herbert, a renowned soldier ;
Sir Gilbert Talbot, sir William Stanley ;
Oxford, redoubted Pembroke, sir James Blunt,
And Rice ap Thomas, with a valiant crew ;
And many other of great fame and worth :
And towards London do they bend their course.
If by the way they be not fought withal.
Stan. Well, hie thee to thy lord ; commend me to
him ;
Tell him, the queen hath heartily consented
He shall espouse Elizabeth her daughter.
These letters will resolve him of my mind.
Farewell. [Gives Papers to Sir Christopher.
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I. — Salisbury. Jn open Place.
Enter the Sheriff, and Guard, with Buckingham,
led to Execution.
Buck. Will not king Richard let me speak with him?
Sher. No, my good lord ; therefore be patient.
Buck. Hastings, and Edward's children, Rivers,
Grey,
Holy king Henry, and thy fair son Edward,
Vaughan, and all that have miscarried
By underhand corrupted foul injustice ;
If that your moody discontented souls
Do through the clouds behold this present hour
Even for revenge mock my destruction ! ■
This is All-Soul's day, fellows, is it not ?
Sher. It is, my lord.
Buck. Why, then All- Souls' day is my body's
doomsday.
This is the day, which, in king Edward's time,
I wish'd might fall on me, when I was found
False to his children, or his wife's allies :
This is the day, wherein I wish'd to fall
By the false faith of him whom most 1 trusted ;
This, this All-Souls' day to my fearful soul.
Is the determined respite of my wrongs. *
That high All-seer which I dallied with.
Hath turned my feigned prayer on my head,
And given in earnest what I begg'd in jest.
Thus doth he force the swords of wicked men
To turn their own points on their masters' bosoms :
Thus Margaret's curse falls heavy on my neck, —
When he, quotii she, shall split thy heart with sorrow,
Remember Margaret was a prophetess. —
Come, sirs, convey me to the block of shame ;
Wrong hath but wrong, and blame the due of blame.
[Exeunt Buckingham, ^c.
* Injurious practices.
SCENE IL — Plain near Tamworth.
Enter, with Drum amd Colours, Richmond, Oxford,
Sir James Blunt, Sir Walter Herbert, and
others, urith Forces, marching.
Richm. Fellows in arms, and my most loving
friends,
Bruis'd underneath the yoke of tyranny,
Thus far into the bowels of the land
Have we march'd on without impediment ;
And here receive we from our father Stanley
Lines of fair comfort and encouragement.
The wretched, bloody, and usurping boar.
That spoil'd your summer fields, and fruitful vines,
Lies now even in the center of this isle,
Near to the town of Leicester, as we learn :
From Tamworth thither, is but one day's march.
In God's name, cheerly on, courageous friends,
To reap the harvest of perpetual peace
By this one bloody trial of sharp war.
Oocf. Every man's conscience is a thousand swords,
To fight against that bloody homicide.
Herb. I doubt not, but his friends will turn to us.
Blunt. He hath no friends, but who are friends
for fear ;
Which, in his dearest need, will fly from him.
Richm. All for our vantage. Then, in God's name,
march. [Exeunt.
SCENE III. — Bosworth Field.
Enter King Richard, and Forces; the Duke of
Norfolk, Earl of Surrey, and others.
K. Rich. Here pitch our tents, even here in Bos-
worth field. —
My lord of Surrey, why look you so sad ?
6 Chaplain to the countess of Richmond.
6 A frank is a sty in which hogs are fattened.
Scene III.
KING RICHARD III.
563
Sur. My heart is ten times lighter than my looks.
S'.Rich. My lord of Norfolk,
Nor. Here, most gracious liege.
IT. Rich. Norfolk, we must have knocks ; Ha !
must we not?
Nor. We must both give and take, my loving lord.
IT. Rich. Up with my tent: Here will I lie
to-night.
{^Soldiers begin to set up the King'^ tent.
But where, to-morrow ? — Well, all's one for that. —
Who hath descried the number of the traitors ?
Nor. Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.
JC. Rich. Why, our battalia trebles that account :
Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength,
Which they upon the adverse faction want.
Up with the tent. — Come, noble gentlemen,
Let us survey the vantage of the ground ; —
Call for some men of sound directions: —
Let's want no discipline, make no delay ;
For, lords, to-morrow is a busy day, [Exeunt.
Enter, on the other Side of the Field, Richmond, Sir
William Brandon, Oxford, and other Lords,
Some of the Soldiers pitch Richmond's Tent.
Richm. The weary sun hath made a golden set,
And, by the bright track of his fiery car,
Gives token of a goodly day to-morrow. —
Sir William Brandon, you shall bear my standard. —
Give me some ink and paper in my tent ; —
I'll draw the form and model of our battle.
Limit each leader to his several charge.
And part in just proportion our small power.
My lord of Oxford, — you, sir William Brandon. —
And you, sir Walter Herbert, stay with me :
The earl of Pembroke keeps his regiment ; —
Good captain Blunt, bear my good night to him,
And by the second hour in the morning
Desire the earl to see me in my tent : —
Yet one thing more, good captain, do for me ;
Where is lord Stanley quarter'd, do you know ?
Blunt. Unless I have mista'en his colours much,
(Which, well I am assur'd, I have not done,)
His regiment lies half a mile at least
South from the mighty power of the king.
Richm. If without peril it be possible.
Sweet Blunt, make some good means to speak with
him.
And give him from me this most needful note.
Blunt. Upon my life, my lord, I'll undertake it;
And so, heaven give you quiet rest to night !
Richm* Good night, good obtain Blunt. Come,
gentlemen.
Let us consult upon to-morrow's business ;
In to my tent, the air is raw and cold.
IThey withdraw into tlie Tent.
Enter, to his Tent, King Richard, Norfolk,
Ratcliff, and Catesbt.
K. Rich. What is't o'clock ?
CcUe. It's supper tim6, my lord :
It's nine o'clock.
K. Rich. I will not sup to-night. —
Give me some ink and paper. —
What, is my beaver easier than it was ? —
And all my armour laid into my tent ?
Cale. It is, my liege ; and all things are in rea-
diness.
K. Rich. Good Norfolk, hie thee to thy charge ;
Use careful watch, choose trusty sentinels.
Nor. I go, my lord.
K. Rich. Stir with the lark to-morrow, gentle
Norfolk.
Nor I warrant you, my lord. [^Ejcit,
K. Rich. Ratcliff,
Rat. My lord ?
IT. Rich. Send out a pursuivant at arms
To Stanley's regiment ; bid him bring his power
Before sun-rising, lest his son George fall
Into the blind cave of eternal night. —
Fill me a bowl of wine. — Give me a watch 7 : —
[To Catesby.
Saddle white Surrey for the field to-morrow. —
Look that my staves 8 be sound, and not too heavy.
Ratcliff,
Rat. My lord?
IT. Rich. Saw'st thou the melancholy lord North-
umberland ?
Rat. Thomas the earl of Surrey, and himself,
Much about cock-shut ^ time, from troop to troop
Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers.
IT. Rich. 1 am satisfied. Give me a bowl of wine:
I have not that alacrity of spirit.
Nor cheer of mind, that I was wont to have. —
So, set it down. — Is ink and paper ready ?
Rat. It is, my lord.
A'. Rich. Bid my guard watch ; leave me.
About tlie mid of night, come to my tent.
And help to arm me. — Leave me, I say.
[Kino Richard retires into his Tent. Exeunt
Ratcliff and Catesbt.
RichmoSd'5 Tent opens, and discovers him, and hi*
Officers, ^c
Enter Stanley.
Stan. Fortune and victory sit on thy helm !
Richm. All comfort that the dark night can afford,
Be to thy person, noble father-in-law !
Tell me, how fares our loving mother ?
Stan. I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother.
Who prays continually for Richmond's good :
So much for that. — The silent hours steal oh,
And flaky darkness breaks within the east.
In brief, for so the season bids us be.
Prepare thy battle early in the morning ;
And put thy fortune to the arbitrement
Of bloody strokes, and mortal-staring war.
I, as I may, (that which I would, I cannot,)
With best advantage will deceive the time,
And aid thee in this doubtful shock of arms :
But on thy side I may not be too forward.
Lest, being seen, thy brother tender George
Be executed in his father's sight.
Farewell : The leisure and the fearful time
Cuts off the ceremonious vows of love,
And ample interchange of sweet discourse.
Which so long-sunder'd friends should dwell upon ;
Heaven give us leisure for these friendly rites !
Once more, adieu : — Be valiant, and speed well
Richm. Good lords, conduct him to his regiment ;
I'll strive, with troubled thoughts, to take a nap ;
Lest leaden slumber peise ' me down to-morrow,
When I should mount with wings of victory :
Once more, good night, kind lords and gentlemen.
[Exeunt Lords, ^c. vnth Stahlky.
O Thou ! whose captain I account myself,
Look on my forces with a gracious eye ;
Put in their hands thy bruising irons of wrath,
That they may crush down with a heavy fall
J A walch.light, " Woo*, of the lances.
» Twilight ' Weigh.
Oo 2
564^
KING RICHARD III.
Act V
The usurping helmets of our adversaries !
Make us thy ministers of chastisement,
That we may praise thee in thy victory !
To thee I do commend my watchful soul,
Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes ;
Sleeping, and waking, O, defend me still ! {Sleeps.
The Ghost of Prikce Edward, son to Henry the
Sixth, rues between the two Tents.
Ghost. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow !
[2V> King Richard.
Think, how thou stab'dst me in my prime of youth
At Tewksbury ; Despair, therefore, and die ! —
Be cheerful, Richmond ; for the wronged souls
Of butcher'd princes fight in thy behalf:
King Henry's issue, Richmond, comforts thee.
The Ghost o/" King Henry the Sixth rises.
Ghost. When I was mortal, my anointed body
[To King Richard.
By thee was punched full of deadly holes :
Think on the Tower, and me ; Despair, and die !
Harry the Sixth bids thee despair and die. —
Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror !
[To Richmond.
Harry, that prophesied thou shouldst be king.
Doth comfort thee in thy sleep j Live, and flourish !
The Ghost of Clarence rises.
Ghost. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow !
[To King Richard.
I, that was wash'd to death with fulsome wine.
Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray'd to death !
To-morrow in the battle think on me,
And fall thy edgeless sword ; Despair, and die ! —
Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster,
[ To Richmond.
The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee ;
Good angels guard thy battle ! Live, and flourish !
The Ghosts of Rivers, Grey, and Vaughan, rise.
Riv. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow,
[To King Richard.
Rivers, that died at Pomfret ! Despair, and die !
Grey. Think upon Grey, and let thy soul despair!
[To King Richard.
Vaugh. Think upon Vaughan ; and, with guilty
fear.
Let fall thy lance ! Despair, and die ! —
[To King Richard,
jiill. Awake ! and think, our wrongs in Richard's
bosom [To Richmond.
Will conquer him ; — Awake, and win the day !
The Ghost o/* Hastings rises.
Ghost. Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake ;
[2'o King Richard.
And in a bloody battle end thy days !
Think on lord Hastings ; and despair, and die ! —
Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake !
[To Richmond.
Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake !
The Ghosts of the two young Princes rise.
Ghosts- Dream on thy cousins smother'd in the
Tower ;
Let us be lead within thy bosom, Richard,
And weigh thee down to ruin, shaine, and death !
Thy nephews' souls bid thee despair, and die. —
Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and wake in joy ^
Good angels guard thee from the boar's annoy !
Live, and beget a happy race of kings !
Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish.
The Ghost of Queen Anne rises.
Ghost. Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anne
thy wife.
That never slept a quiet hour with thee,
Now fills thy sleep with perturbations :
To-morrow in the battle think on me,
And fall thy edgeless sword ; Despair, and die ! —
Thou, quiet soul, sleep tliou a quiet sleep ;
[To Richmond.
Dream of success and happy victory ;
Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee.
The Ghost o/" Buckingham rises.
Ghost. The first was I, that help' d thee to the
crown; [To King Richard.
The last was I, that felt thy tyranny :
O, in the battle think on Buckingham,
And die in terror of thy guiltiness !
Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death ;
Fainting, despair ; despairing, yield thy breath ! —
1 died for hope, ere I could lend thee aid :
[To Richmond.
But cheer thy heart, and be thou not dismay'd :
God, and good angels, fight on Richmond's side ;
And Richard falls in height of all his pride.
[The Ghosts vanish. King Richard stores
out of his dream.
K. Rich. Give me another horse, — bind up my
wounds, —
Have mercy, Jesu ! — Soft ; I did but dream. —
0 coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me ! -
The lights burn blue. — It is now dead midnight.
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
What do I fear? myself? there's none else by :
Richard loves Richard ; that is, I am I.
Is there a murderer here ? No ; — Yes ; I am ;
Then fly, — What, from myself? Great reason :
Why?
Lest I revenge. What ? Myself on myself?
1 love myself. Wherefore ? for any good.
That I myself have done unto myself?
O, no : alas, I rather hate myself,
For hateful deeds committed by myself.
I am a villain : Yet I lie, I am not.
Fool, of thyself speak well : — Fool, do not flatter.
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues.
And every tongue brings in a several tale.
And every tale condemns me for a villain.
Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree.
Murder, stem murder, in the dir'st degree ;
All several sins, all us'd in each degree,
Throng to the bar, crying all, — Guilty ! guilty !
I shall despair. — There is no creature loves me ;
And, if I die, no soul will pity me : —
Nay, wherefore should they ? since that I myself
Find in myself no pity to myself.
Methought, the souls of all that I had murder'd
Came to my tent : and every one did threat
To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.
Enter Ratcliff.
Rat. My lord,
K. Rich. Who's there ?
Rat. Ratcliff, my lord ; 'tis I. The early village
cock
Scene III.
KING RICHARD III.
565
Hath twice done salutation to the morn ;
Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour.
K. Rich. O, Ratcliff, I have dream'd a fearful
dream !
What thinkcst thou ? will our friends prove all true ?
Rat. No doubt, my lord.
r. Rich. RatcUff, I fear, I fear, —
Rat. Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of sha-
dows.
JT. Rich. By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night
Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard,
That can the substance of ten thousand soldiers,
Armed in proof, and led by sliallow Richmond.
It is not yet near day. Come, go with me ;
Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper.
To hear, if any mean to shrink from me.
[Exeunt Kino Richard and Ratcliff.
Richmond wakes. Enter Oxford and others.
Lords. Good morrow, Richmond.
Richm. 'Cry mercy, lords, and watchful gentlemen,
That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here.
Lords. How have you slept, my lord ?
Richm. The sweetest sleep, and fairest-boding
dreams.
That ever enter'd in a drowsy head.
Have I since your departure had, my lords.
Methought, their souls, whose bodies Richard mur-
der'd.
Came to my tent, and cried — On ! victory !
I promise you, my heart is very jocund
In the remembrance of so fair a dream.
How far into the morning is it, lords ?
Lords. Upon the stroke of four.
Uichin, Why, then 'tis time to arm, and give di-
rection. — [He advances to the Troops.
More than I have said, loving countrymen.
The leisure and enforcement of the time
Forbids to dwell on : Yet remember this, —
God, and our good cause, fight upon our side ;
The prayers of holy saints, and wronged souls.
Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces ;
Richard except, those, whom we fight against.
Had rather have us win, than him they follow.
For what is he they follow ? truly, gentlemen,
A bloody tyrant, and a homicide ;
One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establish 'd ;
One that made means to come by what he hath,
And slaughter'd those that were the means to help
him;
A base foul stone, made precious by the foil
Of England's chair, where he is falsely set ;
One that hath ever been God's enemy :
Tlien, if you fight against God's enemy,
God will vouchsafe to ward 2 you as his soldiers ;
If you do sweat to put a tyrant down,
You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain ;
If you do fight against your country's foes.
Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire ;
If you do fight in safeguard of your wives,
> ('ur wives shall welcome home the conquerors ;
If you do free your children from the sword.
Your children's children quit ^ it in your age.
Then, in the name of Go<l, and all these rights.
Advance your standards, draw your willing swords:
For me, the ransom of my bold attempt
Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face ;
But if I thrive, the gain of my attempt
The least of you shall share his part thereof.
« Guard. » Requite.
Sound, drums and trumpets, boldly and cheerfully;
God, and Saint George ! Richmond, and victory !
[Exeunt,
Re-enter }^iso Richard, Ratcliff, Attendants, and
Forces.
K. Rich. What said Northumberland, as touching
Richmond ?
Rat. That he was never trained up in arms.
JC. Rich. He said the truth : And what said Surrey
then?
Rat. Hesmil'd and said, the better for our purpose.
A'. Rich. He was i'the right ; and so, indeed, it is.
[Clock strikes.
Tell the clock there. — Give me a calendar. —
Who saw the sun to-day ?
Rat. Not I, my lord.
JT. Rich. Then he disdains to shine ; for, by the
book.
He should have brav'd the east an hour ago :
A black day will it be to somebody. —
Ratcliff,
Rat. My lord ?
JC. Rich. The sun will not be seen to-day ;
The sky doth frown and lour upon our anny.
I would, these dewy tears were from the ground.
Not shine to-day ! Why, what is that to me.
More than to Richmond ? for the self-same heaven,
That frowns on me, looks sadly upon him.
Enter Norfolk.
Nor. Arm, arm, my lord ; the foe vaunts in the
field.
IT. Rich. Come, bustle, bustle ; — Caparison my
horse ;
Call up lord Stanley, bid him bring his power : —
I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain,
And thus my battle shall be order'd.
My foreward shall be drawn out all in length.
Consisting equally of horse and foot ;
Our archers shall be placed in tlie midst :
John duke of Norfolk, Thomas earl of Surrey,
Shall have the leading of tliis foot and hoi-se.
They thus directed, we ourself will follow
In the main battle ; whose puissance on either side
Shall be well winged ; with our chiefcst horse.
This, and Saint George to boot ! — What think'st
thou, Norfolk ?
Nor. A good direction, warlike sovereign. —
Tliis found I on my tent this morning.
[Givi7}g a Scroll.
K. Rich. Jocky of Norfolk be not too bold, [Reads.
For Dickon ^ thi/ master is bought and sold.
A thing devised by the enemy. —
Go, gentlemen, every man unto his charge :
Let not our babbling dreams affright our souls :
Conscience is but a word that cowards use,
Devis'd at first to keep the strong in awe ;
Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law.
March on, join bravely, let us to't jwll-mell ;
If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell. ■
What shall I say more than I have inferr'd ?
Remember whom you are to cope withal ; —
A sort * of vagabonds, rascals, and run-aways,
A scum of Bretagnes, and base lackey peasants.
Whom tlieir o'er-cloyed country vomits forth
To des|>erate ventures and assur'd destruction.
You sleeping safe, they bring you to unrest ;
You having lands, and bless'd with beauteous wives,
* The ancient (amiliariiation of Richard. ^ Comj^any.
Oo 3
566
KING RICHARD III.
Acr V.
They would restrain the one, disdain* the other.
And who doth lead them, but a paltry fellow,
Long kept in Bretagne at our inotlier's cost ?
A milk-sop, one that never in his life
Felt so much cold as over shoes in snow ?
Let's whip these stragglers o'er the seas again ;
Lash hence these over-weening rags of France,
These famish 'd beggars, weary of their lives ;
Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit,
For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd themselves :
If we be conquer'd, let men conquer us,
And not these bastard Bretagnes ; whom our fathers
Have in their own land beaten, bobb'd, and thump'd,
And, on record, left them the heirs of shame.
Shall tliese enjoy our lands ? lie with our wives ?
Ravish our daughters ? — Hark, I hear their drum.
l^Drum afar off.
Fight, gentlemen of England ! fight, bold yeomen !
Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head !
Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood ;
Amaze the welkin with your broken staves !
Enter a Messenger.
What says lord Stanley ? will he bring his power ?
Mess. My lord, he doth deny to come.
K. Rich. Off instantly with his son George's head.
AW. My lord, the enemy is pass'd the marsh j
After the battle let George Stanley die.
JC. Rich. A thousand hearts are great within my
bosom;
Advance our standards, set upon our foes ;
Our ancient word of courage, fair Saint George,
Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons !
Upon them ! Victory sits on our helms. [Exeunt.
SCENE J V. — Another Part of the Field.
Alarum : Excursions. Enter Norfolk, and Forces ;
to him Catesby.
Cate. Rescue, my lord of Norfolk rescue, rescue !
The king enacts more wonders than a man.
Daring an opposite to every danger ;
His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights.
Seeking for Richmond in the throat of death :
Rescue, fair lord, or else the day is lost !
Alarum. Enter King Richard.
JC. Rich. A horse ! a horse ! my kingdom for a
horse !
Cate. Withdraw, my lord, I'll help you to a horse.
IT. Rich. Slave, I have set my life upon a cast,
And I will stand the hazard of the die :
I think there be six Richmonds in the field ;
Five have I slain to-day, instead of him : —
A horse ! a horse ! my kingdom for a horse !
[Exetint.
Alarums. Enter King Richard and Richmond ;
a?id exeunt fighting. Retreat, and Flourish. Then
enter Richmond, Stanley bearing the Crown,
with divers other Lords, and Forces.
Richm. God, and your arms, be prais'd, victorious
friends ;
The day is ours, the bloddy dog is dead.
Stan. Courageous Richmond, well hast thou acquit
thee!
Lo, here, this long-usurped royalty.
From the dead temples of this bloody wretch
Have I pluck'd off, to grace thy brows withal;
Wear it, enjoy it, and make much of it.
Richm. Great God of heaven, say, amen, to all : —
But, tell me first, is young George Stanley living ?
Stan. He is, my lord, and safe in Leicester town,
Whither, if it please you, we may now withdraw us..
Richm. What men of name are slain on either side?
Stan. John duke of Norfolk, Walter lord Ferrers,
Sir Robert Brackenbury, and sir William Brandon.
Richm. Inter their bodies as becomes their births.
Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled,
Tliat in submission will return to us ;
And, then, as we have ta'en the sacrament.
We will unite the white rose with the red : —
Smile heaven upon this fair conjunction,
That long hath frown'd upon their enmity ! —
What traitor hears me, and says not — Amen?
England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself;
The brother blindly shed the brother's blood,
The father rashly slaughter'd his own son,
The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire ;
All this divided York and Lancaster,
Divided, in their dire division. —
O, now, let Richmond and Elizabeth,
The true succeeders of each royal house.
By heaven's fair ordinance conjoin together !
And let their heirs, (God, if thy will be so,)
Enrich the time to come with smooth-fac'd peace.
With smiling plenty, and fair prosperous days !
Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord,
That would reduce these bloody days again.
And make poor England weep in streams of blood !
Let them not live to taste this land's increase.
That would with treason wound this fair land's peace !
Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace lives again j
That she may long live here, God say — Amen.
[Exeunt.
i
KING HENRY VIII.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
King Henry the Eighth.
Cardinal Wolsey.
Cardinal Campeius.
Capucius, Ambassador from the Emperor Charles V.
Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury.
Duke of Norfolk.
Duke of Buckingham.
Duke of Suffolk.
Earl of Surrey.
Lord Chamberlain.
Lord Chancellor.
Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester.
Bishop of Lincoln.
Lord Abergavenny.
Lord Sands.
Sir Henry Guildford.
Sir Thomas Lovell.
Sir Anthony Denny.
Sir Nicholas Vaux.
Secretaries to Wolsey.
Cromwell, Servant to Wolsey.
SCENE, chiejly in London and
Griffith, Gentleman-usher to Queen Katharine.
Three other Gentlemen.
Doctor Butts, Physician to the King.
Garter King at Arms.
Surveyor to the Duke of Buckingham.
Brandon, and a Sergeant at Arms.
Door-keeper of the Council-chamber.
Porter and his Man.
Page to Gardiner.
A Crier.
Queen Katharine, Wife to King Henry, cfter-
wards divorced.
Anne Bullen, her Maid of Honour ; afterwards
Queen.
An old Lady, Friend to Anne Bullen.
Patience, Woman to Queen Katharine.
Several Lords and Ladies in the dumb shows;
Women attending upon the Queen ; Sjririts, which
appear to her; Scribes, Officers, Guards, and
other Attendants.
Westminster ; once at Kimbolton.
/- '-
COOKe R A.fl
O 1X>KD AROB BISHOP,
TBO0 BAST MADE MS NOW K MAN.
KING HENRY VIII
PROLOGUE.
1 come no moru to make you laugh ; things now,
That Ixjar a weiphty and a serious brow,
Sad, high, and working, i'uU of state and woe,
Such noble scenes as draw tlie eye to flow,
We now present. Tl>ose that can pity, here
May, if they think it well, let fall a tear ;
The subject will deserve it. Such as give
Their money out of hojie they may l>elieve,
May here find truth too. Those, that come to see
Only a sJiow or two, and so agree.
The play may pass ; if they be still and willing,
I'll undertake, may see away their shilling
Richly in two short hours. Only they,
That come to hear a merry, wanton play,
A noise of targets ; or to see a fellow
In a long motley coat, guarded > with yellow,
> Laced.
Will be deceiv'd ; for, gentle hearers, know,
To rank our chosen truth with such a show
As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting
Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring,
(To make that only true we now intend*,)
Will leave us never an imderstanding friend.
Therefore, for gootlness' sake, and as you are known
The first and happiest hearers of the town,
Be sad, as we would make ye : TTiink, ye see
The very persons of our noble story,
As they were living ; think you see tliem great,
And follow 'd with the general throng, and sweat,
Of thousand friends : then, in a moment, see
How soon this mightiness meets misery !
And, if you can be merry then, I'll say,
A man may weep upon his wedding day.
= Pretend
568
KING HENRY VIII.
Act I.
ACT I.
SCENE I. — London. An Ante-chamber in the
Palace.
Enter the Duke of Norfolk, at one Door; at the
other the Duke of Buckingham, and the Loiii>
Abergavenny.
Buck. Good morrow, and well met. How have
you done,
Since last we saw in France ?
Nor. I thank your grace :
Healthful ; and ever since a fresh admirer
Of what I saw there.
Buck. An untimely ague
Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber, when
Those suns of glory, those two lights of men ',
Met in the vale of Arde.
Nor. 'Twixt Guynes and Arde:
I was then present, saw them salute on horseback ;
Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung
In their embracement, as they grew together ;
Which had they, what four thron'd ones could have
weigh'd
Such a compounded one ?
Buck. All the whole time
I was my chamber's prisoner.
Nor. Then you lost
The view of earthly glory : Men might say.
Till this time, pomp was single ; but now married
To one above itself. Each following day
Became the next day's master, till the last
Made former wonders it's : To-day, the French,
All clinquant 2, all in gold, like heathen gods,
Shone down the English : and, to-morrow, they
Made Britain, India : every man that stood,
Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were
As cherubin, all gilt : the madams too,
Not us'd to toil, did almost sweat to bear
The pride upon them, that their very labour
Was to them as a painting : now this mask
Was cry'd incomparable ; and the ensuing night
Made it a fool, and beggar. The two kings.
Equal in lustre, were now best, now worst,
As presence did present them ; him in eye.
Still him in praise : and, being present both,
'Twas said, they saw but one ; and no discerner
Durst wag his tongue in censure. 3 When these suns
(For so they phrase them,] by their heralds chal-
leng'd
The noble spirits to arms, they did perform
Beyond thought's compass ; that former fabulous
story.
Being now seen possible enough, got credit,
That Bevis ^ was believ'd.
Buck. O, you go far.
Nor. As I belong to worship, and affect
In honour honesty, the tract of every thing
Would by a good discourser lose some life.
Which action's self was tongue to. All was royal ;
To the disposing of it nought rebell'd.
Order gave each thing view ; the office did
Distinctly his full function.
Buck. Who did guide,
I mean, who set the body and the limbs
Of this great sport together, as you guess ?
' J^^"'"y VIII. and Francis I. king of France.
2 Glittering, shining. 3 ]„ opinion, which wAs most noble.
^ Sir Bevis, an oliJ romance.
Nor. One, certes * that promises no element ^
In such a business.
Buck. I pray you, who, my lord ?
Nor. All this was order'd by the good discretion
Of the right reverend cardinal of York.
Buck. The devil speed him ! no man's pie is free'd
From his ambitious finger. What had he
To do in these fierce vanities? I wonder.
That such a keech ' can with his very bulk
Take up the rays o'the beneficial sun.
And keep it from the earth.
Nor. Surely, sir,
There's in him stuff that puts him to these ends :
For, being not propp'd by ancestry, (whose grace
Chalks successors their way,) nor call'd upon
For high feats done to the crown ; neither allied
To eminent assistants, but, spider-like.
Out of his self-drawing web, he gives us note,
The force of his own merit makes his way ;
A gift that heaven gives for him, which buys
A place next to the king.
Aher. I cannot tell
Wliat heaven hath given him, let some graver eye
Pierce into that ; but I can see his pride
Peep through each part of him : Whence has ho
that?
If not from hell, the devil is a niggard ;
Or has given all before, and he begins
A new hell in himself.
Buck. Why the devil.
Upon this French going-out, took he upon him,
Without the privity o' the king, to appoint
Who should attend on him ? He makes up the file
Of all the gentry ; for the most part such
Too, whom as great a charge as little honour
He meant to lay upon : and his own letter 8,
The honourable board of council out.
Must fetch him in the papers.
Aber. I do know
Kinsmen of mine, three at the least, that have
By this so sicken'd their estates, that never
They shall abound as formerly.
Buck. O, many
Have broke their backs with laying manors on them
For this great journey. What did this vanity.
But minister communication of
A most poor issue ?
Nor. Grievingly I think
The peace between the French and us not values
The cost that did conclude it.
Buck. Every man.
After the hideous storm that follow'd, was
A thing inspir'd : and, not consulting, broke
Into a general prophecy, — That this tempest,
Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded
The sudden breach on't.
Nor. Which is budded out ;
For France hath flaw'd the league, and hath attach 'd
Our merchants' goods at Bourdeaux.
Aber. Is it therefore
The ambassador is silenc'd?
Nor. Marry, is't.
Aber. A proper title of a peace ; and purchas'd
At a superfluous rate !
^ Certainly. •• Practice. " Lump of fat.
8 Sets down in his letter without consulting the council
I
Scene I.
KING HENRY VIII.
569
Buck. Why,' all this business
Our reverend cardinal carried. 9
Nor. 'Like it, your grace,
The state takes notice of the private difference
Betwixt you and the cardinal. I advise you,
(And take it from a heart that wishes towards you
Honour and plenteous safety,) that you read
The cardinal's malice and his potency
Together : to consider further, that
What his high hatred would effect, wants not
A minister in his power : You know his nature.
That he's revengeful ; and I know, his sword
Hath a sharp edge : it's long, and, it may be said,
It reaches far ; and where 'twill not extend,
Thither he darts it. Bosom up my counsel,
You'll find it wholesome. Lo, where comes that rock,
That I advise your shunning.
Enter Cardinal Wolsey, {the Purse borne before
him,) certain of the Guard, and two Secretaries
with Papers. The Carhinav in his passage Jlxeth
his eye on Buckingham, and Buckingham on him,
both full of disdain.
Wol. The duke of Buckingham's surveyor ? ha ?
Where's his examination ?
1 Seer. Here, so please you.
Wol. Is he in person ready ?
1 Sccr. Ay, please your grace.
Wol. Well, we shall then know more ; and Buck-
ingham
Shall lessen this big look.
[^Exeunt Wolsey, and Train.
Buck. This butcher's cur ' is venom-mouth'd,
and I
Have not the power to muzzle him : therefore best
Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book
Out-worths a noble's blood.
North. Wliat, are you chafd?
Ask heaven for temperance ; that's the appliance
only :
Which your disease requires.
Buck. I read in his looks
Matter against me ; and his eye revil'd
Mc, as his abject object : at this instant
He bores - me witli some trick : He's gone to the
king;
I'll follow, and out-stare him.
Nor. Stay, my lord,
And let your reason with your choler question
What 'tis you go about : To climb steep hills
Requires slow pace at first : Anger is like
A full-hot horse ; who being allow'd his way.
Self-mettle tires him. Not a man in England
Can advise me like you ; be to yourself
As you would to your friend.
Buck. I'll to the king,
And from a mouth of honour quite cry down
This Ipswich fellow's insolence ; or proclaim.
There's difference in no persons.
Nor. Be advis'd :
Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot
Tliat it do singe yourself : We may out-run,
By violent swiftness, that which we run at,
And lose by over-nmning. Know you not.
The fire, that mounts the liquor till it run o'er.
In seeming to augment it, wastes it? Be advis'd :
I say again, there is no English soul
More stronger to direct you than yourself ;
•Conducted. > Wobey was the ion oT a butcher. * SUbt.
If with the sap of reason you would quench,
Or but allay, the fire of passion.
Buck. Sir,
I am thankful to you : and I'll go along
By your prescription : — but this top-proud fellow,
( Whom from the flow of gall I name not, but
From sincere motions,) by intelligence,
And proofs as clear as founts in July, when
We see each grain of gravel, I do know
To be corrupt and treasonous.
Nor. Say not, treasonous.
Buck. To the king I'll say't ; and make my vouch
as strong
As shore of rock. Attend. This holy fox,
Or wolf, or both, (for he is equal ravenous,
As he is subtle ; and as prone to mischief,
As able to perform it : his mind and place
Infecting one another, yea, reciprocally,)
Only to show his pomp as well in France
As here at home, suggests ^ the king our master
To this last costly treaty, the interview.
That swallow'd so much treasure, and like a glass
Did break i* the rinsing.
Nor. 'Faith, and so it did.
Btick. Pray, give me favour,- sir. This cunning
cardinal
The articles o' the combination drew,
As himself pleas'd ; and they were ratified,
As he cried, Thus let be : to as much end,
As give a crutch to the dead : But our count-cardinal
Has done this, and 'tis well j for worthy Wolsey,
Who cannot err, he did it. Now this follows,
(Which, as I take it, is a kind of puppy
To the old dam, treason, ) — Charles the emperor.
Under pretence to see the queen his aunt,
(For 'twas, indeed, his colour ; but he came
To whisper Wolsey,) here makes visitation :
His fears were, that the interview, betwixt
England and France, might, through their amity.
Breed him some prejudice ; for from this league
Peep'd arms that menac'd him : He privily
Deals with our cardinal ; ar.d, as I trow, —
Which I do well ; for, I am sure, the emperor
Paid ere he promis'd ; whereby his suit was granted.
Ere it was ask'd ; — but when the way was made.
And pav'd with gold, the emperor thus desir'd ; —
That he would please to alter the king's course
And break the foresaid peace. Let the king know,
(As soon he shall by me,) that thus the cardinal
Does buy and sell his honour as he pleases.
And for his own advantage.
Nor. I am sorry
To hear this of him ; and could wish, he were
Something mistaken in't.
Buck. No, not a syllable ;
I do pronounce him in that very shape.
He shall appear in proof.
Enter Brandon ; a Sergeant at Arms before him,
and two or three of the Guard.
Bran. Your office, sergeant ; execute it.
Serg. Sir,
My lord the duke of Buckingham, and earl
Of Hereford, Stafford, and Northampton, I
Arrest thee of high treason, in the name
Of our most sovereign king.
Buck. Lo you, my lord.
The net has fall'n upon me ; I shall perish
Under device and practice. *
3 Excite*. * Unfair •tratagem,
570
KING HENRY VIII.
Act I.
Bran. I am sorry
To see you ta'en from liberty, to look on
The business present : 'Tis his highness* pleasure
You shall to the Tower.
Buck. It will help me nothing,
To plead mine innocence ; for that dye is on me,
Which makes my whitest part black. The will of
heaven
Be done in this and all things ! — I obey. —
0 my lord Aberga'ny, fare you well.
Bran. Nay, he must bear you company : — The
king [To Abergavenny.
Is pleas'd, you shall to the Tower, till you know
How he determines further.
Aber. As the duke said,
The will of heaven be done, and the king's pleasure
By me obey'd.
Bran. Here is a warrant from
The king, to attach lord Montacute ; and the bodies
Of tlie duke's confessor, John de la Court,
One Gilbert Peck, his chancellor, —
Buck. So, so ;
These are the limbs of the plot : no more, I hope.
Bran. A monk o' the Chartreux,
Buck. O, Nicholas Hopkins?
Bran. He.
Buck. My surveyor is false ; the o'er-great cardinal
Hath show'd him gold : my life is spann'd already ;
1 am the shadow of poor Buckingham ;
Whose figure even this instant cloud puts on.
By darkening my clear sun. — My lord, farewell.
[^Exeunt.
SCENE II The CouncU-chamber.
Comets. Enter Kino Henry, Cardinal Wolsey,
the Lords of the Council, Sir Thomas Lovell,
Officers, and Attendants. The King enters, lean-
ing on the Cardinal's Shoulder.
K. Hen. My life itself and the best heart of it.
Thanks you for this great care : I stood i' the level
Of a full-charg'd confederacy, and give thanks
To you that chok'd it. — Let be call'd before us
That gentleman of Buckingham's : in person
I'll hear him his confessions justify ;
And point by point the treasons of his master
He shall again relate.
The King takes his State. ^ The Lords of the Council
take their several Places. The Cardinal places him-
self under the King's Feet, on his right Side.
A Noise within, crying, Room for the Queen. Enter
the Queen, ushered by the Dukes of Norfolk and
Suffolk : she kneels. The King risethfrom his
State, takes her up, kisses, and placeth her by him.
Q, Kath, Nay, we must longer kneel ; I am a
sviitor.
K. Hen. Arise, and take place by us : — Half
your suit
Never name to us ; you have half our power :
The other moiety, ere you ask, is given ;
Repeat your will, and take it.
Q. Kath. Thank your majesty.
That you would love yourself; and in that love.
Not unconsider'd leave your honour, nor
The dignity of your office, is the point
Of my petition.
K. Hen. Lady mine, proceed.
Q. Kath. I am solicited, not by a few,
And those of true condition, that your subjects
* Chair of state, threne.
Arc in great grievance: there hath been commissions
Sent down among them, which hath flaw'd the heart
Of all their loyalties : — wherein, although,
My good lord cardinal, they vent reproaches
Most bitterly on you, as putter-on
Of these exactions, yet the king our master,
(Whose honour heaven shield from soil!) even he
escapes not
Language unmannerly, yea, such which breaks
The sides of loyalty, and almost appears,
In loud rebellion.
Nor. Not almost appears,
It doth appear ; for, upon these taxations.
The clothiers all, not able to maintain
The many to them 'longing, have put off
The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who,
Unfit for other life, compell'd by hunger
And lack of other means, in desperate manner
Daring the event to the teeth, are all in uproar,
And danger serves among them.
K. Hen. Taxation !
Wherein ? and what taxation ? — My lord cardinal,
You that are blam'd for it alike with us.
Know you of this taxation ?
Wol. Please you, sir,
I know but of a single part, in aught
Pertains to the state ; and front but in that file
Where others tell steps vnth me. ^
Q. Kath. No, my lord.
You know no more than others : but you frame
Things, that are known alike ; which are not whole-
some
To those which would not know them, and yet must
Perforce be their acquaintance. These exactions.
Whereof my sovereign would have note, they are
Most pestilent to the hearing ; and to bear them.
The back is sacrifice to the load. They say.
They are devis'd by you ; or else you suffer
Too hard an exclamation.
K. Hen. Still exaction !
The nature of it ? In what kind, let's know
Is this exaction ?
Q. Kath. I am much too venturous
In tempting of your patience j but am bolden'd
Under your promis'd pardon. The subject's grief
Comes through commissions, which compel from each
The sixth part of his substance, to be levied
Without delay ; and the pretence for this
Is nam'd, your wars in France : This makes bold
mouths :
Tongues spit their duties out, and cold hearts freeze
Allegiance in them ; their curses now,
Live where their prayers did ; and it's come to pass,
That tractable obedience is a slave
To each incensed will. I would, your highness
Would give it quick consideration, for
There is no primer 7 business.
K. Hen. By my life.
This is against our pleasure.
Wol. And for me,
I have no farther gone in this, than by
A single voice ; and that not pass'd me, but
By learned approbation of the judges.
If I am traduc'd by tongues, which neither know
My faculties, nor person, yet will be
The chronicles of my doing, — let me say,
'Tis but the fate of place, and the rough brake 8
That virtue must go through. We must not stint
6 I am only one among the other counsellors.
7 More important e Thicket of thorns.
i
Scene II.
KING HENRY VIII.
571
Our necessary actions, in the fear
To cope 9 malicious censurers ; which ever,
As ravenous fishes, do a vessel follow
That is new trimm'd ; but benefit no further
Than vainly longing. What we oft do best,
13y sick interpreters, once ' weak ones, is
Not ours, or not allow'd •' ; what worst, as oft,
Hitting a grosser quality, is cried up
For our best act. If we shall stand still.
In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at,
We should take root here where we sit, or sit
State statues only.
K. Hen. Things done well,
And with a care, exempt themselves from fear ;
Things done without example, in their issue
Are to be fear'd. Have you a precedent
Of this commission ? I believe, not any.
We must not rend our subjects from our laws,
And stick them in our will. Sixth part of each ?
A trembling contribution ! Why, we take.
From every tree, lop, bark, and part o' the timber ;
And though we leave it with a root, thus hack'd,
The air will drink the sap. To every county.
Where this is question'd, send our letters, with
Free pardon to each man that has denied
The force of this commission : Pray, look to't ;
1 put it to your care.
Wol. A word with you. \To the Secretary.
Let there be letters writ to every shire.
Of the king's grace and pardon. The griev'd
commons
Hardly conceive of me ; let it be nois'd,
That through our intercession, this revokement
And pardon comes : I shall anon advise you
Further in the proceeding. \^Exit Secretary.
Enter Surveyor.
Q. Kath. I am sorry that the duke of Buckingham
Is run in your displeasure.
K. Hen. It grieves many :
The gentleman is leam'd, and a most rare speaker.
To nature none more bound ; his training such.
That he may furnish and instruct great teachers,
And never seek for aid out of himself.
Yet see
When these so noble benefits shall prove
Not well dispos'd, the mind growing once corrupt,
They turn to vicious forms, ten times more ugly
Than ever they were fair. This man so complete.
Who was enroll'd 'mongst wonders, and when we,
Almost with ravish'd listening, could not find
His hour of speech a minute ; he, my lady.
Hath into monstrous habits put the graces
That once were his, and is become as black
As if besmear'd in hell. Sit by us : you shall hear
(This was Iiis gentleman in trust,) of him
Things to strike honour sad. — Bid him recount
The fore-recited practices ; whereof
We cannot feel too little, hear too much.
Wol. Stand forth ; and with bold spirit relate what
you.
Most like a careful subject, have collected
Out of the duke of Buckingham.
A'. Hen. Speak freely.
Surv. First, it was usual with him, every day
It would infect his speech, That if the king
Should witliout issue die, he'd carry it so
To make the scepter his : These very words
I liave heard him utter to his son-in-law,
> Encounter. ' Sometime. > Approved.
Lord Aberga'ny ; to whom by oath he menaced
Revenge upon the cardinal.
Wol. Please your highness, note
This dangerous conception in tliis point.
Not friended by his wish, to your high person
His will is most malignant ; and it stretches
Beyond you, to your friends.
Q. Kath. My leam'd lord cardinal,
Deliver all with charity.
K. Hen. Speak on :
How grounded he his title to the crown,
Upon our fail ? to this point hast tliou heard him
At any time speak aught ?
Surv. He was brought to this
By a vain prophecy of Nicholas Hopkins.
K. Hen. What was that Hopkins?
Surv. Sir, a Churtreux friar.
His confessor, who fed him every minute
With words of sovereignty.
K. Hen. How know'st thou this ?
Surv. Not longbefore your highness sped to France,
The duke being at the Rose \ witliin the parish
Saint Lawrence Poultney, did of me demand
What was the speech amongst the Londoners
Concerning the French journey : I replied.
Men fear'd, the French would prove perfidious.
To the king's danger. Presently the duke
Said, 'Twas the fear, indeed ; and that he doubted,
'Twould prove the verity of certain words
Spoke by a holy monk ; That ofty says he.
Hath sent to me, ivishing me to permit
John ae la Court, my chaplain, a choice hour
To hear from him a maiter of some moment:
Whom after under the confession's seal
He solemnly had sworn, that what he spoke.
My chaplain to no creature living, but
To me, should utter, with demure confidence
Thispausinglyensud, — Neither the king, nor his heirs,
( Tell you the duke) shall prosjier : bid him strive
To gain the love of the commonalty ; the duke
Shall govern Ejigland.
Q. Kath. If I know you well,
You were the duke's surveyor, and lost your office
On the complaint o'the tenants : Take good heed,
You charge not in your spleen a noble person.
And spoil your nobler soul ! I say, take heed ;
Yes, heartily beseech you.
K Hen. Let him on : —
Go forward.
Surv. On my soul, I'll speak but trutli.
I told my lord the duke, by the devil's illusions
The monk might be deceiv'd; and that 'twas dang'rous
for him.
To ruminate on this so far, until
It forg'd him some design, which, being believ'd,
It was much like to do : He answer'd. Tush I
It can do me no damage : adding further.
That, had the king in his last sickness fail'd,
The cardinal's and sir Thomas Lovell's heads
Should have gone off.
K.Hen. Ha ! what, so rank ? Ah, ha !
There's mischief in this man : Canst thou say
further?
Surv. I can, my liege.
K. Hen. Proceed.
Surv. Being at Greenwich,
After your highness had reprov'd the duke
About sir William Blomer, —
K. Hen. I remember,
< Nov Merchant Taylors* SchooL
572
KING HENRY VIII.
Act I.
Of such a time : — Being my servant sworn,
The duke retain'd him his. Buton; Whathence?
Surv. If, quoth he, I for this had been committed.
As to the Tower, I thought, — / would have playd
The part my father meant to act upon
The usurper Richard : who, being at Salisbury,
Made suit to come in his presence ; which if granted,
As he made semblance of his duty, would
Have put his knife into him.
K Hen. A giant traitor !
Wol. Now, madam, may his highness live in
freedom.
And this man out of prison?
Q. Kdth. Heaven mend all !
A"". Hen. There's something more would out of
tliee ; What say'st ?
Surv. After — the duke his father, — with the
knife, —
He stretch'd liim, and, with one hand on his dagger,
Another spread on his breast, mounting his eyes.
He did discharge a horrible oath ; whose tenour
Was, — Were he evil us'd, he would out-go
His father, by as much as a performance
Does an irresolute purpose.
A". Hen. Tliere's his period.
To sheath his knife in us. He is attach'd ;
Call him to present trial : if he may
Find mercy in the law, 'tis his ; if none.
Let him not seek't of us : By day and night,
He's traitor to the height. [ Sxenjit.
SCENE III. — A Room in the Palace,
winter the Lord Chamberlain, and Lord Sands.
Cham. Is it possible, the spells of France should
juggle
Men into such strange mysteries ?
Sands. New customs.
Though they be never so ridiculous.
Nay, let them be unmanly, yet are follow'd.
Cham. As far as I see, all the good our English
Have got by the late voyage, if but merely
A fit -1 or two o' the face ; but they are shrewd ones ;
For when they hold them, you would swear directly,
Their very noses had been counsellors
To Pepin, or Clotharius, they keep state so.
Sands. They have all new legs, and lame ones ;
one would take it.
That never saw them pace before, the spavin,
A springhalt & reign 'd among them.
Cham. Death ! my lord.
Their clothes are after such a pagan cut too.
That, sure, they have worn out Christendom. How
now?
What news, sir Thomas Lovell ?
Enter Sir Thomas Lovell.
Lav. 'Faith, my lord,
I hear of none but the new proclamation
That's clapp'd upon the court-gate.
Cham. What is't for ?
Lov. The reformation of our travell'd gallants,
That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors.
Cf'am, I am glad, 'tis there j now I would pray
our monsieurs
To think an English courtier may be wise,
And never see the Louvre. ^
Lov. They must either
* Grimace. * Disease iocident to horses.
« A palace at Paris.
( For so run the conditions,) leave these remnants
Of fool, and feather, tliat they got in France,
With all their honourable points of ignorance.
Pertaining thereunto, (as fights, and fireworks ;
Abusing better men than they can be,
Out of a foreign wisdom,) renouncing clean
The faith they have in tennis, and tall stockings.
Short blister'd breeches, and those types of travel,
And understand again like honest men ;
Or pack to their old playfellows : there, I take it.
They may, cum privilegio 7, wear away
The lag end of their wildness, and be laugh'd at.
Sands. ' Tis time to give them phy sick, their diseases
Are grown so catching.
Cham. What a loss our ladies
Will have of these trim vanities !
Lov. Ay, marry,
There will be woe indeed.
Sands. I am glad, they're going ;
(For, sure, there's no converting of them;) now
An honest country lord, as I am, beaten
A long time out of play, may bring his plain-song,
And have an hour of hearing ; and, by'r-lady.
Held current musick too.
Cham. Well said, lord Sands ;
Your colt's tooth is not cast yet.
Sands. No, my lord ;
Nor shall not, while I have^a stump.
Cham. Sir Thomas.
Wliither were you a going ?
I,ov. To the cardinal's ;
Your lordship is a guest too.
Cham. O, 'tis true :
This night he makes a supper, and a great one,
To many lords and ladies ; there will be
The beauty of this kingdom, I'll assure you.
Lov. That churchman beafs a bounteous mind
indeed,
A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us ;
His dews fall every where.
Cham. No doubt, he's noble ;
He had a black mouth, that said other of him.
Sands. He may, my lord, he has wherewithal ; in
him.
Sparing would show a worse sin than ill doctrine :
Men of his way should be most liberal.
They are set here for examples.
Cham. True, they are so ;
But few now give so great ones. My barge stays ;
Your lordship shall along : — Come, good sir Thomas,
We shall be late else : which I would not be.
For I was spoke to, with sir Henry Guildford,
This night to be comptrollers.
Sands. I am your lordship's.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — The Presence-Chamber in York-
Place.
Hautboys. A small Table under a Stale for the Car-
dinal, a longer Table for the Guests. Enter at one
Door Anne Bullen, and divers Lords, Ladies,
and Gentlewomen, as Guests; at another Door,
enter Sir Henry Guildford.
Guild. Ladies, a general welcome from his grace
Salutes ye all : This night he dedicates
To fair content, and you : none here, he hopes,
In all this noble bevy % has brought with her
One care abroad ; he would have all as merry
7 With authority.
Company.
Scene IV.
KING HENRY VIII.
573
As first-good company, good wine, good welcome
Can make good people. O, my lord, you are
tardy ;
Enter Lord Chamberlain, Lo»D Sands, a7id Sir
Thomas Lovell.
The very thought of this fair company
Clapp'd wings to me.
Cham. You are young, sir Harry Guildford.
Sweet ladies, will it please you sit ? Sir Harry,
Place you that side, I'll take the charge of this :
His grace is ent'ring. — Nay, you must not freeze;
Two women plac'd together makes cold weather : —
My lord Sands, you are one will keep them waking ;
Pray, sit between these ladies.
Sa7ids. By my faith,
And thank your lordship. — By your leave, sweet
ladies ;
[Seats himself between Annk Bullen and
another Lady.
If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me ;
1 had it from my father.
^7ine. Was he mad, sir ?
Sands. O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too :
But he would bite none ; just as I do now.
He would kiss you twenty with a breath.
{A''isses her.
Cham. Well said, my lord. —
So, now you are fairly seated : — Gentlemen,
The penance lies on you, if these fair ladies
Pass away frowning.
Sands. For my little cure,
Let me alone.
Hautboys. Enter Cardinal Wolsey, attended; and
takes his State.
WoL You are welcome, my fair guests ; that
noble lady.
Or gentleman, that is not freely merry.
Is not my friend : This, to confirm my welcome ;
And to you all good health. [Drinks.
Sands. Your grace is noble ; —
Let me have such a bowl may hold my thanks,
And save me so much talking.
ff^ol. My lord Sands,
I am beholden to you : cheer your neighbours. —
Ladies, you are not merry j — Gentlemen,
Whose fault is this?
Sands. The red wine first must rise
In their fair cheeks, my lord ; then we shall have
them
Talk us to silence.
Anne. You are a merry gamester,
My lord Sands.
Sands. Yes, if I make my play. 9
Here's to your ladyship ; and pledge it, madam.
[Drum and Trumpets within : C/tambers '
disdiarged.
WoL Wliat'sthat?
Chanu Look out there, some of you.
[Exit a Servant.
ff^ol. What warlike voice?
And to what end is this ? — Nay, ladies, fear not ;
By all the laws of war you are privileg'd.
Re-enter Servant,
Cham. How now ? what is't ?
Serv. A noble troop of strangers ;
For so they seem : they have left their barge, and
landed ;
* Choose my game. ' Small cannon.
And hither make, as great ambassadors
From foreign princes.
f^ol. Good lord chamberlain,
Go, give them welcome, you can speak the French
tongue ;
And, pray, receive them nobly, and conduct them.
Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty
Shall shine at full upon them : — Some attend him. —
[Exit Chamberlain, attended. All arise,
and Tables removed*
You have now a broken banquet : but we'll mend it.
A good digestion to you all : and, once more,
I shower a welcome on you ; — Welcome all.
Hautboys. Enter the King, and twelve others, as
Maskers, habited like Shepherds, with sixteen Torch-
bearers ; ushered by the Lord Chamberlain. They
pass directly before the Cardinal, and gracefully
salute him.
A noble company ! what are their pleasures ?
Cham. Because they speak no English, thus they
pray'd
To tell your grace : — That, having heard by fame
Of this so noble and so fair assembly
This night to meet here, they could do no less,
Out of the great respect they bear to beauty.
But leave their flocks ; and, under your fair conduct
Crave leave to view these ladies, and entreat
An hour of revels with them.
ff^ol. Say, lord chamberlain,
They have done my poor house grace ; for which I
pay them
A thousand thanks, and pray them take their pi easu res.
[Ladies chosen for the Dance. The King
chooses Anne Bullen.
JT. Hen. The fairest hand I ever touched ! O,
beauty.
Till now I never knew thee. [Musick. Dance.
Wol. My lord,
Cham. Your grace ?
Wol. Pray tell them thus much from me :
There should be one amongst them, by his person.
More worthy this place than myself; to whom,
If I but knew him, with my love and duty
I would surrender it.
Cham. I will, my lord.
[Cham, goes to the Company, and returns.
Wol. What say they ?
Cham. Such a one, they all confess.
There is, indeed; which they would have your grace.
Find out, and he will take it.
Wol. Let me see, then. — [Comes from his State.
By all your good leaves, gentlemen ; — Here I '11 make
My royal choice.
K. Hen. You have found him, cardinal :
[ Unmasking.
You hold a fair assembly ; you do well, lord :
You are a churchman, or, I'll tell you, cardinal,
I should judge now unhappily. *
Wol. I am glad,
Your grace is grown so pleasant.
K. Hen. My lord chamberlain,
Pr'ythee, come hither : What fair lady's that ?
Cham. An't plea.se your grace, sir Thomas Bul-
len's daughter,
The viscount Rochford, one of her highness' women.
K. Hen. By heaven, she is a dainty one. —
Swi-ctheart,
1 were unmannerly to take you out,
* MUchievoiuiy.
574.
KING HENRY VIII.
And not to kiss you. — A health, gentlemen,
Let it go round,
Wol. Sir Thomas Lovell, is the banquet ready
I* the privy chamber ?
Lov. Yes, my lord.
Wol. Your grace,
I fear with dancing is a little heated.
A". Hen. I fear too much.
JFol. There's fresher wr, my lord,
In the next chamber.
Act II.
Sweet
JT. Hen. Lead in your ladies, everyone,
partner,
I must not yet forsake you : Let's be merry : —
Good my lord cardinal, I have half a dozen health:
To drink to these fair ladies, and a measure 3
To lead them once again ; and then let's dream
Who's best in favour. — Let the musick knock it.
{Exeunt, with Trumpets.
ACT 11.
SCENE I. — A Street.
Enter two Gentlemen, meeting.
1 Gent. Whither away so fast ?
2 Gent. O, — save you, sir.
Even to the hall, to hear what shall become
Of the great duke of Buckingham.
1 Gent. I'll save you
That labour, sir. All's now done, but the ceremony
Of bringing back the prisoner.
2 Gent. Were you there ?
1 Gent. Yes, indeed, was I.
2 Gent. Pray speak, what has happen'd ?
1 Gent. You may guess quickly what.
2 Gent. Is he found guilty?
1 Gent. Yes, truly is he, and condemn'd upon it.
2 Gent. I am sorry for't.
1 Gent. So are a number more.
2 Gent. But, pray, how pass'd it ?
1 Gent. I'll tell you in a little. The great duke
Came to the bar ; where, to his accusations.
He pleaded still not guihy, and alleg'd
Many sharp reasons to defeat the law.
The king's attorney, on the contrary,
Urg'd on the examinations, proofs, confessions
Of divers witnesses ; which the duke desir'd
To him brought, viva voce, to his face :
At which appear'd against him, his surveyor ;
Sir Gilbert Peck, his chancellor ; and John Court,
Confessor to him ; with that devil-monk,
Hopkins, that made this mischief.
2 Gent. That was he
That fed him with his prophecies ?
1 Gent. The same.
All these accus'd him strongly ; which he fain
Would have flung from him, but, indeed, he could
not:
And so his peers, upon this evidence
Have found him guilty of high treason. Much
He spoke, and learnedly, for life : but all
Was either pitied in him, or forgotten.
2 Gent. After all this, how did he bear himself?
1 Gent. When he was brought again to the bar, —
to hear
His knell rung out, his judgment, — he was stirr'd
With such an agony, he sweat extremely.
And something spoke in choler, ill and hasty :
But he fell to himself again, and sweetly,
In all the rest show'd a most noble patience.
2 Gent. I do not think he fears death.
1 Gent. Sure, he does not.
He never was so womanish ; the cause
He may a little grieve at.
2 Gent. Certainly,
The cardinal is the end of this.
1 Gent. 'Tis likely,
By all conjectures : First, Kildare's attainder,
Then deputy of Ireland ; who remov'd.
Earl Surrey was sent thither, and in haste too,
Lest he should help his father.
2 Gent. That trick of state
Was a deep envious one.
1 Gent. At his return.
No doubt, he will requite it. This is noted.
And generally ; whoever the king favours.
The cardinal instantly will find employment.
And far enough from court too.
2 Gent. AH the commons
Hate him perniciously, and, o' my conscience.
Wish him ten fathom deep : this duke as much
They love, and dote on ; call him, bounteous Buck-
ingham,
The mirror of all courtesy ; —
1 Gent. Stay there, sir,
And see the noble ruin'd man you speak of
Enter Buckingham from his Arraignment ; Tip-
staves before him, the Axe with the Edge towards
him; Halberds on each Side : with him Sir Thomas
Lovell, Sir Nicholas Vaux, Sir William
Sands, a7id common People.
2 C^nt. Let's stand close, and behold him.
Buck. AH good people,
You that thus far have come to pity me.
Hear what I say, and then go home and lose me.
I have this day receiv'd a traitor's judgment,
And by that name must die ; yet, heaven bear witness.
And, if I have a conscience, let it sink me.
Even as the axe falls, if I be not faithful !
The law I bear no malice for my death.
It has done, upon the premises, but justice :
But those that sought it, I could wish more Chris-
tians :
Be what they will, I heartily forgive them :
Yet let them look they glory not in mischief.
Nor build their evils on the graves of great men ;
For then my guiltless blood must cry against them.
For further life in this world I ne'er hope.
Nor will I sue, although the king have mercies
More than I dare make faults. You few that lov'd
me,
And dare be bold to weep for Buckingham,
His noble friends, and fellows, whom to leave
Is only bitter to him, only dying,
Go, with me, like good angels, to my end ;
And, as the long divorce of steel falls on me.
Make of your prayers one sweet sacrifice,
And lift my soul to heaven. — Lead on, o' God's
name.
3 Dance.
Scene I
KING HENRY VIII.
575
Lov. I do beseech your grace, for charity,
If ever any malice in your heart
Were hid against me, now to forgive me frankly.
Buck. Sir Thomas Lovell, I as free forgive you,
As I would be forgiven : I forgive all ;
There cannot be those numberless offences
'Gainst me, I can't take peace with : no black envy
Shall make my grave. — Commend me to his grace j
And, if he speak of Buckingham, pray, tell him.
You met him half in heaven : my vows and prayers
Yet are the king's ; and, till my soul forsake me,
Shall cry for blessings on him : May he live
Longer than I have time to tell his years !
Ever belov'd, and loving, may his rule be !
And, when old time shadl lead him to his end.
Goodness and he fill up one monument !
Lov. To the water side I must conduct your grace ;
Then give my charge up to sir Nicholas Vaux,
Who undertaJ^es you to your end.
Vaux. Prepare there.
The duke is coming : see, the barge be ready;
A nd fit it with such furniture, as suits
The greatness of his person.
Buck. Nay, sir Nicholas,
Let it alone ; my state now will but mock me.
When I came hither, I was lord high constable.
And duke of Buckingham ; now, poor Edward
Bohun :
Yet I am richer than my base accusers,
That never knew what truth meant : I now seal it ;
And with that blood will make them one day groan
for't.
My noble father, Henry of Buckingham,
Who first rais'd head against usurping Richard,
Flying for succour to his servant Banister,
Being distress'd, was by that wretch betray 'd,
And without trial fell ; God's peace be with him !
Henry the Seventh succeeding, truly pitying
My father's loss, like a most royal prince,
Restor'd me to my honours, and, out of ruins.
Made my name once more noble. Now his son,
Henry the Eighth, life, honour, name, and all
Tliat made me happy, at one stroke has taken
For ever from the world. I had my trial.
And, must needs say, a noble one ; which makes me
A little happier than my wretched father :
Yet thus far we are one in fortunes : — Both
Fell by our servants, by those men we lov'd most ;
A most unnatural and faithless service !
Heaven has an end in all : Yet, you that hear me.
This from a dying man receive as certain :
Where you are liberal of your loves, and counsels,
Be sure, you be not loose ; for those you make friends.
And give your hearts to, when they once perceive
The least rub in your fortunes, fall away
Like water from ye, never found again
But where they mean to sink ye. All good people,
Pray for me ! I must now forsake ye ; the last hour
Of my long weary life is come upon me.
Farewell :
And when you would say something that is sad,
Si)cak how I fell. — I have done ; and God forgive
me ! [Exncnl Buckingham avd Traiiu
1 Gent. O, this is full of pity ! — Sir, it calls,
I fear, too many curses on their heads.
That were the authors.
2 Geiit. If the duke be guiltless,
'Tis full of woe : yet I can give you inkling
Of an ensuing evil, if it fall.
Greater than this.
1 Gent. Good angels keep it from us !
Where may it be ? you do not doubt my faith, sir ?
2 Gent. This secret is so weighty, 'twill require
A strong faith to conceal it.
1 Gent. Let me have it ;
I do not talk much.
2 Gent. I am confident ;
You shall, sir : Did you not of late days hear
A buzzing, of a separation
Between the king and Katharine ?
1 Gent. Yes, but it held not ;
For when the king once heard it, out of anger
He sent command to the lord mayor stra^ht
To stop the rumour, and allay those tongues
Tliat durst disperse it.
2 Gent. But that slander, sir.
Is found a truth now : for it grows again
Fresher than e'er it was ; and held for certain.
The king will venture at it. Either the cardinal.
Or some about him near, have, out of malice
To the good queen, possess'd him with a scruple
That will undo her : To confirm this too.
Cardinal Campeius is arriv'd, and lately ;
As all think, for this business.
1 Gent. 'Tis the cardinal ;
And merely to revenge him on the emperor.
For not bestowing on him, at his asking,
The archbishoprick of Toledo, this is purpos'd.
2 Gent. I think, you have hit the mark : but is't
not cruel.
That she should feel the smart of this ? The cardinal
Will have his will, and she must fall.
1 Gent. 'Tis wofiil.
We are too open here to argue this ;
Let's think in private more. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. — An Ante-chamber in the Palace.
Enter the Lord Chamberlain, reading a Letter.
Cham. My lord, — The horses your lordship sent
for, with all the care I had, I saw well chosen, ridden,
and furnished. They were young, and handsome;
and of the best breed in the north. When ttiey were
ready to set out for London, a man of my lord cordi-
riafs, by commission, and main pou<er, took 'em from
me; with this reason, — His mtister would be served
before a sul)ject, if not before tlie king; which sto]>j)ed
our mouths, sir.
I fear, he will, indeed ; Well, let him have them :
He will have all, I think.
Enter the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk.
Nor. Well met, my good
Lord chamberlain.
Cham. Good day to both your graces.
Suf. How is the king employ'd ?
Cham. I left him private,
Full of sad thoughts and troubles.
Nor. What's the cause ?
Cham. It seems, the marriage with his brother's
wife
Has crept too near his conscience.
Suf No, his conscience
Has crept too near another lady.
Nor. 'Tis so ;
This is the cardinal's doing, the king-cardinal :
That blind priest, like the eldest son of fortune,
Tumswhat ne lists. The king will know him oneday.
Suf. Pray neavtn, he du ! he'll never know him-
self else.
576
KING HENRY VIII.
Act II,
Ns/r. How holily he works in all his business !
And with what zeal ! For now he has crack'd the
league
Between us and the emperor, the queen's great
nephew.
He dives into the king's soul ; and there scatters
Dangers, doubts, wringing of the conscience.
Fears, and despairs, and all these for his marriage :
And, out of all these to restore the king,
He counsels a divorce : a loss of her,
That, like a jewel, has hung twenty years
About his neck, yet never lost her lustre ;
Of her, that loves him with that excellence
That angels love good men with ; even of her
That, when the greatest stroke of fortune falls.
Will bless the king : And is not this course pious ?
Cham. Heaven keep me from such counsel ! 'Tis
most true.
These news are every where ; every tongue speaks
them.
And every true heart weeps for't : All, that dare
Look into these affairs, see this main end, —
The French king's sister. Heaven will one day open
The king's eyes, that so long have slept upon
This bold bad man.
Svf. And free us from his slavery.
Nor. We had need pray,
And heartily, for our deliverance ;
Or this imperious man will work us all
From princes into pages : all men's honours
Lie in one lump before him, to be fashion'd
Into what pitch he please.
Svf. For me, my lords,
I love him not, nor fear him ; there's my creed :
As I am made without him, so I'll stand,
If the king please ; his curses and his blessings
Touch me alike, they are breath I not believe in.
I knew him, and I know him ; so I leave him
To him, that made him proud, the pope.
Nor. Let's in ;
And, with some other business, put the king
From these sad thoughts, that work too much upon
him : —
My lord, you'll bear us company ?
Cham. Excuse me ;
The king hath sent me other-where : besides.
You'll find a most unfit time to disturb him :
Health to your lordships.
Nor. Thanks, my good lord chamberlain.
{^Exit Lord Chamberlain.
Norfolk opens a Folding-door. The King is dis-
covered sitting and reading pensively.
Suf. How sad he looks ! sure, he is much afflicted.
K. Hen. Who is there ? ha ?
Nor. 'Pray heaven he be not angry.
K. Hen. Who's there, I say ? How dare you thrust
yourselves
Into my private meditations ?
Who am I ? ha ?
Nor, A gracious king, that pardons all offences
Malice ne'er meant : our breach of duty, this way.
Is business of estate ; in which, we come
To know your royal pleasure.
K. Hen. You are too bold ;
Go to ; I'll make ye know your times of business :
Is this an hour for temporal affairs ? ha ? —
Enter Wolsey and Campeius.
Who's there ? my good lord cardinal ? — O my
Wolsey,
t
Aside.
The quiet of my wounded conscience.
Thou art a cure fit for a king. — You're welcome,
[I'o Campeius.
Most learned reverend sir, into our kingdom ;
Use us, and it : — My good lord, have great car
I be not found a talker. [ To Wolsey.
U^ol. Sir, you cannot.
I would your grace would give us but an hour
Of private conference.
JT. Hen. We are busy ; go.
[To Norfolk and Suffolk.
Nor. This priest has no pride in him ? "^
Suf. Not to speak of;
I would not be so sick though"*, for his
place :
But this cannot continue.
Nor. If it do,
I'll venture one heave at him.
Siif. I another. _
[Exeunt Norfolk and Suffolk.
IFol. Your grace has given a precedent of wisdom
Above all princes, in committing freely
Your scruple to the voice of Christendom :
Who can be angry now ? what envy reach you ?
The Spaniard, tied by blood and favour to her,
Must now confess, if they have any goodness.
The trial just and noble. All the clerks,
I mean, the learned ones, in Christian kingdoms.
Have their free voices ; Rome, the nurse of judgment,
Invited by your noble self, hath sefit
One general tongue unto us, this good man.
This just and learned priest, cardinal Campeius ;
Whom, once more, I present unto your highness.
JT. Hen. And, once more, in mine arms, I bid him
welcome.
And thank the holy conclave for their loves ;
They have sent me such a man I would have wish'd
for.
Cam. Your grace must needs deserve all strangers'
loves,
You are so noble : To your highness' hand
I tender my commission ; by whose virtue,
(The court of Rome commanding,) — you, my lord
Cardinal of York, are join'd with me their servant,
In the impartial judging of this business.
IT. Hen. Two equal men. The queen shall be
acquainted
Forthwith, for what you come : — Where's Gardiner?
IFol. I know your majesty has always lov'd her
So dear in heart not to deny her that
A woman of less place might ask by law.
Scholars, allow'd freely to argue for her,
IT. Hen. Ay, and the best she shall have ; and my
favour
To him that does best ; God forbid else. Cardinal,
Pr'ythee, call Gardiner to me, my new secretary ;
I find him a fit fellow. [Exit Wolsey.
Re-enter Wolsey, with Gardiner.
Wol. Give me your hand : much joy and favour
to you ;
You are the king's now.
Gard. But to be commanded
For ever by your grace, whose hand has rais'd me.
[Aside.
K. Hen. Come hither, Gardiner.
[ They converse apart.
Cam. My lord of York, was not one doctor Pace
In this man's place before him ?
4 So sick as he is proud.
Scene III.
KING HENRY VIII.
577
IFol. Yes, he was.
Cam. Was he not held a learned man ?
Wol. Yes, surely.
Ca7n. Believe me, there's an ill opinion spread then
Even of yourself, lord cardinal.
trol. How! of me!
Cam. They will not stick to say you envied him ;
And, fearing he would rise, he was so virtuous,
Kept him a foreign man ^ still j which so griev'd him,
That he ran mad, and died.
IVol. Heaven's peace be with him !
That's Christian care enough : for living munnurers,
There's places of rebuke. He was a fool ;
For he would needs be virtuous : TJiat good fellow,
If I command him, follows my appointment ;
I will have none so near else. Learn this, brother,
We live not to be grip'd by meaner persons.
A'. Hen. Deliver tliis with modesty to the queen.
{^Exit Gardiner.
The most convenient place that I can think of,
For such receipt of learning, is Black- Friars ;
There ye sliall meet about this weighty business : —
My Wolsey, see it furnish 'd. — O my lord,
Would it not grieve an able man, to leave
So sweet a bedfellow? But, conscience, conscience,—
O, 'tis a tender place, and I must leave her.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. An Ante-chamber in the Queen '«
Apartments.
Enter Anne Bullen, and an old Lady.
Anne. Not for that neither ; — Here's the pang
that pinches :
His highness having liv'd so long with her : and she
So good a lady, that no tongue could ever
Pronounce dishonour of her, — by my life.
She never knew harm-doing ; — O now, after
So many courses of the sun enthron'd.
Still growing in a majesty and pomp, — the wliich
To leave is a thousand-fold more bitter, than
'Tis sweet at first to acquire, — after this process,
To give her the avaunt ! it is a pity
Would move a monster.
Old L. Hearts of most hard temper
Melt and lament for her.
Anne. O ! much better,
She ne'er had known pomp : though it be temporal.
Yet, if that quarrel ^, fortune, do divorce
It from the bearer, 'tis a sufferance, panging
As soul and body severing.
Old L. Alas, poor lady !
She's a stranger now again.
■^iine. So much the more
Must pity drop upon her. Verily,
I swear, 'tis better to be lowly bom,
And range with humble livers in content,
Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief.
And wear a golden sorrow.
Old L. Our content
Is our best having. 7
•^nne. By my troth, I vow
I would not be a queen.
Old L. Beshrew me, but I would.
And so would you,
For all this spice of your hypocrisy :
You, that have so fair parts of woman on you,
Have too a woman's heart ; which ever yet
Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty ;
» Out of the king's pretence.
• Quarrcller. 7 Poswwion.
Which, to say sooth 8, are blessings : and wliich gift,
( Saving your mincing) the capacity
Of your soft cheverils conscience would receive,
If you might please to stretch it.
Anne. Nay, good troth, —
Old L. Yes, troth, and trotli, — You would not
be a queen ?
Anne. No, not for all the riches under heaven.
Old L. *Tis strange, a three-pence bow'd ' would
hire me.
Old as I am, to queen it : But, I pray you.
What think you of a duchess ? have you limbs
To bear that load of title ?
Anne. No, in truth.
Old L. Then you are weakly made : Pluck off*
a little ;
I would not be a young count in your way.
Anne. How you do talk !
I swear again, I would not be a queen
For all the world.
Old L. In faith, for little England
You'd venture an emballing : I myself
Would for Carnarvonshire, although there 'long'd
No more to the crown but that. Lo, who comes
here?
Enter the Lord Chamberlain.
Cham. Good morrow, ladies. What wer't worth
to know
The secret of your conference ?
Anne. My good lord.
Not your demand ; it values not your asking :
Our mistress' sorrows we were pitying.
Cham. It was a gentle business, and becoming
The action of good women : there is hope.
All will be well.
Anne. Now I pray heaven, amen !
Cham. You bear a gentle mind, and heavenly
blessings
Follow such creatures. Tliat you may, fair lady,
Perceive I speak sincerely, and high note's
Ta'en of your many virtues, the king's majesty
Commends liis good opinion to you, and
Does purpose honour to you no less flowing
Than marchioness of Pembroke ; to which title
A thousand pound a year, annual support.
Out of his grace he adds.
Anne. I do not know.
What kind of my obedience I should tender ;
More than my all is nothing : nor my prayers
Are not words duly hallow'd, nor my wishes
More worth than empty vanities ; yet prayers, and
wishes,
Are all I can return. 'Beseech your lordship,
Vouchsafe to speak my thanks, and my obedience,
As from a blushing handmaid, to his highness ;
Whose health, and royalty, I pray for.
Cham, Lady,
I shall not fail to approve the fair conceit *
The king hath of you. — I have perus'd her well ;
[Aside.
Beauty and honour in her are so mingled,
'fhat they have caught the king : and who knows yet.
But from this lady may proceed a gem.
To lighten all this isle? — I'll to the king,
And say, I spoke with you.
Anne. My honour'd lord.
[Exit Lord Chamberlain.
Old L. Why, this it is ; see, see !
* Truth. > Kid-skin. > Crook'd. > Opinion.
Pp
578
KING HENRY VIII.
Act II.
I have been begging sixteen years in court,
(Am yet a courtier beggarly,) nor could
Come pat betwixt too early and too late,
For any suit of pounds : and you, (O fate !)
A very fresh-fish here, (fye, fye upon
This compell'd fortune!) have your mouth fill'd up,
Before you open it.
Anne. This is strange to me.
Old L. How tastes it ? is it bitter ? forty pence, no.
There was a lady once, ('tis an old story,)
That would not be a queen, that would she not,
For all the mud in Egypt : — Have you heard it ?
Anne. Come, you are pleasant.
Old L. With your theme, I could
O'ermount the lark. The marchioness of Pembroke !
A thousand pounds a year ! for pure respect j
No other obligation : By my life,
Tliat promises more thousands : Honour's train
Is longer than his foreskirt. By this time,
I know, your back will bear a duchess ; — Say,
Are you not stronger than you were ?
Anne. Good lady.
Make yourself mirth with your particular fancy,
And leave me out on't. 'Would I had no being,
If this salute my blood a jot ; it faints me,
To think what follows.
The queen is comfortless, and we forgetful
In our long absence: Pray, do not deliver
What here you have heard, to her.
Old L. What do you think me ?
[^Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — ^ Hall in Black- Friars.
Trumpets, Sennets ^, and Cornets. Enter two Vergers,
wUh short silver Wands ; next them, two Scribes in
the habits of Doctors ; after them the Archbishop
OF Canterbury, alone ; after him, the Bishops of
Lincoln, Ely, Rochester, and Saint Asaph ;
next them, loithsome small distance, follows a Gen-
tleman bearing the Purse, with the great Seal, and
a Cardinal's Hat ; then two Priests, bearing each a
silver Cross ; then a Gentleman- Usher iare-Aearferf,
accompanied with a Sergeant at Arms bearing a
silver Mace ; then two Gentlemen, bearing two great
silver Pillars'*; after them, side by side, the two
Cardinals, Wolsey and Campeius ; two Noblemen
with the Sword and Mace. Then enter the King
and Queen, anrf their Trains. The King takes
place under the Cloth of State ; the two Cardinals
sit under him as Judges. The Queen takes place at
some distance from the King. The Bishops ;j/rtce
themselves on each side the Court, in manner of a
Consistory; between them, the Scribes. The Loids
sU next the Bishops. The Ci-ier and the rest of
the Attendants stand in convenient order about the
Stage.
Wol. Whilst our commission from Rome is read
Let silence be commanded.
A". Hen. What's the need ?
It hath already publickly been read.
And on all sides the authority allow'd ;
You may then spare that time.
Wol. Be't so : — Proceed.
Scribe. Say, Henry king of England, come into
the court.
Crier. Henry king of England, &c.
A'. Hen. Here.
3 Flourish on cornets.
* Ensigns of dignity carried before cardinals.
Scribe. Say, Katharine queen of England, come
into court.
Crie7: Katharine queen of England, &c.
[The Queen makes no answer, rises out of her Chair,
goes about the Court, comes to the King, and kneeU
at his feet; then speaks.
Q. Kath. Sir, I desire you do me right and justice ;
And to bestow your pity on me ; for
I am a most poor woman, and a stranger.
Born out of your dominions ; having here
No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance
Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir,
In what have I ofiended you? what cause
Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure,
That thus you should proceed to put me off,
A nd take your good gracefrom me ? Heaven witness,
I have been to you a true and humble wife,
At all times to ycur will conformable :
Ever in fear to kindle your dislike.
Yea, subject to your countenance ; glad, or sorry,
As I saw it inclin'd. When was the hour,
I ever contradicted your desire.
Or made it not mine too ? Or which of your friends
Have I not strove to love, although I knew
He were mine enemy ? what friend of mine
That had to him deriv'd your anger, did I
Continue in my liking ? nay, gave notice
He was from thence discharg'd? Sir, call to mind
That I have been your vrife, in this obedience,
Upward of twenty years, and have been blest
With many children by you : If, in the course
And process of this time, you can report,
And prove it too, against mine honour aught,
My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty.
Against your sacred person, in God's name.
Turn me away ; and let the foul'st contempt
Shut door upon me, and so give me up
To the sharpest kind of justice. Please you, sir.
The king, your father, was reputed for
A prince most prudent, of an excellent
And unmatch'd wit and judgment : Ferdinand,
My father, king of Spain, was reckon'd one
The wisest prince, that there had reign'd by many
A year before : It is not to be question'd
That they had gather'd a wise council to them
Of every realm, that did debate this business,
Who deem'd our marriage lawful: Wherefore .
humbly
Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may
Be by my friends in Spain advis'd ; whose counsel
I will implore : If not, i' the name of Heaven,
Your pleasure be fulfill'd !
Wol. You have here, lady,
(And of your choice,) these reverend fathers; men
Of singular integrity and learning,
Yea, the elect of the land, who are assembled
To plead your cause : It shall be therefore bootless^,
That longer you desire the court ; as well
For your own quiet, as to rectify
What is unsettled in the king.
Cam. His grace
Hath spoken well and justly : Therefore, madam.
It's fit this royal session do proceed j
And that, without delay, their arguments
Be now produc'd and heard.
Q. Kath. Lord cardinal, —
To you I speak.
Wol. Your pleasure, madam?
5 Useless.
4
I
M
Scene IV.
KING HENRY VIII.
579
Sir,
Q. Kath.
I am about to weep ; but, thinking that
We are a queen, (or long have dream'd so,) certain
The daugliter of a king, my drops of tears
I'll turn to sparks of fire.
Wol. Be patient yet.
Q. Kath. I will, when you are humble; nay, before,
Or God will punish me. I do believe,
Induc'd by potent circumstances, that
You are mine enemy ; and make my challenge.
You shall not be my judge : for it is you
Have blown this coal betwixt my lord and me, —
Which heaven's dew quench ! — Therefore, I say
again,
1 utterly abhor, yea, from my soul,
Refuse you for my judge ; whom, yet once more,
I hold my most malicious foe, and think not
At all a friend to truth.
Wol. I do profess
You speak not like yourself; who ever yet
Have stood to charity, and display'd the effects
Of disposition gentle, and of wisdom
O'ertopping woman's power. Madam, you do me
wrong :
I have no spleen against you ; nor injustice
For you or any : how far I have proceeded,
Or how far further shall, is warranted
By a commission from the consistory.
Yea, the vvhole consistory of Rome. You charge me.
That I have blown this coal : I do deny it :
The king is present : if it be known to him.
That I gainsay my deed, how may he wound.
And wortliily, my falsehood ? yea, as much
As you have done my truth. But if he know
That I am free of your report, he knows,
I am not of your wrong. Therefore in him
It lies, to cure me ; and the cure is, to
Remove these thoughts from you : The which before
His highness shall speak in, I do beseech
You, gracious madam, to unthink your speaking,
And to say so no more.
Q. Kath. My lord, my lord,
I am a simple woman, much too weak
To oppose your cunning. You are meek, and
humble-mouth'd ;
You sign your place and calling, in full seeming.
With meekness and humility : but your heart
Is cramm'd with arrogancy, spleen, and pride.
You have by fortune, and his highness' favours.
Gone slightly o'er low steps ; and now are mounted
Where powers are your retainers : and your words,
Domesticks to you, serve your will, as't please
Yourself pronounce their office. I must tell you.
You tender more your person's honour, than
Your high profession spiritual : That again
I do refuse you for my judge ; and here.
Before you all, appeal unto the pope.
To bring my whole cause 'fore his holiness.
And to be judg'd by him.
[iS/iff curtesies to the King, and offers to depart.
Cam. The queen is obstinate.
Stubborn to justice, apt to accuse it, and
Disdainful to be try'd by it ; 'tis not well.
She's going away.
K. Hen. Call her again.
Crier. Katharine, queen of England, come into
the court.
Grif. Madam, you are call'd back.
Q. Kath. What need you note it ? pray you, keep
your way :
When you are call'd, return. — Now the Lord help,
They vex me past my patience ! — Pray you, pass on :
I will not tarry : no, nor ever more.
Upon this business, my appearance make
In any of their courts.
[Exeunt Queen, Griffith, and her other
Attendants.
K. Hen. Go thy ways, Kate :
That man i' the world who shall report he has
A better wife, let him not be trusted,
For speaking false in that : Thou art, alone,
(If tliy rare qualities, sweet gentleness.
Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government, —
Obeying in commanding, — and thy parts
Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out,)
The queen of earthly queens : — She is noble born ;
And, like her true nobility, she has
Carried herself towards me.
fVol. Most gracious sir,
In humblest manner I require your highness.
That it shall please you to declare in hearing
Of all these ears, (for where I'm robb'd and bound,
There must I be unloos'd ; although not there
At once and fully satisfied,) whether ever I
Did broach this business to your highness ; or
Laid any scruple in your way, which miglit
Induce you to the question on't ? or ever
Have to you, — but with thanks to Heaven for such
A royal lady, — spake one the least word, im'ght
Be to the prejudice of her present state,
Or touch of her good person ?
K. Hen. My lord cardinal,
I do excuse you, yea, upon mine honour,
I free you from't. You are not to be taught
That you have many enemies, that know not
Why they are so, but, like to village curs,
Bark when their fellows do : by some of these
The queen is put in anger. You are excus'd :
But will you be more justified ? you ever
Have wish'd the sleeping of this business ; never
Desir'd it to be stirr'd ; but oft have hinder'd ; oft
The passages made ^ toward it : — on my honour,
I speak my good lord cardinal to this point.
And thus far clear him. Now, what mov'd me to't, —
I will be bold with time and your attention : —
Then mark the inducement. Thus it came ; — give
heed to't.
My conscience first receiv'd a tenderness,
Scruple, and pain, on certain speeches utter'd
By the bishop of Bayonne, then French ambassador ;
Who had been hither sent on the debating
A marriage, 'twixt the duke of Orleans and
Our daughter Mary : I' the progress of this busines.
Ere a determinate resolution, he
(I mean the bishop) did require a respite ;
Wherein he might the king his lord advertise
Whether our daughter were legitimate,
Respecting this our marriage with the dowager.
Sometime our brother's wife. This respite shook
The lx)som of my conscience, enter'd me,
Yea, with a splitting power, and made to tremble
The region of my breast ; which forc'd such way.
That many maz'd considerings did throng,
And press'd in with this caution. First, methought,
I stood not in the smile of heaven ; who had
Commanded nature, tliat my lady's womb,
If it conceiv'd a male child by me, should
Do no more offices of life to't than
The grave does to the dead : for her male issue
6 Closed, or fastened.
r p 2
580
KING HENRY VIII.
Act III.
Or died where they were made, or sliortly after
This world had air'd them : Hence I took a thought
Tliis was a judgment on me ; that my kingdom,
Well worthy the best heir o' the world, should not
Be gladded in't by me : Then follows, tliat
1 weigh'd the danger which my realms stood in
By this my issue's fail ; and that gave to me
Many a groaning throe. Thus hulling 7 in
The wild sea of my conscience, I did steer
Toward this remedy, whereupon we are
Now present here together ; that's to say,
I meant to rectify my conscience, — which
I then did feel full sick, and yet not well, —
By all tlie reverend fathers of the land.
And doctors learn'd. — First, I began in private
With you, my lord of Lincoln ; you remember
How under my oppression I did reek %
When I first mov'd you.
Lin. Very well, my liege.
A". Hen. I have spoke long ; be pleas'd yourself
to say
How far you satisfied me.
Lin. So please your highness,
The question did at first so stagger me, —
Bearing a state of mighty moment in't,
And consequence of dread, — that I committed
The daring'st counsel which 1 had, to doubt ;
And did entreat your highness to this course,
Which you are running here.
A'. Hen. I then mov'd you.
My lord of Canterbury ; and got your leave
To make this present summons : — Unsolicited
I left no reverend person in this court :
But by particular consent proceeded,
Under your hands and seals. Therefore, go on :
For no dislike i' the world against the person
Of the good queen, but the sharp thorny points
Of my alleged reasons, drive this forward ;
Prove but our marriage lawful, by my life.
And kingly dignity, we are contented
To wear our mortal state to come, with her,
Katharine our queen, before the primest creature
Tliat's paragoned ' o' the world.
Cam. So please your highness,
The queen being absent, 'tis a needful fitness
That we adjourn this court till further day :
Mean while must be an earnest motion
Made to the queen, to call back her appeal
She intends unto his holiness. [ Thej/ rise to depart.
K. Hen. I may perceive, \Aside.
These cardinals trifle with me : I abhor
This dilatory sloth, and tricks of Rome.
My learn'd and well-beloved servant, Cranmer,
Pr'ythee return ! with thy approach, I know,
My comfort comes along. Break up the court :
I say, set on. \Exeunty in manner as they entered.
ACT III,
SCENE I. — Palace at Bridewell. A Room in
the Queen's Apartment.
The Queen, and some of her Women at Work.
Q. Kath. Take thy lute, wench : my soul grows
sad with troubles ;
Sing, and disperse them, if thou canst: leave
working.
SONG.
Orpheus with his lute made trees,
And the mountain-tops, that freeze,
Bow themselves, when he did sing :
To his musick, plants, and flowers.
Ever sprung ; as sun, and showers,
There had been a lasting spring.
Every thing that heard him play.
Even the billows of the sea.
Hung their heads, and then lay by.
In sweet musick is such art ;
Killing care, and grief of heart.
Fall asleep, or, hearing, die.
Enter a Gentleman.
Q. Kath. How now ?
Gent. An't please your grace, the two great car-
dinals
Wait in the presence. 9
Q,. Kath. Would they speak with me ?
Gent. They will'd me say so, madam.
Q. Kath. Pray their graces
To come near. \^Exit Gent.] What can be their
business
7 Floating without guidance.
9 Presence chamber.
8 Waste, or wear away.
With me, a poor weak woman, fall'n from favour ?
I do not like their coming, now I think on't.
They should be good men ; their affairs as righteous :
But all hoods make not monks.
Enter Wolsey and Campeius.
Wol. Peace to your highness !
Q. Kath. Your graces find me here part of a
housewife ;
I would be all, against the worst may happen.
What are your pleasures with me, reverend lords ?
Wol. May it please you, noble madam, to with-
draw
Into your private chamber, we shall give you
The full cause of our coming.
Q. Kath. Speak it here ;
There's nothing I have done yet, o' my conscience,
Deserves a corner : 'Would, all other women
Could speak this with as free a soul as I do !
My lords, I care noty (so much I am happy
Above a number,) if my actions
Were tried by every tongue, every eye saw them.
Envy and base opinion set against them,
I know my life so even : If your business
Seek me out, and that way I am wife in.
Out with it boldly ; Truth loves open dealing.
Wol. Tanta est ergd te mentis integritas, regina
serenissima, —
Q. Kath. O, good my lord, no Latin ;
I am not such a truant since my coming, Hii
As not to know the language I have liv'd in : ^|P
A strange tongue makes my cause more strange,
suspicious ;
' Without compare.
Il
Scene I
KING HENRY Vlll.
581
I
Pray, speak in English : here are some will thank
you,
If you speak truth, for their poor mistress' sake ;
Believe me, she has had much wrong ; Lord cardinal,
The willing'st sin I ever yet committed.
May be absolv'd in English.
trol. Noble lady,
I am sorry, my integrity should breed,
(And service to his majesty and you,)
So deep suspicion, where all faith was meant.
We come not by the way of accusation.
To taint that honour every good tongue blesses ;
Nor to betray you any way to sorrow ;
You have too much, good lady : but to know
How you stand minded in the weighty difference
Between the king and you ; and to deliver,
Like free and honest men, our just opinions,
And comforts to your cause.
Cam. Most honour'd madam,
My lord of York, — out of his noble nature,
Zeal and obedience he still bore your grace ;
Forgetting, like a good man, your late censure
Both of his truth and him, (which was too far,) —
Offers, as I do, in a sign of peace,
His service and his counsel.
Q. Kath. To betray me. {^Aside.
My lords, I thank you both for your good wills,
Ye speak like honest men, (pray heaven ye prove so !)
But how to make you suddenly an answer.
In such a point of weigiit, so near mine honour,
(More near my life, I fear,) with my weak wit.
And to such men of gravity and learning.
In trutli, I know not. I was set at work
A mong my maids ; full little. Heaven knows, looking
Either for such men, or such business.
For her sake that I have been, (for I feel
The last fit of my greatness,) good your graces.
Let me have time, and counsel, for my cause ;
Alas ! I am a woman, friendless, hopeless.
Wd. Madam, you wrong the king's love with these
fears ;
Your hopes and friends are infinite.
Q. Kath' In England,
But little for my profit : Can you think, lords,
That any Englishman dare give me counsel ?
Or be a known friend, 'gainst his highness' pleasure,
(Though he be grown so desperate to be honest,)
And live a subject ? Nay, forsooth, my friends.
They that must weigh out ^ my afflictions,
They that my trust must grow to, live not here ;
They are, as all my other comforts, far hence,
In mine own country, lords.
Cam, I would, your grace
Would leave your griefs, and take my counsel.
Q' Kath. How, sir?
Cam. Put your main cause into the king's pro-
tection ;
He's loving, and most gracious; 'twill be much
Both for your honour better, and your cause ;
For, if the trial of the law o'ertake you,
You'll part away disgrac'd.
WW. He tells you rightly.
Q. Kath. Ye tell me what ye wish for both, my ruin :
Is this your christian counsel? out upon ye !
Heaven is above all yet ; there sits a Judge,
That no king can corrupt.
Cam. Your rage mistakes us.
Q. Kath. The more sluune for ye ; holy men I
thought ye,
' Outweigh.
Upon my soul, two reverend cardinal virtues :
But cardinal sins, and hollow hearts, I fear ye :
Mend them for shame, my lords. Is this your com-
fort?
The cordial that ye bring a wretched lady ?
A woman lost among ye, laugh'd at, scorn'd ?
I will not wish ye half my miseries,
I have more charity : But say, I warn'd ye ;
Take heed, for heaven's sake, take heed, lest at once
The burden of my sorrows fall upon ye.
Wol. IVIadam, this is a mere distraction j
You turn the good we offer into envy.
Q. Kath. Ye turn me into nothing : Woe upon ye,
And all such false professors ! Would ye have me
(If you have any justice, any pity ;
If ye be any thing but churchmen's habits,)
Put my sick cause into his hands tliat hates me ?
Alas ! he has banisli'd me his bed already ;
His love, too, long ago : I am old, my lords,
And all the fellowship I hold now with him
Is only my obedience. What can happen
To me, above this wretchedness ? all your studies
Make me a curse like this.
Cam. Your fears are worse.
Q. Kath. Have I liv'd thus long — (let me speak
myself.
Since virtue finds no friends,) — a wife, a true^one ?
A woman (I dare say, without vain-glory,)
Never yet branded with suspicion ?
Have I with all my full affections
Still met the king ? lov'd him next heaven ? obey'd
him ?
Been, out of fondness, superstitious to hiir ?
Almost forgot my prayers to content him ?
And am I thus rewarded ? 'tis not well, lords.
Bring me a constant woman to her husband,
One that ne'er dreara'd a joy beyond his pleasure ;
And to that woman, when she has done most,
Yet will I add an honour, — a great patience.
Wol. Madam, you wander from the good we aim at.
Q. Kath. My lord, I dare not make myself so \^
guilty, y^
To give up willingly that noble title Id *
Your master wed me to ; nothing but death -'^ ^
Shall e'er divorce my dignities.
Wol. 'Pray, hear me.
Q. Kath. 'Would I had never trod this Engli
earth.
Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it !
Ye have angels' faces, but Heaven knows your hearts.
What will become of me now, wretched lady ?
I am the most unhappy woman living. —
Alas ! poor wenches, where are now your fortunes ?
[ To her Women.
Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity.
No friends, no hope ; no kindred weep for me.
Almost no grave allow'd me : — Like the lily,
That once was mistress of tlie field, and flourish 'd,
I'll hang my head and perish.
Wol. If your grace
Could but be brought to know, our ends are honest,
You'd feel more comfort : why should we, good lady.
Upon what cause, wrong you ? alas ! our places.
The way of our profession is against it ;
We are to cure siich sorrows, not to sow them.
For goodness' sake, consider what you do ;
How you may hurt yourself, ay, utterly
Grow from the king's acquaintance, by this carriage.
The hearts of princes kiss obedience,
So much tlicv love it ; but, to stubborn spirits,
P I. :)
le.y^
glish
582
KING HENRY VIII.
Act III.
They swell, and grow as terrible as storms.
I know, you have a gentle, noble temper,
A soul as even as a calm : Pray, think us
Those we profess, peace-makers, friends, andservants.
Cavi. Madam, you'll find it so. You wrong your
virtues
With these weak women's fears. A noble spirit.
As yours was put into you, ever casts
Such doubts, as false coin, from it. The king loves
you ;
Beware you lose it not : For us, if you please
To trust us in your business, we are ready
To use our utmost studies in your service.
Q. Kalh. Do what ye will, my lords : And, pray,
forgive me,
If I have us'd 3 myself unmannerly ;
You know, I am a woman, lacking wit
To make a seemly answer to such perso'ns.
Pray, do my service to his majesty :
He has my heart yet ; and shall have my prayers,
While I shall have my life. Come, reverend fathers.
Bestow your counsels on me : she now begs,
That little thought, when she set footing here.
She should have bought her dignities so dear.
\Exeunt.
SCENE II. — Ante-chamber to the King'^ Apart-
ment.
Enter the Duke of Norfolk, the Duke of Suffolk,
the Earl of Surrey, and the Lord Chamberlain.
JVor. If you will now unite in your complaints.
And force ^ them with a constancy, the cardinal
Cannot stand under them : If you omit
The offer of this time, I cannot promise.
But that you shall sustain more new disgraces.
With these you bear already.
Sur. I am joyful
To meet the least occasion, that may give me
Remembrance of my father-in-law, the duke.
To be reveng'd on him.
Suf. Which of the peers
Have uncontemn'd gone by him, or at least
Strangely neglected ? when did he regard
The stamp of nobleness in any person.
Out of himself?
Cham. My lords, you speak your pleasures :
What he deserves of you and me, I know ;
What we can do to him, (though now the time
Gives way to us,) I much fear. If you cannot
Bar his access to the king, never attempt
Any thing on him ; for he hath a witchcraft
Over the king in his tongue.
Nor. O, fear him not ;
His spell in that is out : the king hath found
Matter against him, that for ever mars
The honey of his language. No, he's settled.
Not to come off, in his displeasure.
Sur. Sir,
I should be glad to hear such news as this
Once every hour.
Nor. Believe it, this is true.
In the divorce, his contrary proceedings
Are all unfolded ; wherein he appears,
As I could wish mine enemy.
Sur. How came
His practices to light ?
Suf. Most strangely.
Sur. O, how, how ?
Siif. The cardinal's letter to the pope miscarried,
s Behaved. ■» Enforce.
And came to the eye o'the king : wherein was read,
How that the cardinal did entreat his holiness
To stay the judgment o'the divorce : For if
It did take place, / do, quoth he, perceive
My king is tangled in affection to
A creature of the queen s, lady Anne Bullen.
Sur. Has the king this ?
Suf. Believe it.
Sur. Will this work ?
Cham. The king in this perceives him how he
coasts.
And hedges, his own way. But in this point
All his tricks founder, and he brings his physick
After his patient's death : the king already
Hath married the fair lady.
Sur. 'Would he had !
Suf May you be happy in your wish, my lord !
For, I profess, you have it.
Sur. Now all my joy
Trace ^ the conjunction !
Sif. My amen to't !
Nor. AH men's.
Suf There's order given for her coronation :
Marry, this is yet but young, and may be left
To some ears unrecounted. — But, my lords,
She is a gallant creature, and complete
In mind and feature : I persuade me, from her
Will fall some blessing to this land, which shall
In it be memoriz'd.^
Sur. But, will the king
Digest this letter of the cardinal's ?
The Lord forbid !
Nor. Marry, amen !
Suf. No, no ;
There be more wasps that buz about his nose.
Will make this sting the sooner. Cardinal Campeius
Is stolen away to Rome ; hath ta'en no leave ;
Has left the cause o'the king unhandled ; and
Is posted, as the agent of our cardinal.
To second all his plot. I do assure you.
The king cry'd, ha ! at this.
Cham. Now, heaven incense him,
And let him cry, ha, louder !
Nor. But, my lord.
When returns Cranmer ?
Suf He is returned, in his opinions ; which
Have satisfied the king for his divorce,
Together with all famous colleges
Almost in Christendom : shortly, I believe.
His second marriage shall be publish'd, and
Her coronation. Katharine no more
Shall be call'd queen ; but princess-dowager,
And widow to prince Arthur.
Nor. This same Cranmer s
A worthy fellow, and hath ta'en much pain
In the king's business.
Siif. He has ; and we shall see him
For it, an archbishop.
Nor. So I hear.
Suf. 'Tis so.
The cardinal —
Enter Wolsey and Cromwell.
Nor. Observe, observe, he's moody.
TFol. The packet, Cromwell, gave it you the king ?
Cram. To his own hand, in his bed-chamber.
Wol. Look'd he o' the inside of the paper ?
Crom. Presently
He did unseal them : and the first he view'd,
» FoUow. 6 Made memorable.
Scene II.
KING HENR\ VIII.
583
He did it with a serious mind ; a heed
Was ill his countenance : You, he bade
Attend liim here this morning.
IVol. Is he ready
To come abroad ?
Crom. I think, by this he is.
IFol. Leave me a while. — [Exit Cromwell.
It shall be to the duchess of Alen9on,
The Frencli king's sister : he shall marry her. —
AnneBullen! No; I'll no Anne BuUcns for him :
There is more in it than fair visage. — Bullen !
No, we'll no Bullens. — Speedily I wish
To hear from Rome. — The marchioness of Pem-
broke !
Hor. He's discontented.
Suf. May be, he hears the king
Does whet his anger to him.
Sur. Sharp enough,
Lord, for thy justice !
If^ol. The late queen's gentlewoman j a knight's
daughter,
To be her mistress' mistress ! the queen's queen ! —
This candle burns not clear : 'tis I must snuff it ;
Then, out it goes. — What though I know her vir-
tuous.
And well-deserving ? yet I know her for
A spleeny Lutheran ; and not wholesome to
Our cause, that she should lie i' the bosom of
Our hard-rul'd king. Again, there is sprung up
An heretick, an arch one, Cranmer ; one
Hath crawl'd into the favour of the king.
And is his oracle.
Nor. He is vex'd at something.
Si£f. I would, 'twere something that would fret
the string,
The master-cord of his heart !
Enter the Kino, reading a Schedtde ; and Lovell.
Suf. The king, the king.
K. Hen. What piles of wealth hath he accumulated
To his own portion ! and what expence by the hour
Seems to flow from him ! How, i' the name of thrift,
Does he rake this together ? — Now, my lords ;
Saw you the cardinsd ?
Nor. My lord, we have
Stood here observing him : Some strange commotion
Is in his brain : he bites his lip, and starts ;
Stops on a sudden, looks upon the ground.
Then, lays his finger on his temple ; straight.
Springs out into fast gait 7; then, stops again.
Strikes his breast hard ; and anon, he casts
His eye against the moon : in most strange postures
We have seen him set himself.
K. Hen. It may well be ;
There is a mutiny in his mind. This morning
Papers of state he sent me to peruse,
As I requir'd ; and wot* you, what I found
There ; on my conscience, put unwittingly ?
Forsooth, an inventory, thus importing, —
The several parcels of his plate, his treasure.
Rich stuffs and ornaments of household ; which
I find at such proud rate, that it outspeaks
Possession of a subject.
Nor. It's heaven's will ;
Some spirit put this paper in the packet.
To bless your eye withal.
K. Hen. If we did think
His contemplation were above tlie earth,
And fix'd on spiritual object, he should still,
^ Step*. " Know.
Dwell in his musings : but, I am afraid,
His thinkings are below the moon, not worth
His serious considering.
[i/e takes his Seat, and whispers Lovkll,
who goes to WoLSEV.
IFol. Heaven forgive me !
Ever God bless your highness !
K. Hen. Good, my lord,
You are full of heavenly stuff, and bear tlie in-
ventory
Of your best graces in your mind ; the which
You were now running o'er ; you have scarce time
To steal from spiritual leisure a brief sj)an ;
To keep your eartlily audit : Sure, in that
I deem you an ill husband ; and am glad
To have you therein my companion.
frol. Sir,
For holy offices I have a time ; a time
To think upon the part of business, which
I bear i' the state ; and nature docs require
Her times of preservation, whicli, perforce,
I, her frail son, amongst my brethren mortal.
Must give my tendance to.
jr. Hen. You have said well.
}Fol. And ever may your highness yoke togetlier
As I will lend you cause, my doing well
With my well saying !
IT. Hen. 'Tis well said again :
And 'tis a kind of good deed, to say well :
And yet words are no deeds. My father lov'd you :
He said, he did ; and with his deed did crown
His word upon you. Since I had my office,
I have kept you next my heart ; have not alone
Employ'd you where high profits might come home,
But par'd my present havings, to bestow
My bounties upon you.
IFol. What should this mean ?
Sur. Good heaven increase this business ! [j4sicle.
K. Hen. Have I not made you
The prime man of the state ? I pray you, tell me,
If what I now pronounce, you have found true :
And, if you may confess it, say withal,
If you are bound to us, or no. What say you ?
Wol. My sovereign, I confess, your royal graces,
Shower'd on me daily, have been more, than could
My studied purposes requite ; which went
Beyond all man's endeavours : — my endeavours
Have ever come too short of my desires.
Yet, fil'd with my abilities : Mine own ends
Have been mine so, that evermore they pointed
To the good of your most sacred person, and
The profit of the state. For your great graces
Heap'd upon me, poor undeserver, I
Can nothing render but allegiant thanks ;
My prayers to heaven for you ; my loyalty.
Which ever has, and ever shall be growing.
Till death, that winter, kill it.
//. Ken. Fairly answer'd ;
A loyal and obedient subject is
Therein illustrated : The honour of it
Does pay tlie act of it ; as, i'the contrary,
Tlie foulness is the punishment. I presume,
That, as my hand has open'd bounty to you.
My heart dropp'd love, my power rain'd honour,
more
On you, than any ; so your hand, and heart.
Your brain, and every function of your power,
Should, notwithstanding that your bond of duty.
As 'twere in love's particular, be more
To me, your friend, tlian any.
Pp 1
584
KING HENRY VIII.
Act III.
Wol. I do profess,
Tliat for your highness' good I ever labour'd
More than mine own ; that am, have, and will be,
Though all the world should crack their duty to you,
And tlirow it from their soul : though perils did
Abound, as tliick as thought could make them, and
Appear in forms more horrid; yet my duty,
As doth a rock against the chiding flood,
Should the approach of this wild river break.
And stand unshaken yours.
JC. Hen. 'Tis nobly spoken :
Take notice, lords, he has a loyal breast,
For you have seen him open't. — Read o'er this ;
[ Giving him Papers.
And, after, this : and then to breakfast, with
What appetite you have.
[Ex'it Kin G,frow7iing upon Cardinal Wolsey:
the Nobles thi'ong after him, smiling, and
whispering.
Wol. What should this mean ?
What sudden anger's this ? how have I reap'd it ?
He parted frowning from me, as if ruin
Leap'd from his eyes : So looks the chafed lion
Upon the daring huntsman that has gall'd him ;
Then makes him nothing. I must read this paper ;
I fear, the story of his anger. -^'Tis so;
This paper has undone me : — 'Tis the account
Of all that world of wealth I have drawn together
For mine own ends ; indeed, to gain the popedom,
And fee my friends in Rome. O negligence,
Fit for a fool to fall by ! What cross devil
Made me put this main secret in the packet
I sent the king? Is there no way to cure this?
No new device to beat this from his brains ?
I know, 'twill stir him strongly ; yet I know
A way, if it take right, in spite of fortune
Will bring me off again. What's this — To the Fope 9
The letter, as I live, with all the business
I writ to his holiness. Nay then, farewell !
I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness ;
And, from that full meridian of my glory,
I haste now to my setting : I shall fall
Like a bright exhalation in the evening,
And no man see me more.
lie-enter the Dckes of Norfolk and Suffolk, the
Earl of Surrey, and the Lord Chamberlain.
Nor. Hear the king's pleasure, cardinal; who
commands you
To render up the great seal presently
Into our hands ; and to confine yourself
To Asher-House ', my lord of Winchester's,
Till you hear further from his highness.
Wol. Stay,
Where's your commission, lords ? words cannot carry
Authority so weighty.
Suf. Who dare cross them ?
Bearing the king's will from his mouth expressly ?
Wol. Till I find more than will, or words, to do it,
(I mean your malice,) know, officious lords,
I dare, and must deny it. Now I feel
Of what coarse metal ye are moulded — envy
How eagerly ye follow my disgraces.
As if it fed ye ! and how sleek and wanton
Ye appear in every thing may bring my ruin !
Follow your envious courses, men of malice ;
You have christian warrant for them, and, no doubt,
In time will find their fit rewards. That seal,
' Eshcr in Surrey.
You ask with such a violence, the king,
(Mine and your master,) with his own hand gave me ;
IJade me enjoy it, with the place and honours,
During my life ; and, to confirm his goodness.
Tied it by letters patents : Now, who'll take it ?
Sur. The king, that gave it.
Wol. It must be himself then.
Sur. Thou art a proud traitor, priest.
Wol. Proud lord, thou liest ;
Within these forty hours, Surrey durst better
Have burnt that tongue, than said so.
Sur. Thy ambition,
Thou scarlet sin, robb'd this .bewailing land
Of noble Buckingham, my father-in-law :
The heads of all thy brother cardinals,
(With thee, and all thy best parts bound together,)
Weigh'd not a hair of his. Plague of your policy !
You sent me deputy for Ireland ;
Far from his succour, from the king, from all
That might have mercy on the fault thou gav'st him ;
Whilst your great goodness, out of holy pity,
Absolv'd him with an axe.
Wol. This, and all else
This talking lord can lay Upon my credit,
I answer, is most false. The duke by law
Found his deserts : how innocent I was
From any private malice in his end.
His noble jury and foul cause can witness.
If I lov'd many words, lord, I should tell you.
You have as little honesty as honour ;
That I, in the way of loyalty and truth
Toward the king, my ever royal master,
Dare mate ^ a sounder man than Surrey can be.
And all that love his follies.
Sur. By my soul,
Your long coat, priest, protects you ; thou shouldst
feel
My sword i' the life-blood of thee else. — My lords.
Can ye endure to hear this arrogance ?
And from this fellow ? If we live thus tamely.
To be thus jaded 3 by a piece of scarlet,
Farewell nobility ; let his grace go forward.
And dare us with his cap, like larks. ^
Wol. All goodness
Is poison to thy stomach.
Sur. Yes, that goodness
Of gleaning all the land's wealth into one,
Into your own hands, cardinal, by extortion ;
The goodness of your intercepted packets.
You writ to the pope, against the king , your goodness.
Since you provoke me, shall be most notorious. —
My lord of Norfolk, — as you are truly noble.
As you respect the common good, the state
Of our despis'd nobility, our issues.
Who, if he live, will scarce be gentlemen, —
Produce the grand sum of his sins, the articles
Collected from his life : — I'll startle you
Worse than the sacring bell, lord cardinal.
Wol- How much, methinks, 1 could despise tliis
man.
But that I am bound in charity against it'.
Nor. Those articles, my lord, are in the king's
hand :
But, thus much, they are foul ones.
Wol. So much fairer,
And spotless, shall mine innocence arise.
When the king knows my truth.
'■2 Equal. 3 Ridden down.
'^ A cardinal's hat is scarlet, and the method of daring larki
is by small mirrors on scarlet cloth.
Scene II.
KING HENRY VIIl.
585
i
Sur. This cannot save you :
I thank my memory, I yet remember
Some of these articles ; and out they shall.
Now, if you can blush, and cry guilty, cardinal,
You'll show a little honesty.
yf^ol. Speak on, sir :
I dare your worst objections : If I blush
It is, to see a nobleman want manners.
Sur. I'd rather want tlmse, than my head. Have
at you.
First, tliat, without the king's assent, or knowledge.
You wrought to be a legate ; by which power
You maim'd the jurisdiction of all bishops.
Nor. Then, that, in all you writ to Rome, or else
To foreign princes. Ego et Rex mens
Was still inscrib'd ; in which you brought the king
To be your servant.
Snf. Then, that without the knowledge
Either of king or council, when you went
Ambassador to the emperor, you made bold
To carry into Flanders the great seal.
Sur. Item, you sent a large commission
To Gregory de Cassalis, to conclude,
Without tiie king's will, or the state's allowance,
A league between his highness and Ferrara.
Suf. That, out of mere ambition, you have caus'd
Your holy hat to be stamp'd on the king's coin.
Sur. Then, that you have sent innumerable sub-
stance,
(By what means got, I leave to your own conscience,)
To furnish Rome, and to prepare the ways
You have for dignities ; to the mere ^ undoing
Of all the kingdom. Many more there are ;
Which, since they are of you, and odious,
I will not taint my mouth with.
Cham. O my lord,
Press not a falling man too far ; 'tis virtue :
His faults lie open to the laws ; let them.
Not you, correct him. My heart weeps to see him
So little of his great self.
Sur. I forgive him.
Suf. Lord cardinal, the king'sfurther pleasure is, —
Because all those things, you have done of late
By your power legatine within this kingdom,
Fall into the compass of a prcemunire^, —
That therefore such a writ be sued against you ;
To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements,
Chattels, and whatsoever, and to be
Out of the king's protection : — This is my charge.
Avr. And so we'U leave you to your meditations
How to live better. For your stubborn answer.
About the giving back the great seal to us.
The king shall know it, and no doubt, shall thank
you.
So fare you well, my little good lord cardinal.
[Exeimt all but Wolsey.
Wol. So farewell to the little good you bear me.
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness !
This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him :
The tliird day, comes a frost, a killing frost ;
And, — when he thinks, gooid easy man, full surely
His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventur'd.
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
This many summers in a sea of glory ;
But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride
At length broke under me ; and now has left me,
* Absolute « A writ incurring a penalty.
Weary, and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye ;
I feel my heart new open'd : O, how wretched
Is tliat poor man, that hangs on princes' favours !
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to.
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have ;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again. —
Enter Cromwell, amazedly.
Why, how now, Cromwell ?
Crom. I have no power to speak, sir.
Wol. What, amaz'd
At my misfortunes ? can thy spirit wonder,
A great man should decline ? Nay, an you weep,
I am fallen indeed.
Crom. How does your grace ?
Wol. Why, well;
Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
I know myself now ; and I feel within me
A peace above all earthly dignities,
A still and quiet conscience. The king has cur'd me,
I humbly thank his grace ; and from these shoulders.
These ruin'd pillars, out of pity, taken
A load would sink a navy, too much honour j
O, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden.
Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven.
Crom. I am glad, your grace has made that right
use of it.
Wol. I hope, I have : I am able now, metliinks,
(Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,)
To endure more miseries, and greater far,
Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer.
What news abroad ?
Crom. The heaviest and the worst,
Is your displeasure with the king.
Wol. God bless him !
Cronu The next is, that sir Tliomas More is chosen
Lord chancellor in your place.
Wol. That's somewhat sudden :
But he's a learned man. May he continue
Long in his highness' favour, and do justice
For truth's sake, and his conscience ; that his bones.
When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings.
May have a tomb of orphan's tears 7 wept on 'em !
What more ?
Crom. That Cranmer is return'd with welcome,
Install'd lord archbishop of Canterbury.
Wol. That's news indeed.
Crom. Last, that the lady Anne,
Whom the king hath in secrecy long married,
This day was view'd in open, as his queen.
Going to chapel ; and the voice is now
Only about her coronation.
Wol. There was tlie weight that pull'd me down.
O Cromwell,
The king has gone beyond me, all my glories
In that one woman I have lost for ever :
No sun shall ever usher fortli mine honours.
Or gild again the noble troops that waited
Upon my smiles. Go, get tliee from me, Cromwell,
I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now
To be thy lord and master : Seek the king ;
That sun, 1 pray, may never set ! I have told him
What, and how true thou art : he will advance tliee ;
Some little memory of me will stir him
(I know his noble nature,) not to let
"> The chancellor Is the guardian of orphans.
586
KING HENRY Vlll.
Act IV.
Thy hopeful service perish too : Good Cromwell,
Neglect him not ; make use 8 now, and provide
For thine own future safety.
Crom. O, my lord.
Must I then leave you ? Must I needs forego
So good, so noble, and so true a master ?
Bear witness, all, that have liot hearts of iron.
With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. —
The king shall have my service ; but my prayers
For ever, and for ever, shall be yours.
Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries ; but thou hast forc'd me
Out of thy honest truth to play the woman.
Let's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell ;
And,. — when I am forgotten, as I shall be ;
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of, — say, I taught thee.
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, —
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ;
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me.
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition ;
By that sin fell the angels ; how can man then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by't ?
Love thyself last ; cherish those hearts that hate thee {
Corruption wins not more than honesty.
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not j
Let all the ends thou aim'st at, be thy country's.
Thy God's, and truth's ; then if thou fall'st, O Crom-
well,
Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king ,
And, — Pr'ythee lead me in :
There take an inventory of all I have.
To the last penny : 'tis the king's : my robe,
And my integrity to heaven, is all
I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwel
Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal
I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.
Crom. Good sir, have patience.
Wol. So 1 have. Farewell/1
The hopes of court ! my hopes in heaven do dwell.
[Exeunt.
ACT IV.
SCENE I. — A Street in Westminster.
Enter two Gentlemen, meeting.
1 Gent. You are well met once again.
2 Gent. And so are you.
1 Gent. You come to take your stand here, and
behold
The lady Anne pass from her coronation ?
2 Gent. 'Tis all my business. At our last en-
counter.
The duke of Buckingham came from his trial.
1 Gent. 'Tis very true : but that time oflfer'd sorrow;
This general joy.
2 Gent. 'Tis well : the citizens,
I am sure, have shown at full their royal minds ;
As, let them have their rights, they are ever forward
In celebration of this day with shows.
Pageants, and sights of honour.
1 Gent. Never greater,
Nor, I'll assure you, better taken, sir.
2 Gent. May 1 be bold to ask what that contains.
That paper in your hand ?
1 Gent. Yes ; 'tis the list
Of those that claim their offices this day.
By custom of the coronation.
The duke of Suffolk is the first, and claims
To be high steward ; next, the duke of Norfolk,
He to be earl marshal ; you may read the rest.
2 Gent. I thank you, sir ; had I not known those
customs,
I should have been beholden to your paper.
But, I beseech you, what becomes of Katharine,
The princess-dowager ? how goes her business ?
1 Gent. That I can tell you too. The arch-
bishop
Of Canterbury, accompanied with other
Learned and reverend fathers of his order.
Held a late court at Dunstable, six miles off
From Ampthill, where the princess lay ; to which
She oft was cited by them, but appear'd not :
8 Interest.
And, to be short, for not appearance, and
The king's late scruple, by the main assent
Of all these learned men she was divorc'd.
And the late marriage made of none effect :
Since which, she was removed to Kimbolton,
Where she remains now, sick.
2 Gent. ' Alas, good lady ! —
[Trumpets.
The trumpets sound ; stand close, the queen is
coming.
THE ORDER OF THE PROCESSION.
A lively flourish of Trumjyets ; then enter,
1. Two Judges.
2. Lord Chancellor, with the purse and mace before
him.
3. Choristers singing. [Musick.
4. Mayor of London, bearing the mace. Then Garter,
in his coat of arms, and, on his head, a gilt j
copper crown.
5. Marquis Dorset, bearing a scepter of gold, on hia\
head a demi-coronal of gold. With him, the'i
Earl of Surrey, bearing the rod of silver, j
with the dove, crowned with an earVs coronet*
Collars of SS.
6. Duke of Suffolk, in his robe of estate, his coronet
on his head, bearing a long white wand, as
high steward. With him the Duke of Nor-
folk, with the rod of marshalship, a coronet
on his head. Collars of SS.
7. A canopy borne by four of the Cinque-ports ; under
it, the Queen in her robe; in her hair, richly
adorned with pearl, crowned. On each side
of her, the Bishops of London and Win-
chester.
8. The old Duchess of Norfolk, in a coronal of gold,
wrought ivith fowers, bearing the Queen's
train.
9. Certain L^adies or Countesses, with plain circles of
gold without flowers.
Scene I.
KING HENRY VIII.
?87
2 Gent. A royal train, believe me, — These I
know ; —
"Who's that, that bears the scepter ?
1 Gejit. Marquis Dorset :
And that the earl of Surrey, with the rod.
2 Gent. A bold brave gentleman : And that
should be
The duke of Suffolk.
1 Gent. 'Tis the same ; high-steward.
2 Gent. And that my lord of Norfolk ?
1 GerU. Yes.
2 Gent. Heaven bless thee '
{Looking on tfie Queen.
Thou hast the sweetest face I ever look'd on. —
Sir, as I have a soul, she is an angel ;
Our king has all tlie Indies in his arms,
I cannot blame his conscience.
1 Gent. They, that bear
The cloth of honour over her, are four barons
Of the Cinque-ports.
2 Gent. Those men are happy; and so arc all,
are near her.
I take it, she that carries up the train,
Is that old noble lady, duchess of Norfolk.
1 Gent. It is ; and all the rest are countesses.
2 Gent. Their coronets say so. These are stars
indeed.
[Exit Procession, rmth a great Jlourish of
Trumpets.
Enter a Third Gentleman.
Heaven save you, sir ! where have you been broiling?
3 Gent. Among the crowd i' tlie abbey ; where a
finger
Could not be wedg'd in more ; and I am stifled
With the mere rankness of their joy.
2 Gent. You saw
Tlie ceremony ?
3 Gent. That I did.
1 Gent. How was it ?
3 Gent. Well worth the seeing.
2 Gent. Good sir, speak it to us.
3 Gent. As well as I am able. The rich stream
Of lords, and ladies, having brought the queen
To a prepar'd place in the choir, fell off
A distance from her ; while her grace sat down
To rest a while, some half an hour, or so,
In a rich chair of state, opposing freely
The beauty of her person to the people.
Believe me, sir, she is the goodliest woman
That ever sat by man : which when the people
Had the full view of, such a noise arose
As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest,
As loud, and to as many tunes : hats, cloaks,
(Doublets, I think,) flew up; and had their faces
Been lose, this day they had been lost. Such joy
I never saw before. No man living
Could say. This is my wife, there ; all were woven
So strangely in one piece.
2 GeTit. But, 'pray, what foUow'd ?
3 Gent. At length her grace rose, and with modest
paces
Came to the altar ; where she kneel'd, and, saint-like,
Cast her fair eyes to heaven, and pray'd devoutly.
Then rose again, and bow'd her to the people :
When by the archbishop of Canterbury
She had all the royal makings of a queen ;
As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown.
The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems
Laid nobly on her : which perform'd, the choir,
With all the choicest musick of the kingdom.
Together sung Te Deum. So she parted,
And with the same full state pac'd back again
To York-place, where the feast is held.
1 Gent. Sir, you
Must no more call it York-place, that is past ;
For, since the cardinal fell, that title's lost ;
'Tis now tlie king's, and call'd — Whitehall.
3 Gent. I know it ;
But 'tis so lately alter'd, that the old name
Is fresh about me.
2 Gent. What two reverend bishops
Were those that went on each side of the queen ?
3 Gent. Stokesly and Gardiner; the one, of Win-
chester,
(Newly preferr'd from the king's secretary,)
The other, London.
2 Gent. He of Winchester
Is held no great good lover of the archbishop's,
The virtuous Cranmer.
3 Gent. All the land knows that :
However, yet there's no great breach ; when it comes,
Cranmer will find a friend vnll not shrink from him.
2 Gent. Who may that be, I pray you ?
3 Gent. Thomas Cromwell ;
A man in much esteem with the king, and truly
A worthy friend. — The king
Has made him master o'the jewel-house.
And one, already, of the privy-council.
2 Gent. He will deserve more.
3 Gent. Yes, without all doubt.
Come, gentlemen, ye shall go my way, which
Is to the court, and there ye shall be my guests ;
Something I can command. As I walk thitlier,
I'll tell ye more.
Both. You may command us, sir. [^Exeunt.
SCENE II. — Kimbolton.
Enter Katharine, Dowager, sick ; led between
Griffith and Patience.
Grif. How does your grace ?
A^ath. O, Griflfith, sick to death :
My legs, like loaden branches, bow to the earth.
Willing to leave their burden : Reach a chair ; —
So, — now methinks, I feel a little ease.
Didst thou not tell me, Grifl5th, as thou led'st me.
That the great child of honour, cardinal Wolsey,
Was dead ?
Grif. Yes, madam ; but I think, your grace,
Out of the pain you suffer'd, gave no ear to't.
ITath. Pr'y thee, good GriflBth, tell me how he died:
If well, he stepp'd before me, happily 9,
For my example.
Grif. Well, the voice goes, madam :
For after the stout earl Northumberland
Arrested him at York, and brought him forward
(As a man sorely tainted,) to his answer.
He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill
He could not sit his mule.
A'ath. Alas ! poor man !
Gr^. At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester,
Lodg'd in the abbey ; where tJie reverend abbot.
With all his convent, honourably receiv'd him ;
To whom he gave tliesc words, — 0, father abbot.
An old man, broken unth t/te slonns of state,
Is come to lay his weary bones among ye ;
Give him a little earth for charity !
So went to bed : where eagerly his sickne^
» Haply.
588
KING HENRY VIII.
Act IV.
Pursu'd him still ; and three nights after this,
About the hour of eight, (which he himself
Foretold should be his last,) full of repentance.
Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows,
He gave his honours to the world again,
His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace.
Kath So may he rest ; his faults lie gently on him !
Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him.
And yet with charity, — He was a man
Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking
Himself with princes ; one that by suggestion
Ty'd all the kingdom : simony was fair play ;
His own opinion was his law ; I' the presence ^
He would say untruths ; and be ever double
Both in his words and meaning : He was never,
But where he meant to ruin, pitiful :
His promises were, as he then was, mighty ;
But his performance, as he is now, nothing.
Grif. Noble madam.
Men's evil manners live in brass ; their virtues
We write in water. May it please your highness
To hear me speak his good now ?
Kath. Yes, good Griffith ;
I were malicious else.
Grif. This cardinal,
Tliough from an humble stock, undoubtedly
Was fashion'd to much honour. From his cradle,
He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one ;
Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading :
Lofty, and sour, to them that lov'd him not ;
But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer.
And though he were unsatisfied in getting,
(Which was a sin,) yet in bestowing, madam.
He was most princely : Ever witness for him
Those twins of learning, that he raised in you,
Ipswich, and Oxford ! one 2 of which fell with him.
Unwilling to outlive the good that did it ;
The other, though unfinish'd, yet so famous.
So excellent in art, and still so rising.
That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue.
His overthrow heap'd happiness upon him ;
For then, and not till then, he felt himself.
And found the blessedness of being little :
And, to add greater honours to his age
Than man could give him, he died, fearing God.
Kath. After my death I wish no other herald.
No other speaker of my living actions,
To keep mine honour from corruption.
But such an honest chronicler as Griffith.
Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me.
With thy religious truth, and modesty.
Now in his ashes honour : Peace be with him ! —
Patience, be near me still ; and set me lower :
I have not long to trouble thee. — Good Griffith,
Cause the musicians play me that sad note
I nam'd my knell, whilst I sit meditating
On that celestial harmony I go to.
Sad and solemn Musick,
Grif. She is asleep : Good wench, let's sit down
quiet.
For fear we wake her ; — Softly, gentle Patience.
The Vision. Enter, solemnly tripping one after an-
other, six Personages, clad in white robes, wearing
on their heads garlands of bays and golden vizards
on their faces : branches of bays or palm in their
hands. 'They first congee unto her, then dance ;
and, at certain changes, the first two hold a spare
garland over her head; at which, the other four
' Of the king. 2 Ipswich
7nake reverend courtesies ; then tJie two that held the
garland, deliver the same to the other next ttoo, who
observe the same order in their changes, and holding
the garland over her head : which done, they deliver
the same garland to the last two, who likeiviss ob-
serve the same order : at which, {as it were by
inspiration, ) she makes in her sleep signs of rejoicing,
and holdeth up her hands to heaven : and so in
their dancing they vanish, carrying the garland
with them. The musick continues.
Kath. Spirits of peace, where are ye? Are ye all
gone?
And leave me here in wretchedness behind ye ?
Grif. Madam, we are here.
Kath. It is not you I call for t \
Saw ye none enter, since I slept ?
Grif. None, madam.
Kath. No? Saw you not, even now, a blessed troop.
Invite me to a banquet ; whose bright faces
Cast thousand beams upon me, like the sun ?
They promis'd me eternal happiness ;
And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel
I am not worthy yet to wear : I shall.
Assuredly.
Grif. I am most joyful, madam, such good dreams
Possess your fancy.
Kath. Bid the musick leave.
They are harsh and heavy to me. [Musick ceases.
Pat. Do you note,
How much her grace is alter'd on the sudden ?
How long her face is drawn? How pale she looks.
And of an earthy cold? Mark you her eyes?
Grif. She is going, wench ; pray, pray.
Pat. Heaven comfort her I
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. An't like your grace, —
Kath. You are a saucy fellow :
Deserve we no more reverence ?
Grif. You are to blame.
Knowing, she will not lose her wonted greatness,
To use so rude behaviour : go to, kneel.
Mess. I humbly do entreat your highness' pardon :
My haste made me unmannerly : There is staying
A gentleman, sent from the king, to see you.
Kath. Admit him entrance, Griffith; But this
fellow
Let me ne'er see again.
[Exeunt Griffith and Messenger.
Re-enter Griffith, ivith Capucius.
If my sight fail not.
You should be lord ambassador from the emperor,
My royal nephew, and your name Capucius.
Cap. Madam, the same, your servant.
Kath. O, my lord,
The times, and titles, now are alter'd strangely
With me, since first you knew me. But, I pray you, ;
What is your pleasure with me ?
Cap. Noble lady,
First, mine own service to your grace ; the next.
The king's request that I would visit you ;
Who grieves much for your weakness, and by me
Sends you his princely commendations,
And heartily entreats you take good comfort.
Kath. O my good lord, that comfort comes too
late ;
'Tis like a pardon after execution :
Tliat gentle physick, given in time, had cur'd me j
Act V. Scene I.
KING HENRY VIII.
589.
But now I am past all comforts Iicre, but prayers.
How does his highness?
Cap. Madam, in good health.
Kalh. So may he ever do ! and ever flourish,
When I shall dwell with worms, and my poor name
Banish'd the kingdom ! — Patience, is tliat letter,
I caus'd you write, yet sent away ?
Pat. No, madam.
[Givin-g it to Katharine.
ITath. Sir, I most humbly pray you to deliver
This to my lord the king.
Cap. Most willing, madam.
JCath. In which I have commended to his goodness
The model of our chaste loves, his young daugh-
ter 3 : —
The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her ! —
IJeseeching him, to give her virtuous breeding ;
(Slie is young, and of a noble modest nature;
I hope, she will deserve well ;) and a little
To love her for her motlier's sake, that lov'd him,
Heaven knows how dearly. My next poor petition
Is, that his noble grace would have some pity
Upon my wretched women, that so long
Have foUow'd both my fortunes faithfully :
Of which there is not one, I dare avow,
(And now I should not lie,) but will deserve
For virtue, and true beauty of the soul.
For honesty, and decent carriage,
A right good husband, let him be a noble ;
And, sure, those men are happy that shall have them.
Tlie last is, for my men : — they arc the poorest.
But poverty could never draw them from me ; —
That tliey may have their wages duly paid them.
And something over to remember me by ;
If heaven had pleas'd to have given me longer life.
And able means, we had not parted thus.
These are the whole contents : — And, good my
lord,
By that you love the dearest in this world.
As you wish christian peace to souls departed,.
Stand these poor people's friend, and urge the king
To do me this last right.
Cap. By heaven, I will ;
Or let me lose the fashion of a man !
ITath. 1 thank you, honest lord. Remember me
In all humility unto liis highness :
Say, his long trouble now is passing
Out of this world : tell him, in death I bless'd him.
For so I will. — Mine eyes grow dim. — Farewell,
My lord. — Griffith, farewell. — Nay, Patience,
You must not leave me yet. I must to bed ;
Call in more women When I am dead, good wench.
Let me be us'd with honour ; strew me over
With maiden flowers, that all the world may know
I was a chaste wife to my grave : embalm me.
Then lay me forth : although unqueen'd, yet like
A queen, and daughter to a king, inter me.
I can no more. [Exeunt, leading Katharine.
ACT V.
SCENE I.— A Gallery in the Palace.
Enter Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester, a Page
tviih a Torch before him, met by Sir Thomas
LoVELL.
Gar. It's one o'clock, boy, is't not ?
Hoy. It hath struck.
Gar. These should be hours for necessities.
Not for delights ; times to repair our nature
With comforting repose, and not for us
To waste these times. — Good hour of night, sir
Thomas !
Whither so late ?
Lov. Came you from the king, my lord ?
Gar. I did, sir Thomas; and left him at primero *
With the duke of Suffolk.
Lov. I must to him too.
Before he go to bed. I'll take my leave.
Gar. Not yet, sir Thomas Lovell. What's the
matter ?
It seems, you are in haste : an if there be
No great offence belongs to't, give your friend
Some touch of your late business : Affairs, that walk
(As, they say, spirits do,) at midnight, have
In them a wilder nature, than the business
That seeks despatch by day.
J.ov. My lord, I love you ;
And durst commend a secret to your car
Much weightier than tliis work. The queen's in
labour,
They say, in great extremity ; and fear'd.
She'll with the labour end.
Gar. The fruit, she goes witli,
I pray for heartily ; that it may find
Good time, and live : but for the stock, sir Thomas,
I wish it grubb'd up now.
3 Afterwards queen Mary. *■ A game at cardi.
Lov. Methinks, I could
Cry the amen ; and yet my conscience says
She's a good creature, and, sweet lady, does
Deserve our better wishes.
Gar. But, sir, sir, —
Hear me, sir Thomas : you are a gentleman
Of mine own way ; I know you wise, religious ;
And, let me tell you, it will ne'er be well, —
'Twill not, sir Thomas Lovell, take't of me.
Till Cranmer, Cromwell, her two hands, and she.
Sleep in their graves.
Lov. Now, sir, you speak of tw o
The most remark'd i'the kingdom. As for Crom-
well, —
Beside that of the jewel-house, he's made master
O'the rolls, and the king's secretary : further, sir.
Stands in the gap and trade of more preferments.
With which the time will load him : The archbishop
Is the king's hand, and tongue; And who dare speak
One syllable against him?
Gar. Yes, yes, sir Thomas,
There are that dare ; and I myself have ventur'd
To speak my mind of him : and, indeed, this day.
Sir, (I may tell it you,) I think, 1 have
Incens'd * the lords o'the council, that he is
( For so I know he is, they know he is,)
A most arch heretick, a pestilence
That does infect the land : with which they moved.
Have broken with ^ tiie king ; who hath so far
Given car to our complaint, (of his great grace
And princely care; foreseeing those fell mischiefs.
Our reasons laid before him,) he hath commanded,
To-morrow morning to the council-board
He be convented. ' He's a rank weed, sir Thomas,
And we must root him out. PVom your affairs
I hinder you too long : good night, sir Thomas.
» Set on. « ToM their mindt ta 7 Summoned.
590
KING HENRY VIII.
Act V.
Lov. Many good nights, my lord ; I rest your
servant. [Exeunt Gardiner anrf Page.
As LovELL is going out, enter the King and the
Duke of Suffolk.
JT. Hen. Charles, I will play no more to-night ;
My mind's not on't, you are too hard for me.
Suf. I did never win of you before.
K. Hen. But little, Charles ;
Nor shall not, when my fancy's on my play. —
Now, Lovell, from the queen what is the news ?
Lov. I could not personally deliver to her
What you commanded me, but by her woman
I sent your message ; who return'd her thanks
In the greatest humbleness, and desir'dyour highness
Most heartily to pray for her,
K. Hen. What say'st thou ? ha !
To pray for her ? what, is she crying out ?
Lov. So said her woman ; and that her sufferance
made
Almost each pang a death.
K. Hen. Alas, good lady !
Suf. God safely quit her of her burden, and
With gentle travail, to the gladding of
Your highness with an heir !
K. Hen. 'Tis midnight, Charles,
Pr'ythee, to bed ; and in thy prayers remember
The estate of my poor queen. Leave me alone ;
For I must think of that, which company
Will not be friendly to.
Suf. I wish your highness
A quiet night, and my good mistress will
Remember in my prayers.
K. Hen. Charles, good night.
l^Exit Suffolk.
Enter Sir Anthony Denny.
Well, sir, what follows ?
Den. Sir, I have brought my lord the archbishop,
As you commanded me.
JC. Hen. Ha! Canterbury?
Den. Ay^ my good lord.
K. Hen. 'Tis true : Where is he, Denny ?
Den. He attends your highness' pleasure.
K. Hen. Bring him to us.
[Exit Denny.
Lov. This is about that which the bishop spake ;
I am happily come hither. [Aside.
Re-enter Denny, wUh Cranmer.
K. Hen. Avoid the gallery,
[LovELL seems to stay.
Ha ! — I have said. — Be gone.
What — [Exeunt Lovell and Denny.
Cran. I am fearful : — Wherefore frowns he thus ?
Tis his aspect of terror. All's not well.
K. Hen. How now, my lord? You do desire to
know
Wherefore I sent for you.
Cran. It is my duty,
To attend your highness' pleasure.
K. Hen. Pray you, arise,
My good and gracious lord of Canterbury.
Come, you and I must walk a turn together ;
I have news to tell you : Come, come, give me your
hand.
Ah, my good lord, I grieve at what I speak,
And am right sorry to repeat what follows :
I have, and most unwillingly, of late
Heard many grievous, I do say, my lord,
Grievous complaints of you ; which, being consider'd,
Have mov'd us and our council, that you shall
This morning come before us ; where, I know,
You cannot with such freedom purge yourself.
But that, till further trial, in those charges
Which will require your answer, you must take
Your patience to you, and be well contented
To make your house our I'ower : You a brother of
us 8,
It fits we thus proceed, or else no witness
Would come against you.
Cran. I humbly thank your highness ;
And am right glad to catch this good occasion
Most throughly to be winnow'd, where my chaff
And corn shall fly asunder : for, J know,
There's none stands under more calumnious tongues,
Than I myself, poor man.
K. Hen. Stand up, good Canterbury;
Thy truth, and thy integrity, is rooted
In us, thy friend : Give me thy hand, stand up ;
Pr'ythee, let's walk. Now, by my holy-dame,
What manner of man are you ? My lord, I look'd
You would have given me your petition, that
I should have ta'en some pains to bring together
Yourself and your accusers ; and to have heard you
Without indurance, further.
Cran. Most dread liege.
The good I stand on is my truth, and honesty ;
If they shall fail, I, with mine enemies.
Will triumph o'er my person ; which I weigh not.
Being of those virtues vacant. I fear nothing
What can be said against me.
K. Hen. Know you not how
Your state stands i'the world, with the whole world?
Your enemies
Are many, and not small ; their practices
Must bear the same proportion : and not ever
The justice and the truth o'the question cairies
The due o'the verdict with it : At what ease
Might corrupt minds procure knaves as corrupt
To swear against you ? such things have been done.
You are potently oppos'd ; and with a malice
Of as great size. Ween 9 you of better treatment,
I mean in perjur'd witness, than your Master,
Whose minister you are, whiles here he liv'd
Upon this naughty earth ? Go to, go to ;
You take a precipice for no leap of danger.
And woo your own destruction.
Cran. God, and your majesty,
Protect mine innocence, or I fall into
The trap is laid for me !
K. Hen. Be of good cheer ;
They shall no more prevail, than we give way to.
Keep comfort to you ; and this morning see
You do appear before them : if they shall chance,
In charging you with matters, to commit you.
The best persuasions to the contrary
Fail not to use, and with what vehemency
The occasion shall instruct you : if entreaties
Will render you no remedy, this ring
Deliver them, and your appeal to us
There make before them. — Look, the good man
weeps !
He's honest, on mine honour.
I swear, he is true-hearted ; and a soul
None better in my kingdom. — Get you gone.
And do as I have bid you. — [Exit Cranmer.] He
has strangled
His language in his tears.
s One of the council. ^ Think.
Scene II.
KING HENRY VIII.
591
Enter an old Lady.
Gent. [IFithin.] Comeback; What mean you ?
Lady. I'll not come back : the tidings that I bring
Will make my boldness manners. — Now good
angels
Fly o'er thy royal head, and shade thy person
Under their blessed wings !
K. Hen. Now, by thy looks
I guess thy message. Is the queen deliver'd ?
Say, ay ; and of a boy.
Lady. Ay, ay, my liege ;
And of a lovely boy : The God of heaven
Both now and ever bless her ! — 'tis a girl,
Promises boys hereafter. Sir, your queen
Desires your visitation, and to be
Acquainted with this stranger ; 'tis as like you
As cherry is to cherry.
K. Hen. Lovell, —
Enter Lovell.
I.ov. Sir.
K. Hen. Give her an hundred marks. I'll to the
queen. [Exit King.
Lady. An hundred marks ! by this light, I'll
have more.
An ordinary groom is for such payment.
I will have more, or scold it out of him.
Said I for this, the girl is like to him ?
I will have more, or else unsay't ; and now
While it is hot, I'll put it to the issue. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. — Lobby before the Council-Chamber.
Enter Cranmer ; Servants, Door-Keeper, ^c.
attending.
Cran. I hope, I am not too late ; and yet the gen-
tleman,
That was sent to me from the council, pray'd me
To make great haste. All fast ? what means this ?
— Hoa!
Who waits there ? — Sure you know me ?
D. Keep. Yes, my lord ;
But yet I cannot help you.
Cran. Why?
D. JTeeju Your grace must wait till you be call'd
for.
Enter Doctor Butts.
Cran. So.
Butts. This is a piece of malice, I am glad
T came this way so happily : The king
Shall understand it presently. [Exit Butts.
Cra7i. [yiside.] 'Tis Butts,
Tlie king's physician : As he past along,
How earnestly he cast his eyes upon me !
Pray heaven, he sound not my disgrace ! For certain,
Tliis is of purpose lay'd, by some that hate me,
(God turn their hearts! I never sought their malice,)
To quench mine honour : they would shame to make
me
Wait else at door ; a fellow-counsellor,
Among boys, grooms, and lackeys. But their
pleasures
Must be fulfiU'd, and I attend with patience.
Enterj at a Window d>ove, the Kino and Butts.
Butts. I'll show your grace the strangest sight, —
IT. Hen. What's that, Butts?
Butts. I think your highness saw this many a day.
JT. Hen. Body o' me, where is it ?
Butts. There, my lord :
The high promotion of his grace of Canterbury ;
Who holds his state at door, 'mongst pursuivants,
Pages, and foot-boys.
JC. Hen. Ha ! 'Tis he, indeed :
Is this the honour they do one another ?
'Tis well, there's one above them yet. I had thought,
They had parted so much honesty amongst them,
(At least, good manners,) as not thus to suffer
A man of his place, and so near our favour,
To dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures.
And at the door too, like a post with packets.
By holy Mary, Butts, there's knavery :
Let them alone, and draw the curtain close ;
We shall hear more anon. — [Exeunt.
The Council-Chamber.
Enter the Lord Chancellor, the Duke of Suffolk,
Earl of Surrey, Lord Chamberlain, GARniNER,
and Cromwell. The Chancellor places himself
at the upper end of the Table^ on the left hand; a
Seat being left void above him, as for llie Archbi-
shop OF Canterbury. The rest seat themselves in
order on each side. Cromwell at the lower end,
as Secretary.
Chan. Speak to the business, master secretary :
Why are we met in council ?
Crom. Please your honours.
The chief cause concerns his grace of Canterbury.
Gar. Has he had knowledge of it ?
Crom. Yes.
iVbr. Who waits there ?
D. Keep. Without, my noble lords ?
Gar. Yes.
D. Keep. My lord archbishop ,
And has done half an hour, to know your pleasures
Chan. Let him come in.
D. Keep. Your grace may enter now.
[Cranmer apjyroaches the Council- Table.
Chan. My good lord archbishop, I am very sorry
To sit here at this present, and behold
That chair stand empty : But we all are men.
In our own natures frail ; out of which frailty,
And want of wisdom, you, that best should teach us.
Have misdemean'd yourself, and not a little.
Toward the king first, then his laws, in filling
The whole realm, by your teaching, and your chap
lains,
( For so we are inform'd,) with new opinions.
Divers and dangerous, which are heresies,
And, not reform 'd, may prove pernicious.
Gar. Which reformation must be sudden too,
My noble lords : for those that tame wild horses.
Pace tliem not in their hands to make them gentle ;
But stop their moutlis with stubborn bits, and spur
them.
Till they obey tlie manage. If we suffer
(Out of our easiness and childish pity
To one man's honour) tliis contagious sickness.
Farewell, all physick : And what follows then?
Commotions, uproars, with a general taint
Of tlie whole state : as, of late days, our neighbours.
The upper Germany, can dearly witness,
Yet freshly pitied in our memories.
Cran. Rly good lords, hitherto, in all the progress
Both of my life and office, I have labour'd.
And with no little study, tliat my teaching.
And the strong course of my authority,
592
KING HENRY VIII.
Act V.
Might go one way, and safely ; and the end
Was ever, to do well : nor is tlicrc living
(I speak it with a single heart, my lords,)
A man, that more detests, more stirs against.
Both in his private conscience, and his place,
Defacers of a public peace, than I do.
'Pray heaven, the king may never find a heart
With less allegiance in it ! Men, that make
Envy, and crooked malice, nourishment,
Dare bite the best. I do beseech your lordships,
That, in this case of justice, my accusers,
Be what they will, may stand forth face to face,
And freely urge against me.
Suf. Nay, my lord,
That cannot be ; you are a counsellor,
And, by that virtue, no man dare accuse you.
Gar. My lord, because we have business of more
moment.
We will be short with you. 'Tis his highness'
pleasure,
And our consent, for better trial of you.
From hence you be committed to the Tower j
Where, being but a private man again.
You shall know many dare accuse you boldly,
More than, I fear, you are provided for.
Cran. Ah, my good lord of Winchester, I thank
you.
You are always my good friend ; if your will pass,
I shall both find your lordship judge and juror.
You are so merciful : I see your end,
'Tis my undoing : Love, and meekness, lord,
Become a churchman better than ambition ;
Win straying souls with modesty again,
Cast none away. That I shall clear myself.
Lay all the weight ye can upon my patience,
I make as little doubt, as you do conscience,
In doing daily wrongs. I could say more.
But reverence to your calling makes me modest.
Gar. My lord, my lord, you are a sectary.
That's the plain truth ; your painted gloss discovers,
To men that understand you, words and weakness.
Crom. My lord of Winchester, you are a little,
By your good favour, too sharp ; men so noble,
However faulty, yet should find respect
For what they have been : 'tis a cruelty,
To load a falling man.
Gar. Good master secretary,
I cry your honour mercy ; you may, worst
Of all this table, say so.
Crom. Why, my lord ?
Gar. Do not I know you for a favourer
Of this new sect ? ye are not sound.
Crom. Not sound ?
Gar. Not sound, I say.
Crom. 'Would you were half so honest!
Men's prayers then would seek you, not their fears.
Gar. I shall remember this bold language.
Crom. Do.
Remember your bold life too.
C/ian. This is too much ;
Forbear, for shame, my lords.
Gar. I have done.
Crom. And I.
Chan. Then thus for you, my lord, — It stands
agreed,
I take it, by all voices, that forthwith
You be convey'd to the Tower a prisoner ;
There to remain, till the king's further pleasure
Be known unto us : Are you all agreed, lords ?
Jill. We are.
Cran. Is there no other way of mercy,
But I must needs to the Tower, my lords?
Gar. What other
Would you expect? You are strangely troublesome !
Let some o'the guard be ready there.
Eiiter Guard.
Cran. For me?
Must I go like a traitor thither ?
Gar. Receive him.
And see him safe i'the Tower.
Cran. Stay, good my lor
I have a little yet to say. Look there, my lords ;
By virtue of that ring, I take my cause
Out of the gripes of cruel men, and give it
To a most noble judge, the king my master.
Cham. This is the king's ring.
Sur. 'Tis no counterfeit.
Suf. 'Tis the right ring, by heaven : I told ye all.
When we first put this dangerous stone a rolling,
'Twould fall upon ourselves.
Nor. Do you think, my lords,
The king will suffer but the little finger
Of this man to be vex'd?
Cham. 'Tis now too certain :
How much more is his life in value with him ?
'Would I were fairly out on't.
Crom. My mind gave me.
In seeking tales, and informations,
Against this man, (whose honesty the devil
And his disciples only envy at,)
Ye blew the fire that burns ye : Now have at ye.
Enter 'K.nso, frowning on them; takes his Seat.
Gar. Dread sovereign, how much are we bound
to heaven
In daily thanks, that gave us such a prince ;
Not only good and wise, but most religious :
One that, in all obedience, makes the church
The chief aim of his honour ; and, to strengthen
That holy duty, out of dear respect,
His royal self in judgment comes to hear
The cause betwixt her and this great offender.
K. Hen. You were ever good at sudden commend-
ations.
Bishop of Winchester. But know, I come not
To hear such flattery now, and in my presence ;
They are too thin and base to hide offences.
To me you cannot reach, you play the spaniel.
And think with wagging of your tongue to win me ;
But, whatsoe'er thou tak'st me for, I am sure.
Thou hast a cruel nature, and a bloody. —
Goodman, \^To Cranmer.] sit down. Now let me
see the proudest
He, that dares most, but wag his finger at thee :
By all that's holy, he had better starve.
Than but once think this place becomes thee not.
Sur. May it please your grace, —
K. Hen. No, sir, it does not please me.
I had thought, I had had men of some under-
standing
And wisdom, of my council ; but I find none.
Was it discretion, lords, to let this man,
This good man, (few of you deserve that title,)
This honest man, wait like a lousy footboy
At chamber door ? and one as great as you are ?
Why, what a shame was this ? Did my commission
Bid ye so far forget yourselves ? I gave ye
Power as he was a counsellor to try him.
Not as a groom ; There's some of ye, I see,
I
Scene III.
KING HENRY VIII.
593
More out of malice tlian integrity,
Would try him to the utmost, had ye mean ;
Which ye shall never have, while I live.
Chan. Thus far,
My most dread sovereign, may it like your grace
To let my tongue excuse all. What was purpos'd
Concerning his imprisonment, was rather
(If there be faith in men) meant for his trial.
And fair purgation to the world, than malice ;
I am sure, in me.
IT. Hen. Well, well, my lords, respect him ;
Take him, and use him well, he's worthy of it.
I will say thus much for him. If a prince
May be beholden to a subject, I
Am, for his love and service, so to him.
Make me no more ado, but all embrace him ;
Be friends, for shame, my lords. — My lord of Can-
terbury,
I have a suit which you must not deny me ;
That is, a fair young maid that yet wants baptism.
You must be godfatlier, and answer for her.
Cran. The greatest monarch now alive may glory
In such an honour ; How may I deserve it.
That am a poor and humble subject to you ?
iT. Hen. Come, come, my lord, you'd spare your
spoons ' ; you shall have
Two noble partners with you ; the old duchess of
Norfolk,
And lady marquis Dorset ; Will these please you ?
Once mofe, my lord of Winchester, 1 charge you.
Embrace, and love this man.
Gar. With a true heart,
And brother-love, I do it.
Cran. And let heaven
Witness, how dear I hold tliis confirmation.
IT. Hen. Good man, those joyful tears show thy
true heart.
The common voice, I see, is verified
Of thee, which says thus. Do mi/ lord of Canterbury
yl shretvd turn, and he is your friend for ever. —
Come, lords, we trifle time away ; I long
To have this young one made a Christian.
As I have made ye one, lords, one remain ;
So I grow stronger, you more honour gain.
[^Exeunt.
SCENE III. — The Palace Yard.
Noise and Tumult within. Enter Porter and his
Man.
Port. You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals :
Do you take the court for Paris-garden * ? ye rude
slaves, leave your gaping. 3
[Within.] Good master porter, I belong to the
larder.
Port. Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, you
rogue : Is this the place to roar in ? — Fetch me a
dozen crab- tree staves, and strong ones ; these are
but switches to them. — I'll scratch your heads :
You must be seeing christenings ? Do you look for
ale and cake here, you rude rascals ?
Man. Pray, sir, be patient ; 'tis as much impossible
(Unless we sweep them from the door with cannons,)
To scatter them, as 'tis to make them sleep
On May-day morning ; which will never be :
We may as well pusli against Paul's, as stir them.
Port. How got they in, and be hang'd ?
' It was an ancient custom for sponsors to present tpooM to
their god.childrcn.
' The bear garden on the Bank-side. > Roaring.
Man. Alas, I know not; How gets the tide in?
As much as one sound cudgel of four foot
( You see the poor remainder) could distribute,
I made no spare, sir.
Port. You did nothing, sir.
Man. I am not Samson, nor sir Guy, nor Col-
brand ^, to mow them down before me : but, if I
spared any, that had a head to hit, either young
or old, he or she, let me never hope to see a chine
again.
[fVithin.] Do you hear, master porter?
Port. I shall be with you presently, good master
puppy. — Keep the door close, sirrali.
Man. What would you have me do ?
Port. What should you do, but knock them down
by the dozens ? Is this Moorfields to muster in ?
Man. There is a fellow somewhat near the door,
he should be a brazier by his face, for, o' my con-
science, twenty of the dog-days now reign in's
nose ; all that stand about him are under tlie line,
they need no other penance : That fire-drake did I
hit three times on the head, and three times was
his nose discharged against me ; he stands there,
like a mortar-piece, to blow us. Tliere was a
haberdasher's wife of small wit near him, that railed
upon me till her pink'd porringer ^ fell off her head,
for kindling such a combustion in the state. I
miss'd the meteor 6 once, and hit that woman, who
cried out clubs ! when I might see from far some
forty truncheoneers draw to her succour, which were
the hope of the Strand, where she was quartered.
They fell on ; I made good my place ; at length
they came to the broomstaft' with me, I defied them
still ; when suddenly a file of boys behind them,
loose shot, delivered such a shower of pebbles, that
I was fain to draw mine honour in, and let them
win the work : The devil was amongst them, I think,
surely.
Port. These are the youths that thunder at a
play-house, and fight for bitten apples ; that no
audience, but the Tribulation of Tower-hill, or the
limbs of Limehouse, their dear brothers, are able to
endure. I have some of them in Limbo Patrum 7,
and there they are like to dance these three days ;
besides the running banquet of two beadles ^, diat
is to come.
Enter the Lord Chamberlain.
Cham. Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here !
They grow still too, from all parts they are coming.
As if we kept a fair here ! Where are these porters.
These lazy knaves ? — Ye have made a fine hand,
fellows.
There's a trim rabble let in : Are all these
Your faithful friends o' the suburbs ? We shall have
Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,
When they pass back from the christening.
Port. A n't please your honour,
We are but men ; and what so many may do,
Not being torn a pieces, we have done :
An army cannot rule them.
Cham. As I live.
If the king blame me for't, I'll lay ye all
By the heels, and suddenly ; and on your heads
Clap round fines, for neglect : You are lazy knaves;
And here ye lie baiting of bombards 9, when
* Guy of Warwick, nor Colbrand the Danish giant
» Pink'd cap. « The hnirier.
J Place of confinement « A dessert of whipping.
» Black leather vessels to hold beer.
594
KING IIENllY VIII.
Act V.
Ye should do service. Hark, tlie trumpets sound;
They are come already from the christening :
Go, break among tlie press, and find a way out
To let the troop pass fairly ; or I'll find
A Marshalsea, shall hold you play these two months.
Port. Make way tliere for tlie princess.
Man. You' great fellow, stand close up, or I'll
make your head ache.
Port. You i* the camblet, get up o'the rail ; I'll
pick ' you o'er the pales else. \^Exeimt.
SCENE IV. — The Palace. 2
Enter Ti'umpets, sounding; then two Aldermen,
Lord Mayor, Garter, Cranmeu, Duke of Nor-
folk, witli his MarhaVs Staff, Duke of Suffolk,
two Noblemen bearing great standing Boivls for
the Christening Gifts; then four Noblemen, bear-
ing a Canopy, under which the Duchess of Nor-
folk, Godmother, bearing the Child richly habited in
a Mantle, ^c. Train borne by a Lady ; then follows
the Marchioness of Dorset, the other Godmother,
and Ladies. The Troop pass once about the Stage,
and Garter speaks.
Gart. Heaven, from thy endless goodness, send
prosperous life, long, and ever happy, to the high
and mighty princess of England, Elizabeth.
Flourish. Enter King, and Train.
Cran. [Kneeling.'] And to your royal grace, and
the good queen,
My noble partners, and myself, thus pray : —
All comfort, joy, in this most gracious lady.
Heaven ever laid up to make parents happy,
May hourly fall upon ye !
K. Hen. Thank you, good lord archbishop ;
What is her name ?
Craii. Elizabeth.
K. Hen. Stand up, lord. —
[ The King kisses the Child.
With this kiss take my blessing : God protect thee !
Into whose hands I give thy life.
Cran. Amen.
K. Hen. My noble gossips, ye have been too
prodigal :
I thank ye heartily ; so shall this lady.
When she has so much English.
Cran. Let me speak, sir,
For heaven now bids me ; and the words I utter
Let none think flattery, for they'll find them truth.
This royal infant, (Heaven still move about her !)
Though in her cradle, yet now promises
Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings.
Which time shall bring to ripeness : She shall be
(But few now living can behold that goodness,)
A pattern to all princes living with her,
And all that shall succeed : Sheba was never
More covetous of wisdom, and fair virtue,
Than this pure soul shall be : all princely graces,
That mould up such a mighty piece as this is.
With all the virtues that attend the good.
Shall still be doubled on her : truth shall nurse her,
Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her :
She shall be lov'd, and fear'd : Her own shall bless
her :
Her foes shake like a field of beaten com,
And hang their heads with sorrow: Good grows
with her :
In her days, every man shall eat in safety
Under his own vine, what he plants ; and sing
The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours.
God shall be truly known ; and those about her
From her shall read the perfect ways of honour,
And by those claim their greatness, not by blood.
[Nor 3 shall this peace sleep with 'her : But as when
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix,
Her ashes new create another heir.
As great in admiration as herself;
So shall she leave her blessedness to one,
(When heaven shall call her from this cloud of
darkness,)
Who, from the sacred ashes of her honour,
Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was.
And so stand fix'd : Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror,
That were the servants to this chosen infant,
Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him ;
Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine.
His honour and the greatness of his name
Shall be, and make new nations : He shall flourish.
And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches
To all the plains about him : Our children's
children
Shall see this, and bless heaven.
K. Hen. Thou speakest wonders.]
Cran. She shall be, to the happiness of England,
An aged princess ; many days shall see her.
And yet no day without a deed to crown it.
'Would I had known no more ! but she must die.
She must, the saints must have her; yet a virgin,
A most unspotted lily shall she pass
To the ground, and all the world shall mourn her.
X. Hen. O lord archbishop.
Thou hast made me now a man ; never, before
This happy child, did I get any thing :
This oracle of comfort has so pleas'd me,
That, when I am in heaven, I shall desire
To see what this child does, and praise my Maker. —
I thank ye all : — To you, my good lord mayor,
And your good brethren, I am much beholden ;
I have received much honour by your presence,
And ye shall find me thankful. Lead the way, lords;
Ye must all see the queen, and she must thank ye,
She^will be sick else. This day, no man think
He has business at his house ; for all shall stay :
This little one shall make it holiday. [Exeunt.
EPILOGUE.
'Tis ten to one, this play can never please
All that are here : Some come to take their ease.
And sleep an act or two ; but those, we fear,
We have frighted with our trumpets ; so, 'tis clear.
They'll say, 'tis naught : others, to hear the city
Abus'd extremely, and to cry, — thaVs witty/
Which we have not done neither : that, I fear.
All the expected good we are like to hear
1 Pitch. 2 At Greenwich.
For this play at this time, is only in
The merciful construction of good women ;
For such a one we show'd them ; If they smile.
And say, 'twill do, I know, within a while
All the best men are ours ; for, 'tis ill hap.
If they hold, when their ladies bid them clap.
3 This and the following seventeen lines were probably
written by B. Jonson, after the accession of king James.
4^^
TKOILUS AND CRESSIDA.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
Priam, ITing of Troy.
Hector,
Troilus,
Paris, J- his Sons,
Deiphobus,
Helenus,
NEAs, I rj,-^^ Commanders.
Antenor, J *'
Calchas, a Trojan Priest, taJdtig part with the Greeks.
Pandarus, Uncle to Cressida.
Agamemnon, the Grecian General.
Menelaus, his Brother.
Achilles, "j
Ajax, I Grecian Commanders.
Ulysses, I
;]■
Nestor,
DioMEDEs, J- Grecian Commanders.
Patroclu5,
Thersites, a deformed and scurrilous Grecian.
Alexander, Servant to Cressida.
Servant to Troilus ; Servant to Paris j Servant to
Diomedes.
Helen, Wife to Menelaus.
Andromache, Wife to Hector.
Cassandra, Daughter to Priam, a Prophetess.
Cressida, Daughter to Calchas.
Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants.
SCENE, Troy, and the Grecian Camp before it.
I
AS t KISS rHIItt— NAT, DO HOT SSATCB IT PROM UI
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA
PROLOGUE.
In Troy there lies the scene. From isles of Greece
The princes orgulous ', their high blood chaf d,
Have to the port of Athens sent their sliips,
Fraught with the ministers and instruments
or cruel war : Sixty, and nine, that wore
Tlieir crownets regal, from the Athenian bay
Put forth toward Phrygia : and their vow is made,
To ransack Troy ; within whose strong immures
The ravisli'd Helen, Menelaus' queen.
With wanton Paris sleeps ; and that's the quarrel.
To Tenedos they come ;
And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge
Their warlike fraughtage -': Now on Dardan plains
The fresh and yet unbruiseil Greeks do pitch
Tlieir brave pavilions : Priam's six-gated city,
Dardan, and Tymbria, Ilias, Clietas, Trojan,
And Antenorides, with massy staples,
And corresponsive and fulfilling bolts,
Speer '» up the sons of Troy.
Now, expectation, tickling skittish spirits,
On one and other side, Trojan and Greek
Sets all on liazard : — And hither am I come
A prologue arm'd. — but not in confidence
Of author's pen, or actor's voice ; but suited
In like conditions as our argument, —
To tell you, fair beholders, that our play
Leaps o'er the vaunt ^ and firstlings of those broils
'Ginning in the middle ; starting thence away
To what may be digesteil in a play.
Like, or find fault ; do as your pleasures are ;
Now gooti, or bad, 'tis but the chance of war.
ACT I.
SCENE L — Troy. Before Priam** Palace.
Enter Troilus armetl, and Pandari's.
Tro. Call here my varlet % I'll unarm again :
Why should I war witliout the walls of Troy,
Proud, disdainful.
2 Frciglit
That find such cruel battle here within ?
Kach Trojan, that is master of his lieart,
I^t him to field ; Troilus, alas ! hath none.
Van. Will this gecr '"' ne'er l>e mended ?
Tro. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their
strength,
^ Shut » A vaunt, what went before. « Habit
596
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
Act I.
Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant ;
But I am weaker than a woman's tear,
Tamer than sleep, fonder 7 than ignorance ;
And skill-less as unpractis'd infancy.
Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this : for
my part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. He,
that will have a cake out of the wheat, must tarry
the grinding
Tro. Have I not tarried ?
Pan. Ay, the grinding ; but you must tarry the
bolting.
Tro. Have I not tarried?
Pan. Ay, the bolting ; but you must tarry the
leavening.
Tro. Still have I tarried.
Pan. Ay, to the leavening ; but here's yet in the
word — hereafter, the kneading, the making of the
cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking ; nay,
you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to
burn your lips.
Tro. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be.
Doth lesser blench « at sufferance than I do.
At Priam's royal table do I sit ;
And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts, —
So, traitor ! — when she comes ! When is she
thence ?
Pan. Well, she look'd yesternight fairer than ever
I saw her look, or any woman else.
Tro. I was about to tell thee, — When my heart.
As wedged with a sigh, would rive 9 in twain ;
Lest Hector or my father should perceive me,
I have (as when the sun doth light a storm,)
Bury'd this sigh in wrinkle of a smile :
But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness.
Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.
Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker than
Helen's, (well, go to,) there were no more com-
parison between the women, — But, for my part,
she is my kinswoman ; I would not, as they term it,
praise her, — But I would somebody had heard her
talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise your
sister Cassandra's wit; but —
Tro. O Pandarus ! I tell thee, Pandarus, —
When I do tell thee, there my hopes lie drown'd.
Reply not in how many fathoms deep
They lie indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad
In Cressid's love : Thou answerst. She is fair ;
Pour'st in the open ulcer of my heart
Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice ;
Handiest in thy discourse, O, that her hand.
In whose comparison all whites are ink,
Writing their own reproach ; to whose soft seizure
The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense
Hardas the palm of ploughman ! Thisthou tell'stme.
As true thou tell'st me, when 1 say, — I love her ;
But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm.
Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me
The knife that made it.
Pan. I speak no more than truth.
Tro. Thou dost not speak so much.
Pan. 'Faith, I'll not meddle in't. Let her be as
she is : if she be fair, 'tis the better for her ; an she
be not, she has the mends in her own hands.
Tro. Good Pandarus ! how now, Pandarus ?
Pan. I have had my labour for my travel ; ill-
thought on of her, and ill-thought on of you : gone
between and between, but small thanks for my labour.
Tro. What, art thou angry, Pandarus ? what, with
me?
? Weaker. « shrink. » Split.
Pan. Because she is kin to me, therefore, she's
not so fair as Helen : an she were not kin to me,
she would be as fair on Friday, as Helen is on Sun-
day. But what care I ? I care not, an she were a
black-a-moor ; 'tis all one to me.
Tro. Say I, she is not fair ?
Pan. I do not care whether you do or no. She's
a fool to stay behind her father ; let her to the
Greeks ; and so I'll tell her the next time 1 see her :
For my part, I'll meddle nor make no more in the
matter.
Tro. Pandarus, —
Pan. Not I.
Tro. Sweet Pandarus, —
Pan. Pray you, speak no more to me j I will
leave all as I found it, and there an end.
\^Exit Pandarus. An Alarum.
Tro. Peace, you ungracious clamours ! peace,
rude sounds I
Fools on both sides ! Helen must needs be fair,
When with your blood you daily paint her thus.
I cannot fight upon this argument ;
It is too starv'd a subject for my sword.
But, Pandarus — O gods, how do you plague me !
I cannot come to Cressid, but by Pandar ;
And he's as tetchy to be woo'd to woo.
As she is stubborn-chaste against all suit.
Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne's love.
What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we ?
Her bed is India ; there she lies, a pearl :
Between our Ilium, and where she resides.
Let it be call'd the wild and wandering flood ;
Ourself, the merchant ; and this sailing Pandar,
Our doubtful hope, our convoy, and our bark.
Alarum. Enter ^neas.
JEne. How now, prince Troilus ? wherefore not
a-field ?
Tro. Because not there : This woman's answer
sorts ',
For womanish it is to be from thence.
What news, -lEneas, from the field to-day ?
JEne. That Paris is returned home, and hurt.
Tro. By whom?
JEne. By Menelaus.
Tro. Let him bleed.
{^Alarum.
jEne. Hark ! what good sport is out of town to-
day !
Tro. Better at home, {{would I might, were maT/. —
But, to the sport abroad ; — Are you bound thither?
jEne. In all swift haste.
Tro. Come, go we then together.
{^Exeunt.
SCENE II.— A Street.
Enter Cressida and Alexander.
Cres. Who were those went by ?
Alex. Queen Hecuba, and Helen.
Cres. And whither go they ?
Alex. Up to the eastern tower,
Whose height commands as subject all the vale.
To see the battle. Hector, whose patience
Is, as a virtue, fix'd, to-day was mov'd :
He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer ;
And, like as there were husbandry in war.
Before the sun rose, he was harness'd light,
1 Suits.
Scene II.
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
597
And to the field goes he ; where every flower.
Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw
In Hector's wrath.
Cres. What was his cause of anger ?
Alex. The noise goes, this ; There is among the
Greeks
A lord of Trojan blood, nephew to Hector ;
They call him Ajax.
Cres. Good ; and what of him ?
Alex. They say he is a very man per se ■*,
And stands alone.
Cres. So do all men ; unless they are drunk, sick,
or have no legs.
Alex. This man, lady, hath robbed many beasts
of their particular additions ' ; he is as valiant as tlie
lion, churlish as the bear, slow as the elephant : a
man into whom nature hath so crowded humours,
that his valour is crushed into"* folly, his folly sauced
with discretion ; there is no man hath a virtue that
he hath not a glimpse of; nor any man an attaint,
but he carries some stain of it : he is melancholy
without cause, and merry against the hair * : He hath
the joints of every thing ; but every thing so out of
joint, that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and
no use ; or purblind Argus, all eyes and no sight.
Cres. But how should this man, that makes me
smile, make Hector angry ?
Alex. They say, he yesterday coped Hector in
the battle, and struck him down ; the disdain and
shame whereof hath ever since kept Hector fasting
and waking.
Enter Pandarus.
Cres. Who comes here?
Alex. Madam, your uncle Fandarus.
Cres. Hector's a gallant man.
Alex. As may be in the world, lady.
Pan. What's that? what's that?
Cres. Good morrow, uncle Pandarus.
Pan. Good morrow, cousin Cressid : what do
you talk of? — Good morrow, Alexander. — How
do you, cousin ? When were you at Ilium ?
Cres. This morning, uncle.
Pan. What were you talking of when I came ?
Was Hector armed, and gone, ere ye came to Ilium ?
Helen was not up, was she ?
Cres. Hector was gone ; but Helen was not up.
Pan. E'en so ; Hector was stirring early.
Cres. That were we talking of, and of his anger.
Pan. Was he angry ?
Cres. So he says, here.
Pan. True, he was so ; I know the cause too ;
he'll lay about him to-day, I can tell them that : and
there is Troilus will not come far behind him ; let
them take heed of Troilus ; I can tell them that too.
Cres. What, is he angry, too ?
Pan. Who, Troilus ? Troilus is the better man
of the two.
Cres. O, Jupiter ! there's no comparison.
Pan. What, not between Troilus and Hector?
Do you know a man, if you see him ?
Cres. Ay, if ever I saw him Ijefore, and knew him.
Pan. Well, I say, Troilus is Troilus.
Cres. Then you say as I say ; for I am sure he is
not Hector.
Pan. No, nor Hector is not Troilus, in some
degrees.
Cres. 'Tis just to each of them ; he is himself.
•■« By himself.
* Mingled with.
' Characters.
» Grain.
Pan. Himself? Alas, poor Troilus ! I would he
were, —
Cres. So he is.
Pan. — 'Condition I had gone barefoot to InSia.
Cres. He is not Hector.
Pan. Himself ? no, he's not himself. — 'Would
*a were himself ! Well, the gods are above ; Time
must friend, or end : Well, Troilus, well, — I would
my heart were in her body ! — No, Hector is not a
better man than Troilus.
Cres. Excuse me.
Pan. He is elder.
Cres. Pardon me, pardon me.
Pan. The other's not come to't ; you shall tell me
another tale, when the other's come to't. Hector
shall not have his wit this year.
Cres. He shall not need it, if he have his own.
Pan. Nor his qualities ; — —
Cres. No matter.
Pan. Nor his beauty.
Cres. 'Twould not become him, his own's
better.
Pan. You have no judgment, niece : Helen her
self swore the other day, that Troilus, for a brown
favour, (for so 'tis, I must confess,) — Not brown
neither.
Cres. No, but brown.
Pan. 'Faith, to say truth, brown and not brown.
Cres. To say the truth, true and not true.
Pan. She prais'd his complexion above Paris.
Cres. Why, Paris hath colour enough.
Pan. So he has.
Cres. Then Troilus should have too much : if she
praised him above, his complexion is higher tlian
his J he having colour enough, and the other higher,
is too flaming a praise for a good complexion. I
had as lief Helen's golden tongue had commended
Troilus for a copper nose.
Pan. I swear to you, I think Helen loves him
better than Paris.
Cres. Then she's a merry Greek, indeed.
Pan. Nay, I am sure she does. She came to
him the other day into a compassed ^ window, —
and, you know, he has not past three or four hairs
on his chin.
Cres. Indeed, a tapster's arithmetick may soon
bring his particulars therein to a total.
Pan. Why, he is very young ; and yet will he,
within three pound, lift as much as his brotherHector.
Cres. Is he so young a man, and so old a lifter ? ^
Pan. But, to prove to you that Helen loves liim ;
— she came, and puts me her white hand to his
cloven cliin, —
Cres. Juno have mercy ! — How came it cloven ?
Pan. Why, you know, 'tis dimpled : I think, his
smiling becomes him better than any man in all
Piirygia.
Cres. O, he smiles valiantly.
Pan. Does he not?
Cres. O yes, an 'twere a cloud in autumn.
Pan. Why, go to then : — But to prove to you
that Helen loves Troilus,
Cres. Troilus will stand to the proof, if you'll
prove It so.
Pan. Troilus ? why he esteems her no more than
I esteem an addle egg.
Cres. If you love an addle egg as well as you love
an idle head, you would eat chickens i'the shell.
Pan. I cannot choose but laugh, to think liow she
•* Bow 7 Thief.
Qq3
598
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
Act I.
tickled his chin ; — Indeed, she has a marvellous
white hand, I must needs confess.
Cres, Without the rack.
Pan. And she takes upon her to spy a white hair
on his chin.
Cres. Alas, poor chin ! many a wart is richer.
Pan. But, there was such laughing; — Queen
Hecuba laughed, that her eyes ran o'er.
Cres. With mill-stones. 8
Pan. And Cassandra laughed.
Cres. But there was a more temperate fire under
the pot of her eyes ; — Did her eyes run o'er too ?
Pan. And Hector laughed.
Cres. At what was all this laughing ?
Pan. Marry, at the white hair that Helen spied
on Troilus' chin.
Cres. An't had been a green hair, I should have
laughed too.
Pan. They laughed not so much at the hair as at
his pretty answer.
Cres. What was his answer ?
Pan. Quoth she, Here's but one and fifty hairs on
your chin, and one of them is white.
Cres. This is her question.
Pan. That's true ; make no question of that. One
and fifty hairs, quoth he, and one ivhite : That white
hair is my father, and all the rest are his sons. Ju-
piter ! quoth she, which of these hairs is Paris my
husband ? The forked one, quoth he ; pluck it out,
and give it him. But, there was such laughing !
and Helen so blushed, and Paris so chafed, and all
the rest so laughed, that it passed. 9
Cres. So let it now ; for it has been a great while
going by.
Pan. Well, cousin, I told you a thing yesterday ;
think on't.
Cres. So I do.
Pan. I'll be sworn, 'tis true ; he will weep you
an 'twere a man born in April.
Cres. And I'll spring up in his tears, an 'twere a
nettle against May, [A Retreat somided.
Pan. Hark, they are coming from the field : Shall
we stand up here, and see them, as they pass toward
Ilium ? good niece, do ; sweet niece Cressida.
Cres. At your pleasure.
Pan. Here, here, here's an excellent place ; here
we may see most bravely : I'll tell you them all by
their names, as they pass by ; but mark Troilus
above the rest.
JE^v^As passes over the Stage.
Cres. Speak not so loud.
Pan. That's ^neas ; Is not that a brave man ?
he's one of the flowers of Troy, I can tell you : But
mark Troilus ; you shall see anon.
Cres. Who's that ?
AyiTE's OK passes over.
Pan. That's Antenor ; he has a shrewd wit, I
can tell you ; and he's a man good enough : he's
one o'the soundest judgments in Troy, whosoever,
and a proper man of person : — When comes Troi-
lus?— I'll show j-ou Troilus anon j if he see me,
you shall see him nod at me.
Cres. Will he give you the nod ? '
Pan. You shall see.
Cres. If he do, the rich shall have more.
8 A proverbial saying.
9 Went beyond bounds.
* A term in the game at cards called noddy.
Hector passes over.
Pan. That's Hector, that, that, look you, that :
There's a fellow ! — Go thy way. Hector ; — There's
a brave man, niece. — O brave. Hector ! — Look,
how he looks ! there's a countenance : Is't not a
brave man ?
Cres. O, a brave man !
Pan. Is 'a not ? It does a man's heart good. —
Look you what hacks are on his helmet ? look you
yonder, do you see ? look you there ! There's no
jesting : there's laying on ; tak't off who will, as
they say : there be hacks !
Cres. Be those with swords ?
Fakis passes over.
Pan. Swords? anything, he cares not: an the
devil come to him, it's all one : — Yonder comes
Paris, yonder comes Paris : look ye yonder, niece ;
Is't not a gallant man, too, is't not ? — Why, this is
brave now. — Who said, he came hurt home to-day?
he's not hurt: why this will do Helen's heart good
now. Ha ! would I could see Troilus now ! — you
shall see Troilus anon.
Cres. Who's that ?
Helen us passes over.
Pan. That's Helenus, — I marvel, where Troilus
is : — That's Helenus ; — I think he went not forth
to-day : — That's Helenus.
Cres. Can Helenus fight, uncle ?
Pan. Helenus ? no ; — yes, he'll fight indifferent
well : — I marvel, where Troilus is ! — Hark ; do
you not hear the people cry, Troilus ? — Helenus is
a priest.
Cres. What sneaking fellow comes yonder ?
Troilus passes over.
Pan. Where ? yonder ? that's Deiphobus : 'Tis
Troilus ! there's a man, niece ! — Hem ! — Brave
Troilus ! the prince of chivalry !
Cres. Peace, for shame, peace !
Pan. Mark him ; note him ; — O brave Troilus !
— look well upon him, niece ; look you, how his
sword is bloodied, and his helm more hack'd than
Hector's ; And how he looks, and how he goes !
— O admirable youth ! he ne'er saw three and
twenty. Go thy way, Troilus, go thy way ; had I
a sister were a grace, or a daughter a goddess, he
should take his choice. O admirable man ! Paris ?
— Paris is dirt to him ; and, I warrant, Helen, to
change, would give an eye to boot.
Forces pass over the Stage.
Cres. Here come more.
Pan. Asses, fools, dolts ! chaff and bran, chaff
and bran ; porridge after meat ! I could live and die
i'the eyes of Troilus. Ne'er look, ne'er look ; the
eagles are gone ; crows and daws, crows and daws !
I had rather be such a man as Troilus, than Aga-
memnon and all Greece.
Cres. There is among the Greeks, Achilles; a
better man than Troilus.
Pa7i. Achilles ? a drayman, a porter, a very camel.
Cres. Well, well.
Pan. Well, well ? — Why, have you any discre-
tion ? have you any eyes ? Do you know what a
man is ? Is not birth, beauty, good shape, discourse,
manhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth, liberal-
ity, and such like, the spice and salt that season a
man ?
J
I
Scene III.
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
599
Ores. Ay, a minced man : and then to be baked |
with no date - in the pye, — for then the man*s date
is out.
Enter Troilus' Boy.
Boy. Sir, my lord would instantly speak with you.
Tan. Where?
Burj. At your own house ; there he unarms him.
Pan. Good boy, tell liim I come : \^Exit Boy.]
I doubt he be hurt. — Fare ye well, good niece.
Cres> Adieu, uncle.
Van, I'll be with you, niece, by and by.
Cres. To bring, uncle,
- Pan. Ay, a token from Troilus.
Cres. By the same token — you are a pimp.
\Exit Panda Rus.
Words, vows, griefs, tears, and love's full sacrifice,
He offers in another's enterprize :
But more in Troilus thousand fold I see
Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may be :
Yet hold I off.
That she belov'd knows nought, that knows not
this, —
Men prize the thing ungain'd more than it is :
That she was never yet tliat ever knew
Love got so sweet, as when desire did sue :
Therefore this maxim out of love I teach, —
Achievement is command ; ungain'd, beseech :
Then though my heart's content firm love doth bear,
Notliing of that shall from mine eyes appear. \ExiZ.
SCENE III. — The Grecian Camp. Before
Agamemnon'^ Tent.
Trumjiets. Enter Agamemnon, Nestor, Ulysses,
Menelaus, and others.
Agam. Princes,
Wiuit grief hath set the jaundice on your cheeks?
The ample proposition, tliat hope makes
In all designs begun on earth below,
Fails in the promis'd largeness ; checks and disasters
Grow in the veins of actions highest rear'd ;
As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap.
Infect the sound pine, and divert his grain
Tortive and errant 3 from his course of growth.
Nor, princes, is it matter new to us,
ITiat we come short of our suppose so far.
That, after seven years' siege, yet Troy walls stand j
Sith ^ every action that hath gone before.
Whereof we have record, trial did draw
Bias and thwart, not answering the aim.
And that unbodied figure of the thought
That gav't surmised shape. Why then, you princes.
Do you with cheeks abash'd behold our works ;
And think them shames, wliich are, indeed, nought
else
But the protractive trials of great Jove,
To find persistive constancy in men?
The fineness of which metal is not found
In fortune's love : for them, the bold and coward.
The wise and fool, the artist and unread,
The hard and soft, seem all affin'd ^ and kin :
But, in the wind and tempest of her frown.
Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan,
Puffing at all, winnows the light away :
And what hath mass, or matter, by itself
Lies, rich in virtue, and unmingled.
2 Dates were an ingredient in ancient |wstry of almost every
kind. 3 Twisted and rambling.
•» Since. * Joined by affinity.
Nest. Witli due observance of thy godlike seat,
Great Agamemnon, Nestor shall apply
Thy latest words. In the reproof of chance.
Lies the true proof of men : The sea being smootli.
How many shallow bauble boats dare sail
Upon lier patient breast, making their way
With those of nobler bulk.
But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage
Tlie gentle Thetis, and, auon, behold
The strong-ribb'ilbark through liquid mountains cut.
Bounding between the two moist elements.
Like Perseus' horse : Wliere's then the saucy boat.
Whose weak untimber'd sides but even now
Co-rival'd greatness ? either to harbour fled,
Or made a toast for Neptune. Even so
Doth valour's show, and valour's worth, divij^e.
In storms of fortune : For, in her ray and briglit-
ness.
The herd hath more annoyance by the brize^,
Tlian by the tiger : but wljen the splitting wind
Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks,
And flies fled under shade, why, tlien, the thing of
courage.
As rous'd with rage, with rage doth sympathize.
And, with an accent tun'd the self-same key.
Returns to chiding fortune.
Ulyss. Agamemnon, —
Thou great commander, nerve and bone of Greece,
Heart of our numbers, soul and only spirit,
In whom the tempers and the minds of all
Should be shut up, — hear what Ulysses speaks.
Besides the applause and approbation.
The which, — most mighty for thy place and
sway, — {To Agamemnon.
And thou most reverend for thy stretch'd-out life, —
[To Nestor.
I give to both your speeches, — which were such.
As Agamemnon and the hand of Greece
Should hold up high in brass ; and such again,
As venerable Nestor, hatch'd in silver.
Should with a bond of air (strong as the axle-tree
On which heaven rides,) knit all tlie Greekish ears
To his experienc'd tongue, — yet let it please
both, —
Thou great, — and wise, — to hear Ulysses speak.
Again. Speak, prince of Ithaca ; and be't of less
expect?
That matter needless, of importless burden,
Divide thy lips : than we are confident.
When rank Thersites opes his mastiff jaws.
We shall hear musick, wit, and oracle.
Ulyss. Troy, yet upon his basis, had been down.
And the great Hector's sword had lack'd a master,
But for these instances.
The specialty of rule "^ hath been neglected :
And, look, how many Grecian tents do stand
Hollow upon this plain, so many hollow factions.
When that the general is not like the hive.
To whom the foragers shall all repair.
What honey is expected ? Degree being vizardcd^.
The unworthiest shows as fairly in the mask.
The heavens themselves, the planets, and this center,
Observe degree, priority, and place,
Insisture', course, proportion, season, form,
Office, and custom, in all line of order ;
And therefore is the glorious planet, Sol,
In noble eminence enthron'd and spher'd
Amidst tlie other; whose med'cinable eye
" The gad.flv that stings cattle. ' Expectation.
« Ri«hU of authority. '•» MaskctL ' ConsUncy.
Qq 4
600
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
Act 1.
Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil,
And posts, like the commandment of a king,
Sans* check, to good and bad: But when the planets,
In evil mixture, to disorder wander.
What plagues, and what portents ? what mutiny ?
"What raging of the sea ? shaking of earth ?
Commotion in the winds? frights, changes, horrors.
Divert and crack, rend and deracinate *
The unity and married calm of states
Quite from their fixture ? O, when degree is shak'd,
Which is the ladder of all high designs,
The enterprize is sick ? How could communities.
Degrees in schools, and brotherhoods in cities,
Peaceful commerce from dividable •* shores,
The primogenitive and due of birth,
Prerojjative of age, crowns, scepters, laurels.
But by degree, stand in authentick place ?
Take but degree away, untune that string.
And, hark, what discord follows ! each thing meets
In mere ^ oppugnancy : The bounded waters
Should lift their bosoms higher than the shores.
And make a sop of all this solid globe :
Strength should be lord of imbecility,
And the rude son shall strike his father dead :
Force should be right ; or, rather, right and wrong,
(Between whose endless jar justice resides,)
Should lose their names, and so should justice too.
Then every thing includes itself in power.
Power into will, will into appetite ;
And appetite, an universal wolf,
So doubly seconded with will and power
Must make perforce an universal prey.
And, last, eat up himself. Great Agamemnon,
This chaos, when degree is suffocate.
Follows the choking.
And this noglection of degree it is.
That by a pace goes backward, with a purpose
It hath to climb. The general's disdain'd
By him one step below ; he, by the next ;
That next by him beneath : so every step,
Exampled by the first pace that is sick
Of his superior, grows to an envious fever
Of pale and bloodless emulation :
And 'tis this fever that keeps Troy on foot,
Not her own sinews. To end a tale of length,
Troy in our weakness stands, not in her strength.
N^est. Most wisely hath Ulysses here discover'd
The fever whereof all our power is sick.
Again. The nature of the sickness found, Ulysses,
Wliat is the remedy ?
Ulyss. The great Achilles, — whom opinion crowns
The sinew and the forehand of our host, —
Having his ear full of his airy fame,
Grows dainty of his worth, and in his tent
Lies mocking our designs : With him, Patroclus,
Upon a lazy bed the live-long day
Breaks scurril jests
And with ridiculous and awkward action
(Which, slanderer, he imitation calls,)
He pageants'' us. Sometime, great Agamemnon,
Thy topless? deputation he puts on ;
And, like a strutting player, — whose conceit
Lies in his hamstring, and doth think it rich
To hear the wooden dialogue and sound
'Twixt his stretch'd footing and the scaffoldage^.
Such to-be-pitied and o'er-wrestcd 5 seeming
He acts thy greatness in : and when he speaks,
2 Without. 3 Force up by the roots.
* Divided, 5 Absolute.
° In modern language, takes us pff. ' Supreme.
• Stage. 9 Bevon
' Beyond the trutl
ipri
>h.
'Tis like a chime amending; with terms unsquar'd,
Which, from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropp'd.
Would seem hyperboles. At this fusty stufl".
The large Achilles, on his press'd bed lolling.
From his deep chest laughs out a loud applause ;
Cries — Excellent! 'tis Agannemnon just. —
Now play rue Nestor ; — hem, and stroke thy beard.
As, he being drest to some oration.
That's done ; — as near as the extremest ends
Of parallels ; as like as Vulcan and his wife :
Yet good Achilles still cries, Excellent !
' 7'w Nestor right ! Now play him me, Patroclus,
Arming to answer in a night alarm.
And then, forsooth, the faint defects of age
Must be the scene of mirth ; to cough and spit.
And with a palsy-fumbling on his gorget.
Shake in and out the rivet; — and at this sport.
Sir Valour dies ; cries, 0/ — enough, Patroclus ; —
Or give me ribs of steel ! I shall split all
In pleasure of my spleen. And in this fashion.
All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes,
Sevcrals and generals of grace exact,
Achievements, plots, orders, preventions.
Excitements to the field, or speech for truce.
Success, or loss, what is, or is not, serves
As stuff for these two to make paradoxes.
Nest. And in the imitation of these twain
(Whom, as Ulysses says, opinion crowns
With an imperial voice,) many are infect,
Ajax is grown self-will'd ; and bears his head
In such a rein, in full as proud a place
As broad Achilles : keeps his tent like him ;
Makes factious feasts ; rails on our state of war.
Bold as an oracle : and sets Thersites
(A slave, whose gall coins slanders like a mint,)
To match us in comparisons with dirt ;
To weaken and discredit our exposure,
How rank soever rounded in with danger.
Ulyss. They tax our policy, and call it cowardice ;
Count wisdom as no member of the war ;
Forestall prescience, and esteem no act
But that of hand : the still and mental parts, —
That do contrive how many hands shall strike.
When fitness calls them on ; and know, by measure
Of their observant toil, the enemies' weight, —
Why, this hath not a finger's dignity :
They call this — bed- work, mappery, closet- war :
So that the ram, that batters down the wall,
For the great swing and rudeness of his poize.
They place before his hand that made the en^'ne .
Or those, that with the fineness of their souls
By reason guide his execution.
Nest. Let this be granted, and Achilles' horse
Makes many Thetis' sons. [Trum}>ets sounded.
Agam. What trumpet ? look, Menelaus.
Enter JEneas.
Men. From Troy.
A'^am. What would you 'fore our tent ?
jEne. Is this
Great Agamemnon's tent, I pray?
Agam. Even this.
jEne. May one that is a herald, and a prince.
Do a fair message to his kingly ears ?
Again. With surety stronger than Achilles' arm
'Fore all the Greekish heads, which with one voice
Call Agamemnon head and general.
JEiie. Fair leave and large security. How may
A stranger to those most imperial looks
Know them from eyes of other mortals ?
Scene III.
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA,
601
u4gani. How ?
JEne. Ay;
I ask, that I might waken reverence,
And liid the cheek be ready with a blush
Modest as morning when she coldly eyes
The youthful Phoebus :
Which is that god in office, guiding men ?
Which is the high and mighty Agamemnon ?
Ai^am. Tliis Trojan scorns us ; or the men of
Troy
Are ceremonious courtiers.
jEne. Courtiers as free, as debonair, unarm'd,
As bending angels ; that's their fame in peace :
But when tliey would seem soldiers, they have galls,
Good arms, strong joints, true swords j and, Jove's
accord,
Nothing so full of heart. But peace, iEneas,
Peace, Trojan ; lay thy finger on thy lips !
The worthiness of praise disdains his worth,
If that the prais'd himself bring the praise forth :
But what the repining enemy commends.
That breath fame follows; that praise, sole pure,
transcends.
Agam. Sir, you of Troy, call you yourself iEneas ?
uEne. Ay, Greek, that is my name.
jigam. What's your affair, I pray you ?
JEne. Sir, pardon ; 'tis for Agamemnon's ears.
Aganu He hears nought privately, that comes
from Troy.
^ne. Nor I from Troy come not to whisper him:
I bring a trumpet to awake his ear :
To set his sense on the attentive bent,
And then to speak.
Agam. Speak frankly, as the wind ;
It is not Agamemnon's sleeping hour :
That thou shalt know, Trojan, he is awake.
He tells thee so himself.
^ne. Trumpet, blow loud,
Send thy brass voice through all these lazy tents; —
And every Greek of mettle, let him know.
What Troy means fairly, shall be spoke aloud.
[Trumpet sounds.
We have, groat Agamemnon, here in Troy
A prince called Hector, (Priam is his father,)
Who in this dull and long-continued truce
Is rusty grown : he bade me take a trumpet.
And to this purpose speak. Kings, princes, lords!
If there be one, among the fair'st of Greece,
That holds his honour higher than his ease ;
Tliat seeks his praise more than he fears his peril ;
That knows his valour, and knows not his fear ;
That loves his mistress more than in confession.
(Witli truant vows to her own lips he loves,)
And dare avow her beauty and her worth,
In other arms than hers, — to him this challenge.
Hector, in view of Trojans and of Greeks,
Shall make it good, or do his best to do it.
He hath a lady, wiser, fairer, truer.
Than ever Greek did compass in his arms;
And will to-morrow with his trumpet call.
Mid-way between your tents and walls of Troy,
To rouse a Grecian that is true in love :
If any come. Hector shall honour him ;
If none, he'll say in Troy, when he retires.
The Grecian dames are sun-bum'd, and not worth
The splinter of a lance. Even so much.
Jgam, This shall be told our lovers, lord JEneas ;
If none of them have soul in such a kind,
We left them all at home : But we are soldiers ;
And may that soldier a mere recreant prove,
That means not, hath not, or is not in love !
If then one is, or hath, or means to be.
That one meets Hector ; if none else, I am he.
A'es/. Tell him of Nestor, one that was a man
When Hector's grandsire suck'd : he is old now ;
But, if there be not in our Grecian host
One noble man, that hath one spark of fire
To answer for his love. Tell him from me, —
I'll hide my silver beard in a gold beaver.
And in my vantbrace ' put tliis wither'd brawn ;
And, meeting him, will tell him, That my lady
Was fairer than his grandame, and as chaste
As may be in the world : His youth in flood,
I'll prove this truth with my tliree drops of blood.
^7ie. Now heaven forbid such scarcity of youth !
Ulyss. Amen.
Agam. Fair lord ^neas, let me touch your hand ;
To our pavilion shall I lead you, sir.
Achilles shall have word of this intent ;
So shall each lord of Greece, from tent to tent :
Yourself shall feast with us before you go,
And find the welcome of a noble foe.
{^Exeunt all but Ulysses and Nestor.
Vlyss. Nestor,
Nest. What says Ulysses?
Ulyss. I have a young conception in my brain,
Be you my time to bring it to some shape.
Nest. What is't ?
Ulyss. This 'tis :
Blunt wedges rive hard knots : The seeded pride
That hath to this maturity blown up
In rank Achilles, must or now be cropp'd.
Or, shedding, breed a nursery of like evil.
To overbulk us all.
Nest. Well, and how ?
Ulyss. This challenge that the gallant Hector
sends,
However it is spread in general name,
Relates in purpose only to Achilles.
Nest. The purpose is perspicuous even as sub-
stance,
Whose grossness little characters sum up :
And, in the publication, make no strain,
But that Achilles, were his brain as barren
As banks of Libya, — though, Apollo knows,
'Tis dry enough, — will with great speed of judg-
ment,
Ay, with celerity, find Hector's purpose
Pointing on him.
Ulyss. And wake him to tlie answer, think you ?
Nest. Yes,
It is most meet : Whom may you else oppose.
That can from Hector bring those honours off.
If not Achilles? Though't be a sportful combat.
Yet in the trial much opinion dwells ;
For here the Trojans taste our dear'st repute
With their fin'st palate : And trust to me, Ulysses,
Our imputation shall be oddly pois'd
In this wild action : for the success,
Although particular, shall give a scantling*
Of goo<l or bad unto the general ;
And in such indexes, although small points
To their subsequent volumes, there is seen
The baby figure of the giant mass
Of things to come at large. It is suppos'd,
He, that meets Hector, issues from our choice:
And choice, being mutual act of all our souls.
Makes merit her election ; and doth boil,
As 'twere from forth us all, a man distill'd
1 An armour for the arm. * Sixe, measure.
602
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
Act 11.
Out of her virtues ; Who miscarrying,
What heart receives from hence a conquering part,
To steel a strong opinion to themselves?
Which entertain'd, limbs are his instruments,
In no less working, than are swords and bows
Directive by the limbs.
Ulyss. Give pardon to my speech ; —
Therefore 'tis meet, Achilles meet not Hector.
Let us, like merchants, show our foulest wares.
And think, perchance, they'll sell ; if not,
The lustre of the better shall exceed.
By showing the worst first. Do not consent.
That ever Hector and Achilles meet ;
For both our honour and our shame, in this.
Are dogg'd with two strange followers.
Net>l. I see them not with my old eyes ; what
are they?
Ubjss. What glory our Achilles shares from
Hector,
Were he not proud, we all should share with him :
But he already is too insolent ;
And we were better parch in Africk sun,
Than in the pride and salt scorn of his eyes,
Should he 'scape Hector fkir : If he were foil'd.
Why, then we did our main opinion * crush
In taint of our best man. No, make a lottery;
And, by device, let blockish Ajax draw
The sort 6 to fight with Hector : Among ourselves,
Give him allowance for the better man.
For that will physick the great Myrmidon,
Who broils in loud applause ; and make him fall
His crest, that prouder than blue Iris bends.
If the dull brainless Ajax come safe off.
We'll dress him up in voices : If he fail.
Yet go we under our opinion ^ still
That we have better men. But, hit or miss,
Our project's life this shape of sense assumes, —
Ajax, employ'd, plucks down Achilles' plumes.
Nest. Ulysses,
Now I begin to relish thy advice ;
And I will give a taste of it forthwith
To Agamemnon : go we to him straight.
Two curs shall tame each other; Pride alone
Must tarre 8 the mastiffs on, as 'twere their bone.
[^Exeunt.
ACT 11.
SCENE I Another Part of the Grecian Camp.
E7iter Ajax and Thersites.
Ajax. Thersites, learn me the proclamation.
2Vier. Thou art proclaimed a fool, I think.
Ajax. I say, the proclamation,
Ther. Thou grumblest and railest every hour on
Achilles ; and thou art as full of envy at his great-
ness, as Cerberus is at Proserpina's beauty, ay, that
thou barkest at him.
Ajax. Mistress Thersites !
I'lier. Thou shouldest strike him.
Ajax. Cobloaf !
21ier. He would pun 3 thee into shivers with his
fist, as a sailor breaks a biscuits
Ajax. You cur ! [^Beating him.
Ther. Do, do.
Ajax. Thou stool for a witch !
Ther. Ay, do, do; thou sodden-wittedlord! thou
hast no more brain than I have iu mine elbows ; an
assinego "* may tutor thee : Thou scurvy valiant ass !
thou art here put to thrash Trojans ; and thou art
bought and sold among those of any wit, like a
Barbarian slave. If thou use to beat me, I will
begin at thy heel, and tell what thou art by inches,
thou thing of no bowels, thou !
Ajax, You dog !
Tker. You scurvy lord I
Ajax. You cur ! yBeating him.
Ther. Mars his idiot ! do, rudeness ; do, camel,
do, do.
Enter Achilles and, Patroclus.
Achil. Why, how now, Ajax ? wherefore do you
thus?
How now, Thersites ? what's the matter, man ?
Ther. You see him there, do you?
Achil. Ay ; what's the matter ?
T'her. Nay, look upon him.
Achil So I do ; What's the matter ?
3 Pound. * Ass, a cant term for a foolish fcHow.
Ther. Nay, but regard him well.
Achil. Well, why I do so.
Ther. But yet you look not well upon him : for
whosoever you take him to be, he is Ajax.
Achil. I know that, fool.
Ther. Ay, but that fool knows not himself.
Ajax. Therefore I beat thee.
Ther. Lo, lo, lo, lo, what modicums of wit he
utters ! his evasions have ears thus long. I have
bobbed his brain, more than he has beat my bones :
This lord, Achilles, Ajax, — who wears his wit in
his belly, instead of his head, — I'll tell you what
I say of him.
Achil. What?
Ther. I say this, Ajax — —
Achil. Nay, good Ajax.
[Ajax offers to strike him, Achilles
interjwses.
Ther. Has not so much wit —
Achil. Nay, I must hold you.
Ther. As will stop the eye of Helen's needle, for
whom he comes to fight.
Achil. Peace, fool !
Ther. I would have peace and quietness, but the
fool will not : he there ; that he ; look you there.
Ajax. O thou cur! I shall
Achil. Will you set your wit to a fool's ?
Ther. No, I warrant you ; for a fool's will
shame it.
Pair. Good words, Thersites.
Achil. What's the quarrel ?
Ajax. I bade the vile owl, go, learn me the tenor
of the proclamation, and he rails upon me.
Ther. I serve thee not.
Ajax. Well, go to, go to.
Ther. I serve here voluntary.
Achil. Your last service was suflTerance, 'twas not
voluntary ; no man is beaten voluntary ; Ajax was
here the voluntary, and you as under an impress.
Kstimation of character.
Character.
6 TvOt.
f Provoke,
Scene II.
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
603
Ther. Even so? — a great deal of your wit too
lies in your sinews, or else there be liars, Hector
shall have a great catch, if he knock out cither of
your brains ; 'a were as good crack a fusty nut with
no kernel.
jichil. What, with me too, Thersites ?
Ther. There's Ulysses, and old Nestor, whose
wit was mouldy, ere your grandsires had nails on
their toes, — yoke you like draught oxen, and make
you plough ui^tlie wars.
AchU. What, what ?
Ther. Yes, good sooth ; to, Acliilles ! to, Ajax !
to!
Jjax. I shall cut out your tongue.
Ther. 'Tis no matter; I shall speak as much as
thou, afterwards.
Patr. No more words, Thersites ; peace.
Ther. I will liold my peace when Achilles' brach 9
bids me, shall I ?
AchU. There's for you, Patroclus.
Ther, I will see you hanged, like clotpoles, ere
I come any more to your tents ; I will keep where
there is wit stirring, and leave the faction of fools.
lExU.
Fair. A good riddance.
AchU. Marry, this, sir, is proclaimed through all
our host :
That Hector, by the first hour of the sun.
Will, with a trumpet, 'tmxt our tents and Troy,
To-morrow morning call some knight to arms.
That hath a stomach ; and such a one, that dare
INIaintain — I know not what ; 'tis trash : Farewell.
Ajax. Farewell. Who shall answer him?
AchU. I know not, it is put to lottery ; otherwise.
He knew his man.
Ajax. O, meaning you : — I'll go learn more of it.
\_Exeunt.
SCENE II. — Troy. A Room in Priam'i Palace.
Enter Priam, Hector, Troilus, Paris, and
Helenus.
Pri. After so many hours, lives, speeches, spent.
Thus once again says Nestor from the Greeks :
Deliver Helen, and all damage else —
As honour, loss of time, travel, exj)ence.
Wounds, friends, and what else dear that is consumed
In hot digestion of thus cormorant war, —
Shall be struck off: — Hector, what say you to't ?
Hect. Though no man lesser fears the Greeks
than I,
As far as toucheth my particular, yet.
Dread Priam,
There is no lady of more softer bowels,
IVIore spungy to suck in the sense of fear.
More reatly to cry out — Who knows what follows 9
Than Hector is : The wound of peace is surety.
Surety secure ; but modest doubt is call'd
'llie l>eacon of the wise, the tent tliat searches
To the bottom of the worst. Let Helen go :
Since the first sword was drawn about this question.
Every tithe soul, 'mongst many thousand dismes ',
Hatli been as dear as Helen ; 1 mean of ours :
If we have lost so many tenths of ours.
To guard a thing not ours ; not worth to us.
Had it our name, the value of one ten ;
Wliat merit's in that reason, which denies
Djc yielding of her up ?
Tro. Fye, fyc, my brother !
» Bitch, hound. ' Tenth*.
Weigh you the worth and honour of a king,
So great as our dread father, in a scale
Of common ounces ? will you with counters sum
Tlie past-proportion of his infinite?
And buckle-in a waist most fathomless.
With spans and inches so diminutive
As fears and reasons? fye, for godly shame !
Hel. No marvel, though you bite so sharp at
reasons.
You are so emjjty of them. Should not our father
Bear the great sway of his affairs with reasons.
Because your speech hath none, that tells him so ?
Tro. You are for dreams and slumbers, brother
priest.
You fur your gloves with reason. Here are your
reasons :
You know, an enemy intends you harm ;
You know, a sword employ'd is perilous.
And reason flies the object of all harm :
Who marvels then, when Helenus beholds
A Grecian and his sword, if he do set
The very wings of reason to his heels ;
And fly like chidden Mercury from Jove,
Or like a star disorb'd ? — Nay, if we talk of reason,
Let's shut our gates and sleep : Manhood and honour
Should have hare hearts, would they but fat their
thoughts
With this cramm'd reason : reason and respect 2
Make livers pale, and lustihood deject.
Hect. Brother, she is not worth what she doth cost
The holding.
Tro. What is aught, but as 'tis valued ?
Hect. But value dwells not in particular will ;
It holds his estimate and dignity
As well wherein 'tis precious of itself
As in the prizer : 'tis mad idolatry.
To make the service greater than the god ;
And the will dotes, that is attributive
To what infectiously itself aflPects,
Without some imag* of the aflfected merit.
Tro. I take to-day a wife, and my election
Is led on in the conduct of my will :
My will enkindled by mine eyes and ears.
Two traded pilots 'twixt the dangerous shores
Of will and judgment : How may I avoid.
Although my will distaste what it elected.
The wife I chose ? there can be no evasion
To blench 3 from this, and to stand firm by honour :
We turn not back the silks upon the merchant.
When we have soil'd them ; nor the remainder viands
We do not throw in unrespective sieve.
Because we now are full. It was thought meet,
Paris should do some vengeance on the Greeks :
Your breath with full consent bellied his sails ;
The seas and winds (old wranglers) took a truce.
And did him service : he touch'd the ports desir'd ;
And, for an old aunt^, whom theGreeks held captive.
He brought a Grecian qneen, whose youth and
freshness
Wrinkles Apollo's, and makes pale the morning.
Why keej) we her ? the Grecians keep our aunt :
Is she wortli keeping ? why, she is a pearl.
Whose price hath launch'd above a thousand ships,
And tum'd crown'd kings to merchants.
If you'll avouch, 'twas wisdom Paris went,
(As you must needs, for you all cry'd — Go, go,)
If you'll confess, he brought home noble prize,
(As you must needs, for you all clapp'd your hands.
Caution. » Shrink, or fly oflE
'* I'riam's sister, Hcsione.
604-
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
Act II.
And cry'd — Inestimable/) why do you now
The issue of your proper wisdoms rate ;
And do a deed that fortune never did,
Beggar the estimation which you priz'd
Richer than sea Or land ? O theft most base ;
That we have stolen what we do fear to keep !
But, thieves unworthy of a thing so stolen,
That in their country did them that disgrace.
We fear to warrant in our native place !
Cas. lirithin.'\ Cry, Trojans, cry !
Pri. What noise ? what shriek is this ?
Tro. 'Tis our mad sister, I do know her voice.
Cas. [JVithin.} Cry, Trojans!
Hect. It is Cassandra.
Enter Cassandra, raving.
Cas. Cry, Trojans, cry ! lend me ten thousand eyes,
And I will fill them with prophetick tears.
Hect, Peace, sister, peace.
Cas. Virgins and boys, mid-age, and wrinkled
elders.
Soft infancy, that nothing canst but cry.
Add to my clamours ! let us pay betimes
A moiety of that mass of moan to come.
Cry, Trojans, cry ! practise your eyes with tears !
Troy must not be, nor goodly llion stand ;
Our fire-brand brother, Paris, burns us all.
Cry, Trojans, cry ! a Helen and a woe :
Cry, cry ! Troy burns, or else let Helen go. [Exit.
Hect. Now, youthful Troilus, do not these high
strains
Of divination in our sister work
Some touches of remorse ? or is your blood
So madly hot, that no discourse of reason,
Nor fear of bad success in a bad cause,
Can qualify the same ?
Tro. Why, brother Hector,
We may not think the justness of each act
Such and no other than event doth form it ;
Nor once deject the covirage of our minds.
Because Cassandra's mad ; her brain-sick raptures
Cannot distaste ^ the goodness of a quarrel,
Which hath our several honours all engag'd
To make it gracious. For my private part,
I am no more touch'd than all Priam's sons :
And Jove forbid, there should be done amongst us
Such things as might offend the weakest spleen
To fight for and maintain !
Par. Else might the world convince ^ of levity
As well my undertakings as your counsels j
But I attest the gods, your full consent
Gave wings to my propension, and cut off
All fears attending on so dire a project.
For what, alas, can these my single arms ?
What propugnation 7 is in one man's valour
To stand the push and enmity of those
This quarrel would excite ? Yet, I protest,
Were I alone to pass the difficulties.
And had as ample power as I have will,
Paris should ne'er retract what he hath done.
Nor faint in the pursuit.
Pri. Paris, you speak
Like one besotted on your sweet delights :
You have the honey still, but these the gall ;
So to be valiant, is no praise at all.
Par. Sir, I propose not merely to myself
The pleasures such a beauty brings with it ;
* Corrupt, change to a worse state.
7 Defence.
Convict
But I would have the soil of her fair rape
Wip'd off", in honourable keeping her.
What treason were it to the ransack'd queen, ^
Disgrace to your great worths, and shame to me,
^ow to deliver her possession up,
On terms of base compulsion? Can it be.
That so degenerate a strain as this.
Should once set footing in your generous bosoms?
There's not the meanest spirit on our party,
Without a heart to dare, or sword to draw,
When Helen is defended ; nor none so noble.
Whose life were ill bestow'd, or death unfam'd,
Where Helen is the subject : then, I say.
Well may we fight for her, whom, we know well,
The world's large spaces cannot parallel.
Hect. Paris, and Troilus, you have both said well :
And on the cause and question now in hand
Have gloz'd 8, — but superficially ; not much
Unlike young men, whom Aristotle thought
Unfit to hear moral philosophy :
The reasons, you allege, do more conduce
To the hot passion of distemper'd blood.
Than to make up a free determination
'Twixt right and wrong ; For pleasure, and revenge,
Have ears for ever deaf unto the voice
Of any true decision. Nature craves.
All dues be render'd to their owners j Now
What nearer debt in all humanity.
Than wife is to the husband ? if this law ,
Of nature be corruj.ted through affection ;
And that great minds, of 9 partial indulgence
To their benumbed wills, resist the same ;
There is a law in each well-order'd nation,
To curb those raging appetites that are
Most disobedient and refractory.
If Helen then be wife to Sparta's king, —
As it is known she is, — these moral laws
Of nature, and of nations, speak aloud
To "have her back return'd : Thus to persist
In doing wrong, extenuates not wrong.
But makes it much more heavy. Hector's opinion
Is this, in way of truth : yet ne'ertheless,
My spritely brethren, I propend ' to you
In resolution to keep Helen still ;
For 'tis a cause that hath no mean dependance
Upon our joint and several dignities.
Tro. Why, there you touch'd the life of our design :
Were it not glory that we more affected.
Than the performance of our heaving spleens,
I would not wish a drop of Trojan blood
Spent more in her defence. But, worthy Hector,
She is a theme of honour and renown ;
A spur to valiant and magnanimous deeds ;
Whose present courage may beat down our foes.
And fame, in time to come, canonize us :
For, I presume, brave Hector would not lose
So rich advantage of a promis'd glory.
As smiles upon the forehead of this action.
For the wide world's revenue.
Hect. I am yours.
You valiant oflTspring of great Priamus. —
I have a roisting '^ challenge sent amongst
The dull and factious nobles of the Greeks,
Will strike amazement to their drowsy spirits :
I was adv^rtis'd, their great general slept,
Whilst emulation 3 in the army crept ;
This, I presume, will wake him. [Exeunt.
8 Commented.
1 Incline.
3 Envy.
9 Through.
2 Blustering.
Scene III.
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
605
SCENE III. — The Grecian Camp. Before
Achilles' Tent.
Enter Thersites.
Ther. How, now, Thersites? what, lost in the
labyrinth of thy fury? Shall the elephant Ajax
carry it thus ? he beats me, and I rail at him : O
worthy satisfaction ! 'would, it were otherwise ; that
I could beat him, whilst he railed at me : I'll learn
to conjure and raise devils, but I'll see some issue
of my spiteful execrations. Then there's Achilles,
— a rare engineer. If Troy be not taken, till these
two undermine it, the walls will stand till they fall
of themselves. O thou great thunder-darter of
Olympus, forget that thou art Jove the king of
gods ; and. Mercury, lose all the serpentine craft
of thy Caduceus ^ ,- if ye take not that little little
less-than-little wit from them that they have ! which
short-armed ignorance itself knows is so abundant
scarce, it will not in circumvention deliver a fly
from a spider, without drawing their massy irons,
and cutting the web. After this, the vengeance on
the whole camp ! Wliat, ho ! my lord Achilles !
Enter Patroclus.
Patr. Who's there? Thersites? Good Thersites,
come in and rail.
Thcr. If I could have remembered a gilt coun-
terfeit, thou wouldest not have slipped out of my
contemplation : but it is no matter ; Thyself upon
thyself! The common curse of mankind, folly and
ignorance, be thine in great revenue ! heaven bless
thee from a tutor, and discipline come not near
tliee ! Let thy blood be thy direction till thy
death ! then if she, that lays thee out, says — - thou
art a fair corse, I'll be sworn and sworn upon't, she
never shrouded any but lazars. ^ Amen. — Where's
Achilles ?
Patr. What, art thou devout ? wast thou in
prayer ?
Tlier. Ay ; The heavens hear me !
Enter Achilles.
JchU. Who's there?
Patr. Thersites, my lord.
Achil. Where, where ? — Art thou come ? Why,
my cheese, my digestion, why hast thou not served
thyself in to my table so many meals ? Come ;
what's Agamemnon?
Ther. Thy commander, Achilles ; — Then tell
me, Patroclus, what's Achilles ?
Patr. Thy lord, Thersites j Then tell me, I pray
thee, what's thyself?
Ther. Thy knower, Patroclus; Then tell me,
Patroclus, what art thou ?
Patr. Thou mayst tell, that knowest.
AchU. O, tell, teU.
Ther. I'll decline the whole question. Agamem-
non commands Achilles ; Achilles is my lord ; I am
Patroclus' knower ; and Patroclus is a fool.
Patr. You rascal !
Ther. Peace, fool ; I have not done.
AchU. He is a privileged man. — Proceed, Ther-
■ites.
Ther. Agamemnon is a fool ; Achilles is a fool ;
Thersites is a fool ; and, as aforesaid, Patroclus is
a fool.
AchiL Derive this ; come.
* The wand of Mercury, which is wreathed with serpents.
' Leprous persons.
Ther. Agamemnon is a fool to offer to command
Achilles ; Achilles is a fool to be commanded of
Agamemnon ; Thersites is a fool to serve such a
fool ; and Patroclus is a fool positive.
Pair. Why am I a fool ?
Ther. Make that demand of the proven — It suf-
fices me, thou art. Look you, who comes here ?
Enter Agamemnon, Ulysses, Nestor, Diomedes,
and Ajax.
AchU. Patroclus, I'll speak with nobody : —
Come in with me, Thersites. [Exit.
Ther. Here is such patchery, such juggling, and
such knavery ! [Exit.
Agam. Where is Achilles?
Patr. Within his tent ; but ill-dispos'd, my lord.
Agam. Let it be known to him, that we are here.
He shent ^ our messengers ; and we lay by
Our appertainments ' visiting of him :
Let him be told so ; lest, perchance, he think
We dare not move the question of our place.
Or know not what we are.
Pair. I shall say so to him. [Exit.
Ulyss. We saw him at the opening of his tent ;
He is not sick.
Ajax. Yes, lion-sick, sick of proud heart : you
may call it melancholy, if you will favour the man ;
but, by my head, 'tis pride : But why, why ? let
him show us a cause. — A word, my lord.
[Takes Agamemnon aside.
Nest. What moves Ajax thus to bay at him ?
Ulyss. Achilles hath inveigled his fool from him.
Nest. Who? Thersites?
Ulyss. He.
Nest. Then will Ajax lack matter, if he have lost
his argument. 8
Ulyss. No ; you see, he is his argument, that has
his argument ; Achilles.
Nest. All the better ; their fraction is more our
wish, than their faction : But it was a strong com-
posure, a fool could disunite.
Ulyss. The amity that wisdom knits not, foUy may
easily untie. Here comes Patroclus.
Re-enter Patroclus.
Nest. No Achilles with him.
Ulyss. The elephant hath joints, but none for
courtesy ; his legs are legs for necessity, not for
flexure.
Patr. Achilles bids me say — he is much sorry,
If any thing more than your sport and pleasure
Did move your greatness, and this noble state,
To call upon him ; he hopes, it is no other,
But, for your health and your digestion sake.
An after-dinner's breath. 9
Agam. Hear you, Patroclus ; —
We are too well acquainted with these answers :
But his evasion, wing'd thus swift with scorn.
Cannot outfly our apprehensions.
Much attribute he hatli ; and much the reason
Why we ascribe it to him : yet all his virtues, —
Not virtuously on his own part beheld, —
Do, in our eyes, begin to lose their gloss ;
Yea, like fair fruit in an unwholesome dish.
Are like to rot untasted. Go and tell him,
We come to speak with him : And you shall not sin.
If you do say — we think him over-proud.
And under-honest ; in self-assumption greater.
« Rebuked, rated.
• Subject
' Appendage of rank or dignity.
» Exercise.
606
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
Act II.
Than in the note of judgment ; and worthier than
himself
Here tend ' the savage strangeness he puts on ;
Disguise the holy strength of their command,
And underwrite^ in an observing kind
His humorous predominance ; yea, watch
His pettish lunes 3, his ebbs, his flows, as if
The passage and whole carriage of this action
Rode on his tide. Go, tell him this ; and add.
That, if he overbold his price so much,
We'll none of him ; but let him like an engine
Not portable, lie under this report —
Bring action hither, this cannot go to war :
A stirring dwarf we do allowance < give
Before a sleeping giant : — Tell him so.
Patr. I shall ; and bring his answer presently.
[Exit.
Agam. In second voice we'll not be satisfied,
We come to speak with him. — Ulysses, enter.
[ExU Ulysses.
Ajax. What is he more than another ?
Agam. No more than what he thinks he is.
Ajax. Is he so much? Do you not think, he thinks
himself a better man than I am?
Agam. No question.
Ajax. Will you subscribe his thought, and say —
he is ?
Agam. No, noble Ajax; you are as strong, as
valiant, as wise, no less noble, much more gentle,
and altogether more tractable.
Ajax. Why should a man be proud ? How doth,
pride grow ? I know not what pride is.
Agam. Your mind's the clearer, Ajax, and your
virtues the fairer. He that is proud, eats up him-
self: pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his
own chronicle ; and whatever praises itself but in
the deed, devours the deed in the praise.
Ajax. I do hate a proud man, as I hate the en-
gendering of toads.
Nest. And yet he loves himself: Is it not
strange ? [Aside.
Re-enter Ulysses.
Ulyss. Achilles will not to the field to-morrow.
Agam. What's his excuse ?
Ulyss. He doth rely on none ;
But carries on the stream of his dispose,
Without observance or respect of any.
In will peculiar and in self-admission.
Agam. Why wdll he not, upon our fair request,
Untent his person, and share the air with us ?
Ulyss. Things small as nothing, for request's sake
only.
He makes important : Possess'd he is with greatness ;
And speaks not to himself, but with a pride
That quarrels at self-breath : imagin'd worth
Holds in his blood such swoln and hot discourse.
That, 'twixt his mental and his active parts,
Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages.
And batters down himself: What should I say ?
He is so plaguy proud, that the death-tokens of it
Cry — No recovery*
Agam. Let Ajax go to him. —
Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent :
'Tis said, he holds you well ; and will be led.
At your request a little from himself.
Ulyss. O Agamemnon, let it not be so !
We'll consecrate the steps that Ajax makes
When they go from Achilles : Shall the proud lord,
'I'hat bastes his arrogance with his own seam * ;
And never suffers matter of the world
Enter his thoughts, — save such as do revolve
And ruminate himself, — shall he be worshipp'd
Of that we hold an idol more than he ?
No, this thrice worthy and right valiant lord
Must not so stale his palm, nobly acquir'd ;
Nor, by my will, assubjugate his merit.
As amply titled as Achilles is,
By going to Achilles :
That were to enlard his fat-already pride ;
And add more coals to Cancer, when he burns
With entertaining great Hyperion.
This lord go to him ! Jupiter forbid ;
And say in thunder — Achilles, go to him.
Nest. O, this is well ; he rubs the vein of him.
[Adde.
Dio. And how his silence drinks up this ap-
plause ! [Aside.
Ajax. If I go to him, with my arm'd fist I'll pash «
him
Over the face.
Agam. O, no, you shall not go.
Ajax. An he be proud with me, I'll pheeze? his
pride:
Let me go to him.
Ulyss. Not for the worth that hangs upon our
quarrel.
Ajax. A paltry, insolent fellow, ■
Nest. How he describes
Himself ! [Aside.
Ajax. Can he not be sociable ?
Ulyss. The raven
Chides blackness. [Aside.
Ajax. I will let his humours blood.
Agam. He'll be physician, that should be the
patient. [Aside.
Ajax. An all men
Were o'my mind,
Ulyss. Wit would be out of fashion.
[Adde.
Ajax. He should not bear it so.
He should eat swords first : Shall pride carry it?
Nest. An 'twould, you'd carry half. [Aside.
Ulyss. He'd have ten shares.
[Aside.
Ajax. I'll knead him, I will make him supple ; —
Nest. He's not yet thorough warm : forced him
with praises :
Pour in, pour in ; his ambition is dry. [Aside.
Ulyss. My lord, you feed too much on this dislike.
[To Agamemnon.
Nest. O noble general, do not do so.
Dio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles.
Ulyss. Why, 'tis this naming of him does him harm.
Here is a man — But 'tis before his face ;
I will be silent.
Nest. Wherefore should you so ?
He is not emulous ^, as Achilles is.
Ulyss. Know the whole world, he is as valiant.
Ajax. A vile dog, that shall palter ' thus with us !
I would, he were a Trojan !
N^est. What a vice
Were it in Ajax now — ^—
Ulyss. If he were proud !
Dio. Or covetous of praise ?
Ulyss. Ay, or surly borne ?
1 Attend.
' Fits of lunacy.
2 Subscribe, obey.
•« Approbation
5 Fat.
8 Stuff.
6 Strike.
9 Envious.
7 Comb or curry.
1 Trifle.
Act III. Scene I.
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
607
Dlo. Or strange, or self-affected ?
Ulyss. Thank tlie heavens, lord, thou art of sweet
composure ;
Praise him that got thee, she that gave thee suck :
Fam'd be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature
Thrice-fam'd, beyond all erudition :
IJut he that disciplin'd thy arms to fight.
Let Mars divide eternity in twain,
And give him Imlf : and, for thy vigour,
Bull-bearing Milo his addition - yield
To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom,
Which, like a bourn', a pale, a shore, confines
Thy spacious and dilated parts : Here's Nestor, —
Instructed by the anticjuary times,
He must, he is, he cannot but be wise ; —
I3ut pardon, father Nestor, were your days
As green as Ajax, and your brain so tempered.
You should not have the eminence of him.
But be as Ajax.
Ajax. Shall I call you father ?
Nest. Ay, my good son.
Dio. Be rul'd by him, lord Ajax.
Ulyss. There is no tarrying here; the hart Acliilles
Keeps thicket. Please it our great general
To call together all his state of war ;
Fresh kings are come to Troy : To-morrow,
We must with all our main of power stand fast ;
And here's a lord, — come knights from east to west.
And cull their flower, Ajax shall cope the best.
jigam. Go we to council. Let Achilles sleep ;
Light boats sail swift, though greater hulks draw
deep. [Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCIENE I Troy. A Room in Priam's Palace.
Enter Pandarus and a Servant.
Pim. Friend ! you ! pray you, a word : Do not
you follow the young lord Paris?
Serv. Ay, sir, when he goes before me.
Pan. You do depend upon him, I mean ?
Serv. Sir, I do depend upon that lord.
Pan. You do depend upon a noble gentleman ;
You know me, do you not?
Serv. 'Faith, sir, superficially.
Paju Friend, know me better; I am the lord
Pandarus.
Serv. I hope, I shall know your honour better.
[^Musick witliin.
Pan. Honour and lordship are my titles : —
What musick is this ?
Serv. I do but partly know, sir; it is musick in
parts.
Pan. Know you the musicians ?
St>rv. Wholly, sir.
Pc:n. Who play they to?
Serv. To the hearers, sir.
Pan. At whose pleasure, friend ?
Serv. At mine, sir, and theirs that love musick.
Pan. Command, I mean, friend.
Serv, Who shall I command, sir?
Pan. Friend, we understand not one another ; 1
am too courtly, and thou art too cunning : At
whose request do these men play ?
Serv. That's to't, indeed, sir : Marry, sir, at the
request of Paris my lord, who is there in person ;
with him the mortal Venus, the heart-blood of
beauty, love's invisible soul,
Pan. Who, my cousin Cressida?
Seti'. No, sir, Helen ; Could you not find out
that by her attributes ?
Pan. It should seem, fellow, that thou hast not
seen the lady Cressida. I come to speak with Paris
from the prince Troilus : I will make a compli-
mental assault upon him, for my business seeths. ^
Serv. Sodden business ! there's a stewed phrase,
indeed !
Enter Paris and H«lkn, attended.
Pan. Fair be to you, my lord, and to all this fair
company ! fair desires, in all fair measure, fairly
* Titles. s Boundary. < BoiU.
I guide them ; especially to you, fair queen ! fair
thoughts be your fair pillow !
Helen. Dear lord, you are full of fair words.
Pan. You speak your fair pleasure, sweet queen.
— Fair prince, here is good broken musick.
Par. You have broke it, cousin : and, by my
life, you shall make it whole again ; you sliall piece
it out with a piece of your performance : — Nell,
he is full of hamiony.
Pan. Truly, lady, no.
Helen. O, sir,
Pan. Rude, in sooth ; in good sooth, very rude.
Par. Well said, my lord ! well, you say so in
fits. 6
Pan. I have business to my lord, dear queen : —
My lord, will you vouchsafe me a word ?
Helen. Nay, this shall not hedge us out : we'll
hear you sing certainly.
Pan. Well, sweet queen, you are pleasant with
me. — But (marry) thus, my lord, — My dear lord,
and most esteemed friend, your brother Troilus, —
Helen. My lord Pandarus ; honey sweet lord, —
Pan. Go to, sweet queen, go to : — commends
himself most affectionately to you.
Helen. You shall not bob us out of our melody ;
If you do, our melancholy upon your head !
Pan. Sweet queen, sweet queen ; that's a sweet
queen, i'faith.
Helen. And to make a sweet lady sad, is a sour
offence.
Pan. Nay, that shall not serve your turn ; that
shall it not, in truth, la. Nay, I care not for such
words ; no, no. — And, my lord, he desires you,
that, if the king call for liim at supper, you will
make his excuse.
Helen. My lord Pandarus,
Pan. What says my sweet queen, — my very very
sweet queen ?
Par. What exploit's in hand ? where sups he to-
night ?
Helen. Nay, but my lord, — —
Pan. What says my sweet queen ? — My cousin
will fall out with you. You must not know where
he sups.
Par. I'll lay my life, with my disposer Cressida.
Pan. No, no, no such matter, you are wide";
come, your disposer is sick.
» Part* of a song. • Wide of vour mark.
608
Par. Well, I'll make excuse.
Pan. Ay, good my lord. Why should you say
— Cressida ? no, your poor disposer's sick.
Par. I spy.
Pan. You spy ! what do you spy ? — Come, give
me an instrument. — Now, sweet queen.
Helen. Why, this is kindly done.
Pan. My niece is horribly in love with a thing
you have, sweet queen.
Helen. She shall have it, my lord, if it be not my
lord Paris.
Pan. He ! no, she'll none of him. — Come, come,
I'll hear no more of this ; I'll sing you a song now.
Helen. Ay, ay, pr'ythee now. By my troth,
sweet lord, thou hast a fine forehead.
Pan. Ay, you may, you may.
Helen. Let thy song be love : this love will undo
us all. O, Cupid, Cupid, Cupid !
Pan. Love ! ay, that it shall, i'faith.
Par. Ay, good now, love, love, nothing but love.
Pan. In good troth, it begins so :
Love, love, nothing but love, still more !
For, oh, love's bow
Shoots buck and doe :
The shaft confounds.
Not that it wounds.
But tickles stiU the sore.
These lovers cry — Oh ! oh ! they die !
Yet that which seems the wound to kill.
Doth turn oh I oh ! to ha ! ha ! he !
So dying love lives still :
Oh! oh I a while, but ha ! ha ! ha !
Oh ! oh J groans out for ha ! ha ! ha !
Hey ho !
Helen. In love, i'faith, to the very tip of the nose.
Pan. Sweet lord, who's a-field to-day ?
Par. Hector, Deiphobus, Helenus, Antenor, and
all the gallantry of Troy : I would fain have armed
to-night, but my Nell would not have it so. How
chance my brother Troilus went not?
Helen. He hangs the lip at something; — you
know all, lord Pandarus.
Pan. Not I, honey sweet queen. — I long to hear
how they sped to-day. — You'll remember your
brother's excuse ?
Par. To a hair.
Pan. Farewell, sweet queen.
Helen. Commend me to your niece.
Pan. I will, sweet queen. \^Exit.
[A Retreat sounded.
Par. They are come from field : let us to Priam's
hall.
To greet the warriors. Sweet Helen, I must woo
you
To help unarm our Hector : his stubborn buckles.
With these your white enchanting fingers touch'd.
Shall more obey, than to the edge of steel.
Or force of Greekish sinews : you shall do more
Than all the island kings, disarm great Hector.
Helen. 'Twill make us proud to be his servant,
Paris :
Yea, what he shall receive of us in duty,
Give us more palm in beauty than we have ;
Yea, overshines ourself.
Par. Sweet, above thought I love thee.
[Exeunt.
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA Act III.
SCENE II. — Pandarus' OrcAarrf.
Eater Pandarus and a Servant, meeting.
Pan. How now ? where's thy master ? at my
cousin Cressida's?
Serv. No, sir ; he stays for you to conduct him
thither.
Enter Troilus.
Pan. O, here he comes. — How now, how now ?
Tro. Sirrah, walk off. [Exit Servant.
Pan. Have you seen my cousin ?
Tro. No, Pandarus : I stalk about her door.
Like a strange soul upon the Stygian banks
Staying for waftage. O, be thou my Charon,
And give me swift transportance. Pandarus,
From Cupid's shoulder pluck his painted wings,
And fly with me to Cressid !
Pan. Walk here i'the orchard, I'll bring her
straight. [Exit Pandarus.
Tro. I am giddy ; expectation whirls me round.
The imaginary relish is so sweet
That it enchants my sense ; and I do fear
That I shall lose distinction in my joys ;
As doth a battle, when they charge on heaps
The enemy flpng.
Re-enter Pandarus.
Pan. She's making her ready, she'll come straight:
you must be witty now. She does so blush, I'll
fetch her. It is the prettiest villain : — she fetches
her breath as short as a new-ta'en sparrow.
[Exit Pandarus.
Tro. Even such a passion doth embrace my
bosom :
My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse ;
And all my powers do their bestowing lose.
Like vassalage at unawares encount'ring
The eye of majesty.
Enter Pandarus and Cressida.
Pan. Come, come, what need you blush ? shame's
a baby Here she is now : swear the oaths now to
her, that you have sworn to me What, are you
gone again ? you must be watched ere you be made
tame, must you? Come your ways, come your
ways ; an you draw backward, we'll put you i' the
fills. 7 — Why do you not speak to her ?
Tro. You have bereft me of all words, lady.
Pan. Words pay no debts. Come in, come in ;
I'll go get a fire. [Exit Pandarus.
Cres. Will you walk in, my lord ?
Tro. O Cressida, how often have I wished me
thus?
Cres. Wished, my lord ? — The gods grant ! — O
my lord !
Tro. What should they grant ? what makes this
pretty abruption ? Wliat too curious dreg espies
my sweet lady in the fountain of our love ?
Cres. More dregs than water, if my fears have
eyes.
Tro. Fears never see truly.
Cres. Blind fear, that seeing reason leads, finds
safer footing than blind reason stumbling without
fear : To fear the worst, oft cures the worst.
Tro. O, let my lady apprehend no fear : in all
Cupid's pageant there is presented no monster.
Cres, Nor nothing monstrous neither ?
7 Shafts of a carriage.
I
I
Scene II.
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
609
Tro. Nothing, but our undertakings : when we
vow to weep seas, live in fire, eat rocks, tame tigers :
thinking it harder for our mistress to devise im-
position enough, than for us to undergo any difficulty
imposed. This is the monstruosity in love, lady.
Cres. They that have the voice of lions, and the
act of hares, are they not monsters ?
Tro. Are there such ? such are not we : Praise
us as we are tasted, allow us as we prove ; our head
shall go bare, till merit crown it : no perfection in
reversion shall have a praise in present : we will
not name desert, before his birth ; and, being born,
his addition 8 shall be humble. Few words to fair
faith : Troilus shall be such to Cressid, as what envy
can say worst, shall be a mock for his truth ; and
what truth can speak truest, not truer tlian Troilus ?
Cres. Will you walk in, my lord ?
Re-enter Pandarus.
Fan. What, blushing still ?
Cres. Well, uncle, what folly I commit, I dedi-
cate to you.
Pan. I thank you for that ; be true to my lord :
if he flinch, chide me for it.
Tro. You know now your hostages ; your uncle's
word, and my firm faith.
Pan. Nay, I'll give my word for her too ; our
kindred, though they be long ere they are wooed,
they are constant, being won: they are burs, I can
tell you ; they'll stick where they are thrown.
Cres. Boldness comes to me now, and brings me
heart : —
Prince Troilus, I have lov'd you night and day
For many weary months.
Tro. Why was my Cressid then so hard to win ?
Cres. Hard to seem won ; but I was won, my lord.
With the first glance that ever — Pardon me ; —
If I confess much, you will play the tyrant.
I love you now ; but not, till now, so much
But 1 might master it : — in faith, I lie ;
My thoughts were like unbridled children, grown
Too headstrong for their mother : See, we fools !
Why have I blabb'd ? who shall be true to us,
When we are so unsecret to ourselves ?
But, though I lov'd you well, I woo'd you not ;
And yet, good faith, I wish'd myself a man ;
Or that we women had men's privilege
Of speaking first. Sweet, bid me hold my tongue ;
For, in this rapture, I shall surely speak
The thing I shall repent. See, see your silence.
Cunning in dumbness, from my wedcness draws
My very soul of counsel : Stop my mouth.
Tro. And shall, albeit sweet music issues thence.
Pan. Pretty, i' faith.
Cres. My lord, I do beseech you, pardon me ;
'Twas not my purpose, thus to beg a kiss :
I am ashamed ; — O heavens ! what have I done?
For thJ« time will 1 take my leave, my lord,
7^0. Your leave, sweet Cressid ?
Cres. Pray you, content you.
Tro. What oflTends you, lady ?
Cres. Sir, mine own company.
Tro. You cannot shun
Yourself.
Cres. Let me go and try :
I have a kind of self resides with you ;
But an unkind self, that itself will leave,
To be another's fool. I would be gone :
Where is my wit ? I know not what I speak.
» Titles
Tro. Well know they what they speak, that speak
so wisely.
Cres. Perchance, my lord, I show more craft than
love ;
And fell so roundly to a large confession,
To angle for your thoughts : But you are wise ;
Or else you love not ; for to be wise and love.
Exceeds man's might ; that dwells with gods above.
Tro. O, that I thought it could be in a woman,
(As, if it can, I will presume in you,)
To feed for aye 9 her lamp and flames of love;
To keep her constancy in plight and youth,
Outliving beauty's outward, with a mind
That doth renew swifter than blood decays ;
Or, that persuasion could but thus convince me, —
That my integrity and truth to you
Might be affronted • with the match and weight
Of such a winnow'd purity in love ;
How were I then uplifted ! but, alas,
I am as true as truth's simplicity.
And simpler than the infancy of truth.
Cres. In that I'll war with you.
Tro. O virtuous fight.
When right with right wars who shall be most right !
True swains in love shall, in the world to come.
Approve their truths by Troilus : when their rhymes,
Full of protest, of oath, and big compare 2,
Want similes, truth tir'd with iteration, —
As true as steel, as plantage to the moon,
As sun to day, as turtle to her mate,
As iron to adamant, as earth to the center, —
Yet, after all comparisons of truth.
As truth's authentick author to be cited,
As true as Troilus shall crown up ' the verse.
And sanctify the numbers.
Cres. Prophet may you be I
If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth.
When time is old and hath forgot itself,
When waterdrops have worn the stones of Troy,
And blind oblivion swallow'd cities up.
And mighty states characterless are grated
To dusty nothing ; yet let memory,
From false to false, among false maids in love,
Upbraid my falsehood ! when they have said — as
false
As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth.
As fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer's calf,
Pard to the hind, or stepdame to her son ;
Yea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood.
As false as Cressid.
Paru Go to, a bargain made: seal it, seal it;
I'll be the witness. — Here I hold your hand ; here,
my cousin's. If ever you prove false one to another,
since I have taken such pains to bring you together,
let all pitiful goers-bet ween be called to the world's
end after my name, call them all — Pandars ; let all
inconstantmen be Troiluses,all false women Cressids,
and all brokers-between Pandars ! say, amen.
Tro. Amen.
Cres. Amen.
Pan. Amen. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.— The Grecian Camp.
Enter Agamemnon, Ultsses, Diomedes, Nestor,
Ajax, Menelaus, and Calchas.
Cal. Now, princes, for the service I have done you,
The advantage of the time prompts me aloud
To call for recompense. Appear it to your mind,
» Ever.
> Comparisoo.
I Met with and equalled.
3 Conclude.
Rr
610
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
Act III.
That, through the sight I bear in things, to Jove
I have abandon 'd Troy, left my possession,
Iiicurr'd a traitor's name ; expos'd myself.
From certain and possess'd conveniences.
To doubtful fortunes, s«?quest'ring from me all
That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition,
Made tame and most familiar to my nature ;
And here, to do you service, am become
As new into the world, strange, unacquainted :
I do beseech you, as in way of taste,
To give me now a little benefi't.
Out of those many register'd in promise,
Which, you say, live to come in my behalf.
Agam. What wouldst thou of us, Trojan ? make
demand.
Cal. You have a Trojan prisoner call'd Antenor,
Yesterday took ; Troy holds him very dear.
Oft have you (often have you thanks therefore,)
Desir'd my Cressid in right great exchange.
Whom Troy hath still denied : But this Antenor,
I know, is such a wrest in their affairs,
That their negotiations all must slack,
Wanting his manage ; and they will almost
Give us a prince of blood, a son of Priam,
In change of him ; let him be sent, great princes.
And he shall buy my daughter : and her presence
Shall quite strike off' all service I have done.
In most accepted pain.
Agam. Let Diomedes bear him.
And bring us Cressid hither ; Calchas shall have
What he requests of us. — Good Diomed,
Furnish you fairly for this interchange :
Withal, bring word — if Hector will to-morrow
Be answer'd in his challenge : Ajax is ready.
Dio. This shall I undertake ; and 'tis a burden
Which I am proud to bear.
\_Exeunt Diomedes and Calchas.
Enter Achilles and Patroclus, before their Tent.
Ulyss. Achilles stands, i' the entrance of his tent : —
Please it our general to pass strangely ^ by him,
As if he were forgot ; and, princes all.
Lay negligent and loose regard upon him :
I will come last : 'Tis like, he'll question me.
Why such unplausive eyes are bent, why turn'd on
him :
If so, I have derision med'cinable,
To use between your strangeness and his pride.
Which his own will shall have desire to drink ;
It may do good : pride hath no other glass
To show itself, but pride ; for supple knees
Feed arrogance, and are the proud man's fees.
Agam. We'll execute your purpose, and put on
A form of strangeness as we pass along ; —
So do each lord j and either greet him not.
Or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more
Than if not look'd on. I will lead the way.
Achil. What, comes the general to speak with me ?
You know my mind, I'll fight no more 'gainst Troy.
Agam. What says Achilles? would he aught with
us?
Nest. Would you, my lord, aught with the general?
Achil. No.
Nest. Nothing, my lord.
Agam. The better.
{Exev,nt Agamemnon and Nestor.
Achil. Good day, good day.
Men. How do you ? how do you ?
\^Ent Menelaus.
4 Like a stranger.
Achil. What, does the cuckold scorn me ?
Ajax. How now, Patroclus ?
Achil. Good morrow, Ajax.
Ajax. Ha ?
Achil. Good morrow.
Ajax. Ay, and good next day too.
\^Exit Ajax.
Achil. What mean these fellows? Know they not
Achilles?
Patr. They pass by strangely : they were us'd to
bend.
To send their smiles before them to Achilles :
To come as humbly, as they us'd to creep
To holy altars.
Achil. What, am I poor of late ?
'Tis certain, greatness, once fall'n out with fortune.
Must fall out with men too : What the declin'd is.
He shall as soon read in the eyes of others,
As feel in his own fall : for men, like butterflies,
Show not their mealy wings but to the summer ;
And not a man, for being simply man.
Hath any honour ; but honour for those honours
That are without him, as place, riches, favour.
Prizes of accident as oft as merit :
Which when they fall, as being slippery standers.
The love that lean'd on them as slippery too.
Do one pluck down another, and together
Die in the fall. But 'tis not so with me :
Fortune and I are friends ; I do enjoy
At ample point all that I did possess.
Save these men's looks ; who do, methinks, find out
Something not worth in me such rich beholding
As they have often given. Here is Ulysses ;
I'll interrupt his reading. —
How now, Ulysses ?
Ulyss. Now, great Thetis' son ?
Achil. What are you reading ?
Ulyss. A strange fellow here
Writes me. That man — how dearly ever parted ^,
How much in having, or without, or in, —
Cannot make boast to have that which he hath.
Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection ;
As when his virtues shining upon others
Heat them, and they retort that heat again
To the first giver.
Achil. This is not strange, Ulysses.
The beauty that is borne here in the face
The bearer knows not, but commends itself
To others' eyes : nor doth the eye itself
(That most pure spirit of sense,) behold itself.
Not going from itself ; but eye to eye oppos'd
Salutes each other with each other's form.
For speculation turns not to itself.
Till it hath travell'd, and is married there
Where it may see itself : this is not strange at all,
Ulyss. I do not strain at the position.
It is familiar ; but at the author's drift :
Who, in his circumstance 6, expressly proves —
That no man is the lord of any thing,
(Though in and of him there be much consisting,)
Till he communicate his parts to others :
Nor doth he of himself know them for aught
Till he behold them form'd in the applause
Where they are extended ; which, like an arch, re-
verberates
The voice again ; or like a gate of steel
Fronting the sun, receives and renders back
His figure and his heat. I was much rapt in this ;
* Excellently endowed.
6 Detail of argument
Scene III.
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
611
And apprehended here immediately
The unknown Ajax.
Heavens, what a man is there ! a very horse ;
That has he knows not what. Nature, what things
there are.
Most abject in regard, and dear in use !
What things again most dear in the esteem,
And poor in worth ! now shall we see to-morrow,
An act that very chance doth throw upon him,
Ajax renown'd. O heavens, what some men do,
While some men leave to do !
How some men creep in skittish fortune's hall,
Whiles others play the idiots in her eyes !
How one man eats into another's pride,
While pride is fasting in his wantonness !
To see these Grecian lords ! — why, even already
They clap the lubber Ajax on the shoulder ;
As if his foot were on brave Hector's breast,
And great Troy shrinking.
u4chil. I do believe it : for they pass'd by me,
As misers do by beggars : neither gave to me
Good word, nor look : What, are my deeds forgot ?
Ufi/ss. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back.
Wherein he puts alms for oblivion,
A great-sized monster of ingratitudes :
Those scraps are good deeds past: which are de-
vour'd
As fast as they are made, forgot as soon
As done : Perseverance, dear my lord,
Keeps honour bright : To have done is to hang
Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail
In monumental mockery. Take the instant way ;
For honour travels in a strait so narrow,
Where one but goes abreast : keep then the path ;
For emulation hath a thousand sons,
That one by one pursue : if you give way.
Or hedge aside from the direct forthright.
Like to an enter'd tide they all rush by,
And leave you hindmost ; —
Or, like a gallant horse fallen in first rank.
Lie there for pavement to the abject rear,
O'er-run and trampled on : Then what they do in
present.
Though less than yours in past, must o'ertop yours :
For time is like a fashionable host.
That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand ;
And with his arms out-stretch'd, as he would fly,
Grasps in the comer : Welcome ever smiles.
And farewell goes out sighing. O, let not virtue
seek
Remuneration for the thing it was ;
For beauty, wit.
High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service.
Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all
'I'o envious and calumniating time.
One toucli of nature makes the whole world kin, —
That all, with one consent, praise new-born gawds 7,
Though they are made and moulded of things past ;
And give to dust, that is a little gilt,
More laud than gilt o'er-dusted.
The present eye praises the present object :
Then marvel not, thou great and complete man,
Tliat all the Greeks Begin to worship Ajax ;
Since things in motion sooner catch the eye.
Than what not stirs. The cry went once on thee.
And still it might ; and yet it may again,
If thou wouldst not entomb thyself tdive,
And case thy reputation in thy tent ;
Whose glorious deeds, but in these fields of late,
7 New.fuhioned toy^
Made emulous missions^ 'mongst the gods themselves.
And drave great Mars to faction.
AchU. Of this my privacy
I have strong reasons.
Ulyss. But 'gainst your privacy
The reasons are more potent and heroical :
'Tis known, Achilles, that you are in love
With one of Priam's daughters. 9
AchU. Ha! known?
Ulyss. Is that a wonder ?
The providence that's in a watchful state.
Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold ;
Finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deeps ;
Keeps place with thought, and almost like the gods,
Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles.
There is a mystery (with whom relation
Durst never meddle) in the soul of state ;
Which hath an operation more divine.
Than breath, or pen, can give expressure to :
All the commerce that you have had with Troy,
As perfectly is ours, as yours, my lord ;
But it must grieve young Pyrrhus now at home,
When fame shall in our islands sound her trump ;
And all the Greekish girls shall tripping sing, —
Great Hector 5 sister did Achilles win ;
But our great Ajax bravely beat doum him.
Farewell, my lord : I as your lover ' speak ;
The fool slides o'er the ice that you should break.
[Frit.
Patr. To this effect, Achilles, have I mov'd you :
A woman impudent and mannish grown
Is not more loath'd than an effeminate man
In time of action. I stand condemn'd for this ;
They think, my little stomach to the war.
And your great love to me, restrains you thus :
Sweet, rouse yourself ; and the weak wanton Cupid
Siiall from your neck unloose his amorous fold.
And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane.
Be shook to air.
AchU. Shall Ajax fight with Hector ?
Patr. Ay; and, perhaps, receive much honour by
him.
AchU. I see, my reputation is at stake ;
My fame is shrewdly gor'd.
Patr. O, then beware ;
Those wounds heal ill, that men do give themselves :
Omission to do what is necessary
Seals a commission to a blank of danger ;
And danger, like an ague, subtly taints
Even then when we sit idly in the sun.
AchU. Go call Thersites hither, sweet Patroclus :
I'll send the fool to Ajax, and desire him
To invite the Trojan lords after the combat.
To see us here unarm'd : I have a woman's longing,
An appetite that I am sick withal.
To see great Hector in his weeds of peace ;
To talk with him, and to behold his visage.
Even to my full of view. A labour sav'd !
Enter Thersites.
T/ier. A wonder!
AchV. What?
Ther. Ajax goes up and down the field, asking
for himself.
AchU. How so ?
Ther. He must fight singly to-morrow with Hec-
tor ; and is so prophetically proud of an heroical
cudgelling, that he raves in saying nothing.
" The descent of the deities to combat on cither tide
* PolyxeiUL > Friend.
Rr 2
6\2
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
Acr IV.
Jchil. IIow can that be ?
Ther. Why, he stalks up and down like a peacock,
a stride, and a stand : ruminates, like an hostess,
that hath no arithmetick but her brain to set down
her reckoning : bites his lip with a political regard,
as who should say — there were wit in this head, an
'twould out ; and so there is ; but it lies as coldly in
him as fire in a flint, which will not show without
knocking. The man's undone for ever ; for if Hector
break not his neck i'the combat, he'll break it him-
self in vain-glory. He knows not me : I said. Good
morrow, Ajax ; and he replies. Thanks, Agamemnon.
What think you of this man, that takes me for the
general? He has grown a very land-fish, language-
less, a monster. A plague of opinion ! a man may
wear it on both sides, like a leather jerkin.
Achil. Thou must be my ambassador to him,
Thersites.
Ther. Who, I ? why, he'll answer nobody ; he
professes not answering ; speaking is for beggars ;
he wears his tongue in his arms. I will put on his
presence ; let Patroclus make demands to me, you
shall see the pageant of Ajax.
Achil. To him, Patroclus : Tell him, — I humbly
desire the valiant Ajax, to invite the most valorous
Hector to come unarmed to my tent ; and to procure
safe conduct for his person, of the magnanimous, and
most illustrious, six-or-seven-times honoured captain-
general of the Grecian army, Agamemnon. Do this.
Patr. Jove bless great Ajax ?
Ther. Humph!
Patr. I come from the worthy Achilles,
Ther. Ha!
Patr. Who most humbly desires you, to invite
Hector to his tent !
Ther. Humph !
Patr. And to procure safe conduct from Aga-
memnon.
Ther. Agamemnon?
Patr. Ay, my lord.
Ther. Ha!
Patr. What say you to't ?
Ther. With all my heart.
Patr. Your answer, sir.
Ther. If to-morrow be a fair day, by eleven o'clock
it will go one way or other ; howsoever, he shall pay
for me ere he has me.
Patr. Your answer, sir.
Ther. Fare you well, with all my heart.
Achil. Why, but he is not in this tune, is he ?
Ther. No, but he's out o'tune thus. What musick
will be in him when Hector has knocked out his
brains, I know not : But, I am sure, none ; unless
the fiddler Apollo get his sinews to make catlings'' on.
Achil. Come, thou shaltbear a letter to him straight.
Ther. Let me bear another to his horse ; for that's
the more capable * creature.
Achil. My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirr'd;
And I myself see not the bottom of it.
[Exeunt Achilles and Patroclus.
Ther. 'Would the fountain of your mind were
clear again, that I might water an ass at it ! I had
rather be a tick in a slieep, than such a valiant
ignorance. [ExU.
ACT IV.
SCENE I. — Troy. A Street.
Enter, atone side, ^Eneas and Servant, with a Torch ;
at the other, Paris, Deiphobus, Antenor, Dio-
MEDES, and others, with Torches.
Pir. See, ho ! who's that there ?
Dei. 'Tis the lord -(Eneas.
JEne. Is the prince there ?
Dio. Good morrow, lord ^neas.
Par. A valiant Greek, iEneas ; take his hand :
Witness the process of your speech, wherein
You told — how Diomed, a whole week by days.
Did haunt you in the field.
jEne. Health to you, valiant sir.
During all question ' of the gentle truce :
But when I meet you arm'd, as black defiance.
As heart can think, or courage execute.
Dio. The one and other Diomed embraces.
Our bloods are now in calm ; and, so long, health :
But when contention and occasion meet,
By Jove, I'll play the hunter for thy life.
With all my force, pursuit, and policy.
JEne. And thou shall hunt a lion, that will fly
With his face backward. — In humane gentleness.
Welcome to Troy ! now, by Anchises' life.
Welcome, indeed ! By Venus' hand I swear,
No man alive can love, in such a sort,
The thing he means to kill, more excellently.
Dio. We sympathize : — Jove, let JLneas live.
If to my sword his fate be not the glory,
A thousand complete courses of the sun !
2 Conversation.
But, in mine emulous honour, let him die,
With every joint a wound : and that to-morrow !
JEne. We know each other well.
Dio. We do ; and long to know each other worse.
Par. This is the most despiteful gentle greeting,
The noblest hateful love, that e'er I heard of. —
What business, lord, so early ?
JEne. I was sent for to the king; but why, I
know not.
Par. His purpose meets you : 'Twas to bring this
Greek
To Calchas' house ; and there to render him.
For the enfreed Antenor, the fair Cressid :
Let's have your company : or, if you please.
Haste there before us : I constantly do think,
(Or, rather, call my thought a certain knowledge,)
My brother Troilus lodges there to-night ;
Rouse him, and give him note of our approach.
With the whole quality wherefore : I fear
We shall be much unwelcome.
^ne. That I assure you ;
Troilus had rather Troy were borne to Greece,
Than Cressid borne from Troy.
Par. There is no help ;
The bitter disposition of the time
Will have it so. On, lord ; we'll follow you.
^ne. Good morrow, all. [Exit.
Par. And tell me, noble Diomed ; 'faith, tell me
true,
Even in the soul of sound good-fellowship, —
3 Lute.strings made of catgut.
* Intelligent.
Scene II.
TROILUS AND CRES8IDA.
613
Who, in your tlioughts, merits fair Helen best,
Myself, or Menelaus?
Dio. Both alike :
He merits well to have her, that doth seek her
With such a hell of pain, and world of charge :
And you as well to keep her, that defend her
With such a costly loss of wealth and friends.
She's bitter to her country : Hear me, Paris, —
For every false drop in her wanton veins
A Grecian's life hath sunk ; for every scruple
Of her contaminated carrion weight,
A Trojan hath been slain : since she could speak,
She hath not given so many good words breath.
As for her Greeks and Trojans sufTer'd death.
Par. Fair Diomed, you do as chapmen do.
Dispraise the thing that you desire to buy :
But we in silence hold this virtue well, —
We'll not commend what we intend to sell.
Here lies our way. \_Exeunt.
SCENE II Court before the House of Pandarus.
Enter Troilus and Cressida.
Tro. Dear, trouble not yourself; the mom is cold.
Cres. Then, sweet my lord, I'll call mine uncle
down;
He shall unbolt the gates.
Tro. Trouble him not :
To bed, to bed : Sleep kill those pretty eyes.
And give as sofl attachment to thy senses,
As infants* empty of all thought !
Cres. Good morrow then.
Tro. Pr'ythee now, to bed.
Cres. Are you aweary of me ?
Tro. O Cressida ! but that the busy day,
Wak'd by the lark, hath rous'd the ribald ^ crows,
I would not from thee.
Cres. Pr'ythee, tarry then ;
You men will never tarry.
0 foolish Cressid ! — I might have still held off.
And then you would have tarried. Hark ! there's
one up.
Pan. [ Within.'\ What, are all the doors open here ?
Tro. It is your uncle.
Enter Pandarus.
Cres. A pestilence on him ! now will he be mock-
ing:
1 shall have such a life,
Pan. How now, how now ! where's my cousin
Cressid ?
Cres. Come, come ; beshrew your heart ! you'll
ne'er be good,
Nor suffer others.
Pan. Ha, ha 1 Alas, poor wretch ! a poor weak
girl. {Knocking.
Cres. Did I not tell you? — 'would he were
knock'd o* the head ! —
Who's that at door ? good uncle, go and see. —
[Knocking.
How earnestly they knock ! ■— pray you, come in ;
1 would not for half Troy have you seen here.
[Exeunt Troilus and Cressida.
Pan. [Going to the door.] Who's there? what's
the matter ? will you beat down the door ? How
now ? what's the matter ?
Enter ^nbas.
^ne. Good morrow, lord, good morrow.
« Noisy.
Pan. Who's there ? my lord ^neas ? By my
troth, I knew you not : what news with you so
early?
jEne. Is not prince Troilus here ?
Pan. Here ! what should he do here ?
jEne. Come, he is here my lord, do not deny him ;
It doth import him much, to speak with me.
Pan. Is he here, say you ? 'tis more than I know,
I'll be sworn : — For my own part, I came in late :
What should he do here ?
-^ne. Who ! — nay, then : —
Come, come, you'll do him wrong ere you are 'ware :
You'll be so true to him, to be false to him :
Do not you know of him, yet go fetch him hither ;
Go.
As Pandarus is going out, enter Troilus.
Tro. How now ? what's the matter ?
jEne. My lord, I scarce have leisure to salute you.
My matter is so rash 7 : There is at hand
Paris your brother, and Deiphobus,
Tlie Grecian Diomed, and our Antenor
Deliver'd to us ; and for him forthwith,
Ere the first sacrifice, within this hour.
We must give up to Diomedes' hand
The lady Cressida.
Tro. Is it so concluded ?
JEne. By Priam, and the general state of Troy :
They are at hand, and ready to effect it.
Tro. I will go meet them : and, my lord ^ncas.
We met by chance ; you did not find me here.
JEne. Good, good, my lord.
[Exeunt Troilus and Mvzas.
Pan. Is't possible ? no sooner got, but lost ? the
young prince will go mad. A plague upon An-
tenor, I would, they had broke's neck !
Enter Cressida.
Cres. How now ? What is the matter ? Who was
here?
Pan. Ah, ah !
Cres. Why sigh you so profoundly? where's my
lord gone ?
Tell me, sweet uncle, what's the matter ?
Pan. 'Would I were as deep under the earth as
I am above !
Cres. O the gods ! — what's the matter ?
Pan. Pr'ythee, get thee in ; 'Would thou hadst
ne'er been born ! I knew, thou wouldst be his
death : — O poor gentleman ! — A plague upon
Antenor !
Cres. Good uncle, I beseech you on my knees, I
beseech you, what's the matter ?
Pan. Thou must be gone, wench, thou must be
gone; thou art changed for Antenor; thou must
to thy father, and be gone from Troilus ; 'twill be
his death : 'twill be his bane ; he cannot bear it.
Cres. O you immortal gods ! — I will not go.
Pan. Thou must.
Cres. I will not, uncle : I have forgot my father;
1 know no touch of consanguinity " ;
No kin, no love, no blood, no soul so near me,
As the sweet Troilus. — O you gods divine !
Make Cressid's name the very crown of falsehomi.
If ever she leave Troilus ! Time, force, and death.
Do to tliis body what extremes you can ;
But the strong base and building of my love
Is as the very center of the earth.
Drawing all things to it. — I'll go in, and weep; —
* Hasty. •■ SctiiC or reeling of ccuU^nkl).^
II I 3
614
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
Act IV.
Pan. Do, do.
Cres. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my
praised cheeks,
Crack my clear voice witli sobs, and break my heart
With sounding Troilus. I will not go from Troy.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. —Before Pandarus' House.
Enter Paris, Troilus, ^neas, Deiphobcs,
Antenor, and Diomedes.
Par. It is great morning ; and the hour prefix'd
Of her delivery to this valiant Greek
Comes fast upon : — Good my brother Troilus,
Tell you the lady what she is to do.
And haste her to the purpose.
Tro. Walk in to her house ;
I'll bring her to the Grecian presently :
And to his hand when I deliver her,
Think it an altar ; and thy brother Troilus
A priest, there offering to it his own heart. [Exit.
Par. I know what 'tis to love ;
And 'would, as I shall pity, I could help ! —
Please you, walk in, my lords. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — A Room in Pandarus' House.
Enter Pandarus and Cressida.
Pan. Be moderate, be moderate.
Cres. Why tell you me of moderation ?
The grief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste.
And violenteth in a sense as strong
As that which causeth it : How can I moderate it ?
If I could temporize with my affection.
Or brew it to a weak and colder palate,
The like allayment could I give my grief:
My love admits no qualifying dross :
No more my grief, in such a precious loss.
Enter Troilus.
Pan. Here, here, here he comes, — Ah, sweet
ducks !
Cres. O Troilus ! Troilus ! [Embracing him.
Pan. What a pair of spectacles is here ! Let me
embrace too : — How now, lambs ?
Tro. Cressid, I love thee in so strain'd a purity,
That the blest gods — as angry with my fancy.
More bright in zeal than the devotion which
Cold lips blow to their deities, — take thee from me.
Cres. Have the gods envy ?
Pan. Ay, ay, ay, ay ; 'tis too plain a case.
Cres. And is it true, that I must go from Troy ?
Tro. A hateful truth.
Cres. What, and from Troilus too ?
Tro. From Troy and Troilus.
Cres. Is it possible ?
Tro. And suddenly ; where injury of chance
Puts back leave-taking, justles roughly by
All time of pause, rudely beguiles our lips
Of all rejoindure, forcibly prevents
Our lock'd embrasures, strangles our dear vows
Even in the birth of our own labouring breath :
We two, that with so many thousand sighs
Did buy each other, must poorly sell ourselves
With the rude brevity and discharge of one.
Injurious time now, with a robber's haste,
Crams his rich thievery up, he knows not how :
As many farewells as be stars in heaven.
With distinct breath and consign'd 9 kisses to them,
9 Scaled.
He fumbles up into a short adieu ;
And scants us with a single famish'd kiss,
Distasted with the salt of broken tears.
JEne. [fVilhin.] My lord ! is the lady ready?
Tro. Hark ! you are call'd : Some say, the Genius
so
Cries, Come ! to him that instantly must die. —
Bid them have patience : she shall come anon.
Pan. Where are my tears ? rain, to lay this wind,
or my heart will be blown up by the root !
[Exit Pandarus.
Cres. I must then to the Greeks ?
Tro. No remedy.
Cres. A woeful Cressid 'mongst the merry Greeks!
When shall we see again ?
Tro. Hear me, my love ! Be thou but true of
heart,
Cres. I true I how now ? what wicked deem • is
this?
Tro. Nay, we must use expostulation kindly.
For it is parting from us :
I speak not, be thou true, as fearing thee ;
For I will throw my glove to death himself.
That there's no maculation ^ in thy heart :
But, be thou true, say I, to fashion in
My sequent ' protestation : be thou true,
And I will see thee.
Cres. O, you shall be expos'd, my lord, to dangers
As infinite as imminent ! but, I'll be true.
Tro. And I'll grow friend with danger. Wear
this sleeve.
Cres. And you this glove. When shall I see you ?
Tro. I will corrupt the Grecian sentinels,
To give thee nightly visitations.
But yet, be true.
Cres. O heavens ! — be true again ?
Tro. Hear why I speak it, love ;
The Grecian youths are full of quality'' ;
They're loving, well compos'd, with gifts of natiu"e
flowing,
And swelling o'er with arts and exercise;
How novelty may move, and parts with person,
Alas, a kind of godly jealousy
(Which, I beseech you, call a virtuous sin,)
Makes me afeard.
Cres. O heavens ! you love me not.
Tro. Die I a villain then !
In this I do not call your faith in question,
So mainly as my merit : I cannot sing.
Nor heel the high lavolt ^, nor sweeten talk,
Nor play at subtle games ; fair virtues all.
To which the Grecians are mostprompt and pregnant :
But I can tell, that in each grace of these
There lurks a still and dumb-discoursive devil.
That tempts most cunningly : but be not tempted.
Cres. Do you think I will ?
Tro. No.
But something may be done, that we will not :
And sometimes we are devils to ourselves.
When we will tempt the frailty of our powers.
Presuming on their changeful potency.
jEne. [Within.] Nay, good my lord,
Tro. Come, kiss ^ and let us part.
Par. [JTUhin.'] Brother Troilus !
Tro. Good brother, come you hither ;
And bring ^neas, and the Grecian, with you.
Cres. My lord, will you be true ?
2'ro. Who, I ? alas, it is my vice, my fault :
Surmise. ^ gpot.
Highly accomplished.
3 Following.
* A dance.
Scene V.
TROILUS AND CllESSIDA.
615
While others fish with craft for great opinion,
T with great truth catch mere simplicity ;
Whilst some with cunning gild their copper crowns,
With truth and plainness I do wear mine bare.
Fear not my truth ; the moral of my wit
Is — plain, and true, — there's all the reach of it.
Enter ^neas, Paris, Antenor, Deiphobus,
and DioMEDES.
Welcome, sir Diomed ! here is the lady.
Which for Antenor we deliver you :
At the port S, lord, I'll give her to thy hand ;
And, by the way, possess ^ thee what she is.
Entreat her fair ; and, by my soul, fair Greek,
If e'er thou stand at mercy of my sword.
Name Cressid, and thy life shall be as safe
As Priam is in Ilion.
JDio. Fair lady Cressid,
So please you, save the thanks this prince expects :
llie lustre in your eye, heaven in your cheek.
Pleads your fair usage ; and to Diomed
You shall be mistress, and command liim wholly.
Tro. Grecian, thou dost not use me courteously.
To shame the zeal of my petition to thee,
In praising her : I tell thee, lord of Greece,
She is as far high-soaring o'er thy praises,
As thou unworthy to be called her servant.
I charge thee, use her well, even for my charge ;
For, by the dreadful Pluto, if thou dost not.
Though the great bulk Achilles be thy guard,
I'll cut thy throat.
J)io. O, be not mov'd, prince Troilus :
I>et me be privileg'd by my place, and message,
To be a speaker free ; when I am hence,
I'll answer to my will : And know you, lord,
I'll nothing do on charge ; To her own worth
She shall be priz'd ; but that you say — be't so,
I'll speak it in my spirit and honour, — no.
Tro. Come, to the port. — I'll tell thee, Diomed,
This brave shall oft make thee to hide thy head. —
Lady, give me your hand ; and, as we walk.
To our own selves bend we our needful talk.
[ExeuJit Teoilus, Cressida, and Diomed.
{^Trumpet heard.
Par. Hark ! Hector's trumpet.
jErie. How have we spent this morning !
Tlie prince must think me tardy and remiss.
That swore to ride before him to the field.
Par. 'Tis Troilus' fault : Come, come to field with
him.
Dei. Let us make ready straight.
^tie. Yea, with a bridegroom's fresh alacrity,
Let us address to tend on Hector's heels :
The glory of our Troy doth this day lie,
On his fair worth and single chivalry. [Exeunt.
SCENE V 2'he Grecian Camp. Lists set out.
Enter Ajax armed ; Agamemnon, Achilles,
Patroclus, Menelaus, Ulysses, Nestor, and
others.
Agam. Here art thou in appointment ^ fresh and
fair,
Anticipating time with starting courage,
(live with thy trumpet a loud note to Troy,
Thou dreadful Ajax ; that the appalled air
May pierce tlie head of tlie great combatant.
And hale him hither.
jijax. Tliou, trumpet, there's my purse.
• Gate. ? Inform. • Prciwratiun.
Now crack thy lungs, and split thy brazen pipe :
Blow, villain, till thy sphered bias cheek
Out-swell the colick of puff'd Aquilon :
Come, stretch thy chest, and let thy eyes spout blood ;
Thou blow'st for Hector. [Trum})et sounds.
Ulyss. No trumpet answers.
Achil. *Tis but early days.
Jgarn. Is not yon Diomed, with Calchas' daughter?
Ulyss. 'Tis he, I ken the manner of liis gait :
He rises on the toe : that spirit of his
In aspiration lifts him from the earth.
Enter Diomed, with Cressida.
Agam. Is this the lady Cressid ?
Dio. Even she.
Agam. Most dearly welcome to the Greeks, sweet
lady.
Nest. Our general doth salute you with a kiss.
Ulyss. Yet is the kindness but particular ;
'Twere better, she were kiss'd in general.
Nest. And very courtly counsel : I'll begin. —
So much for Nestor.
Achil. I'll take that winter from your lips, fair
lady :
Achilles bids you welcome.
Cres. I am your debtor.
Dio. Lady, a word ; — I'll bring you to your
father. [Diomed fecw/s ou/ Cressida.
Nest. A woman of quick sense.
Ulyss. Fye, fye upon her !
There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip,
Nay, her foot speaks ; her wanton spirits look out
At every joint and motive 9 of her body.
(), these encounterers, so glib of tongue.
That give a coasting welcome ere it comes.
And wide unclasp tlie tables of their thoughts
To every ticklish reader ! set them down
For sluttish spoils of opportunity,
And daughters of the game. [Trumpet uithin.
All. The Trojans' trumpet.
Agam. Yonder comes the troop.
Enter Hector, armed ; ^neas, Troilus, and other
Trojans, wth Attendants.
^ne. Hail, all the state of Greece ! what shall
be done
To him that victory commands? Or do you purpose,
A victor shall be known ? will you tlie knights
Shall to the edge of all extremity
Pursue each other ; or shall they be divided
By any voice or order of the field ?
Hector bade ask.
Agam. Which way would Hector have it?
ASne. He cares not, he'll obey conditions.
Achil. 'Tis done like Hector ; but securely done,
A little proudly, and great deal misprizing
The knight oppos'd.
^ne. If not Acliillcs, sir,
What is your name ?
Achil. If not Achilles, notliing.
jEne. Therefore Adiilles : But, whate'er, know
this ; —
In the extremity of great and little,
Valour and pride excel themselves in Hector ;
The one almost as infinite as all,
The other blank as nothing. Weigh him well.
And that, which looks like pride, is courtesy.
This Ajax is half made of Hector's blood :
In love whereof, lialf Hector stays at home ;
> Motion.
H r 4
616
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
Act IV
Half heart, half hand, half Hector comes to seek
Tills blended knight, half Trojan, and half Greek.
Re-enter Diomed.
Agam. Here is sir Diomed : — Go, gentle knight,
Stand by our Ajax : as you and lord ^neas
Consent upon the order of their fight,
So be it ; either to the uttermost,
Or else a breath • : the combatants being kin,
Half stints their strife before their strokes begin.
[Ajax and Hector erUer the Lists.
Ulyss. Tliey are oppos'd already.
Agam. What Trojan is that same that looks so
heavy ?
Ulyss. The youngest son of Priam, a true knight;
Not yet mature, yet matchless ; firm of word ;
Speaking in deeds, and deedless in his tongue ;
Not soon provok'd, nor, being provok'd, soon calm'd:
His heart and hand both open, and both free ;
For what he has, he gives ; what thinks, he shows ;
Yet gives he not, till judgment guide his bounty,
Nor dignifies an impair 2 thought with breath :
Manly as Hector, but more dangerous ;
For Hector, in his blaze of wrath, subscribes 3
To tender objects ; but he, in heat of action,
Is more vindicative than jealous love :
They call him Troilus; and on him erect
A second hope, as fairly built as Hector.
Thus says iEneas : one that knows the youth
Even to his inches, and, with private soul,
Did in great Ilion thus translate * him to me.
[Alarum. Hector and Ajxx Jight.
Agam. They are in action.
JVest. Now, Ajax, hold thine own !
I^'^o. Hector, thou sleep'st ;
Awake thee !
Agam. His blows are well dispos'd : — there, Ajax !
Dio. You must no more. [Trumpets cease,
■^ne. Princes, enough, so please you.
Ajax. I am not warm yet, let us fight again.
Dio. As Hector pleases.
Hect. Why, then, will I no more : —
Thou art, great lord, my father's sister's son,
A cousin-german to great Priam's seed ;
The obligation of our blood forbids
A gory emulation 'twixt us twain :
Were thy commixtion Greek and Trojan so.
That thou couldst say — This hand is Grecian all,
And this is Trojan ; the sinews of this leg
All Greek, and this all Troy ; my mother s blood
Jiuns on the dexter ^ cheek, and this sinister^
JSounds-in my father's ; by Jove multipotent.
Thou shouldst not bear from me a Greekish member
Wherein my sword had not impressure made
Of our rank feud : But the just gods gainsay,
That any drop thou borrow'st from thy mother.
My sacred aunt, should by my mortal sword
Be drain'd ! Let me embrace thee, Ajax :
By him that thunders, thou hast lusty arms ;
Hector would have them fall upon him thus :
Cousin, all honour to thee !
^jax. I thank thee, Hector :
Thou art too gentle, and too free a man :
I came to kill thee, cousin, and bear hence
A great addition earned in thy death.
Hect. Not Neoptolemus so mirable
(On whose bright crest. Fame with her loud'st O yes
' Breathing, exercise. 2 Unsuitable to his character.
3 \ lelds, gives way. " Explain his character.
* Right. fi Lea.
Cries, This is he,) could promise to himself
A thought of added honour torn from Hector.
uEne. There is expectance here from both the sides,
What further you will do.
Hect. We'll answer it ;
The issue is embracement : — Ajax, farewell.
Ajax. If I might in entreaties find success,
(As seld7 I have the chance,) I would desire
My famous cousin to our Grecian tents.
Dio. 'Tis Agamemnon's wish : and great Achilles
Doth long to see unarm'd the valiant Hector.
Hect. ^neas, call my brother Troilus to me :
And signify this loving interview
To the expecters of our Trojan part ;
Desire them home. — Give me thy hand, my cousin ;
I will go eat with thee, and see your knights.
Ajax. Great Agamemnon comes to meet us here.
Hect. The worthiest of them tell me name by
name;
But for Achilles, my own searching eyes
Shall find him by his large and portly size.
Agam. Worthy of arms, as welcome as to one
That would be rid of such an enemy ;
But that's no welcome : Understand more clear.
What's past, and what's to come, is strew'd with husks
And formless ruin of oblivion ;
But in this extant moment, faith and troth,
Strain'd purely from all hollow bias-drawing
Bids thee, with most divine integrity,
From heart of very heart, great Hector, welcome.
Hect, I thank thee, most imperious^ Agamemnon.
Agam. My well-fam'd lord of Troy, no less to
you. [To Troilu-.
Men. Let me confirm my princely brother's
greeting ; _
You brace of warlike brothers, welcome hither.
Hect. Whom must we answer ?
Men, The noble Menelaus.
Hect. O you, my lord ? by Mars his gauntlet,
thanks !
Mock not, that I aflfect the untraded oath ;
Your quondam wife swears still by Venus' glove :
She's well, but bade me not commend her to you.
Men. Name her not now, sir; she's a deadly
theme.
Hect. O pardon ; I offend.
Nest. I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft.
Labouring for destiny, make cruel way
Through ranks of Greekish youth : and I have seen
thee.
As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed.
Despising many forfeits and subduements.
When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i' the air,
Not letting it decline on the declin'd ;
That I have said to some my standers-by,
Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life !
And I have seen thee pause, and take thy breath.
When that a ring of Greeks have hemm'd thee in.
Like an Olympian wrestling : This have I seen ;
But this thy countenance, still lock'd in steel,
I never saw till now. I knew thy grandsire 9,
And once fought with him : he was a soldier good;
But, by great Mars, the captain of us all.
Never like thee : Let an old man embrace thee ;
And, worthy warrior, welcome to our tents.
JEne. 'Tis the old Nestor.
Hect. Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle.
That hast so long walk'd hand in hand with time : —
Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee.
7 Seldom. p Imperial. ^ Laomedon.
I
Act V. Scene I.
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
617
Nest. I would, my anns could match thee in con-
tention,
As they contend with thee in courtesy.
Hect. I would they could.
Nest. Ha!
By tliis white beard, I'd fight with thee to-morrow.
Well, welcome, welcome ! I have seen the time —
Ulyss. I wonder now how yonder city stands.
When we have here her base and pillar by us.
Hect. I know your favour, lord Ulysses, well.
Ah, sir, there's many a Greek and Trojan dead,
Since first I saw yourself and Diomed
In I lion, on your Greekish embassy.
Ulyss- Sir, I foretold you then what would ensue :
My prophecy is but half his journey yet ;
For yonder walls, that pertly front your town.
Yon towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds,
Must kiss their own feet.
Hect. I must not believe you :
Tliere they stand yet ; and modestly I think,
The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost
A drop of Grecian blood : The end crowns all ;
And that old common arbitrator, Time,
Will one day end it.
Ulyss. So to him we leave it.
Most gentle, and most valiant Hector, welcome :
After the general, I beseech you next
To feast with me, and see me at my tent.
Achil. I shall forestall thee, lord Ulysses, thou ! —
Now, Hector, I have fed mine eyes on thee ;
1 have with exact view perus'd thee, Hector,
And quoted ' joint by joint.
Hect. Is this Achilles?
ytchU. I am Achilles.
Hect. Stand fair, I pray thee : let me look on thee.
AchU. Behold thy fill.
Hect. Nay, I have done already.
jlchil. Tliou art too brief; I will tlie second time.
As I would buy thee, view thee limb by limb.
Hect. O, like a book of sport thou'lt read me o'er ;
But there's more in me than thou understand'st.
Why dost thou so oppress me with thine eye ?
Achil. Tell me, you heavens, in which part of his
body
Shall I destroy him ? whether there, there, or there?
Tliat I may give the local wound a name ;
And make distinct the very breach whereout
Hector's great spirit flew : Answer me, heavens !
Hect. It would discredit the bless'd gods, proud
man.
To answer such a question : Stand again :
Think'st thou to catch my life so pleasantly.
As to prenominate ^ in nice conjecture.
Where thou wilt hit me dead ?
Achil. I tell thee, yea.
Hect. Wert thou an oracle to tell me so,
I'd not believe thee. Henceforth guard thee well ;
For I'll not kill thee there, nor there, nor there ;
But, by the forge that stithied 3 Mars his helm,
I'll kill thee every where, yea, o'er and o'er. —
You wisest Grecians, pardon me this brag,
His insolence draws folly from my lips ;
But I'll endeavour deeds to match these words,
Or may I never
Ajax. Do not chafe thee, cousin ; —
And you, Achilles, let these threats alone,
Till accident, or purpose, bring you to't :
You may have every day enough of Hector,
If you have stomach ; the general state, I fear.
Can scarce entreat you to be odd with him.
Hect. I pray you, let us see you in the field ;
We have had pelting wars, since you refus'd
The Grecians' cause.
Achil. Dost thou entreat me, Hector ?
To-morrow, do I meet thee, fell as death :
To-night, all friends.
Hect. Thy hand upon that match.
Agam. First, all you peers of Greece, go to my
tent;
There in the full convive < we : afterwards.
As Hector's leisure and your bounties shall
Concur together, severally entreat him. —
Beat loud the tabourines *, let the trumpets blow.
That this great soldier may his welcome know.
[Exeunt all but Troilus and Ulysses.
Tro. My lord Ulysses, tell me, I beseech you.
In w^iat place of the field doth Calchas keep,
Ulyss. At Menelaus* tent, most princely Troilus:
There Diomed doth feast with him to-night ;
Who neither looks upon the heaven, nor earth,
But gives all gaze and bent of amorous view
On the fair Cressid.
Tro. Shall I, sweet lord, be bound to you so much.
After we part from Agamemnon's tent.
To bring me thither ?
Ulyss. You shall command me, sir.
As gentle tell me, of what honour was
This Cressida in Troy ? Had she no lover there
That wails her absence ?
Tro. O, sir, to such as boasting show their scars,
A mock is due. Will you walk on, my lord ?
She was belov'd, she lov'd ; she is, and doth :
But, still, sweet love is food for fortune's tootli.
lExeu7it.
ACT V.
SCENE I.
The Grecian Camp. Before Achilles'
Tent.
Enter Achillis and Patroclus.
Achil. I'll heat his blood with Greekish wine to-
night.
Which with my scimitar I'll cool to-morrow. —
Patroclus, let us feast him to the height
ratr. Here comes Thersites.
' Obacrved.
Enter Thsrsites.
Achil. How now, thou core of envy •
Thou crusty batch of nature, what's the news?
Ther. Why, thou picture of what thou seemest,
and idol of idiot-worshippers, here's a letter for tljce.
Achil. From whence, fragment?
Ther. Why, Uiou full disli of fool, from Troy.
Pair. Who keeps the tent now ?
Ther. Tlie surgeon's box, or the patient's wound.
« Forename.
*FcMt
' stithy, is a smith's khofK
* Small drums.
618
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
Act V.
Pair. Well said, Adversity ! ^ and what need
these tricks ?
Ther. Pr'ythee be silent, boy ; I profit not by
thy talk.
Patr. Why, you ruinous butt ; you indistinguish-
able cur.
Ther. Why art thou exasperate, thou idle imma-
terial skein of sleive 8 silk, thou green sarcenet flap
for a sore eye, thou tassel of a prodigal's purse,
thou? Ah, how the poor world is pestered with
such water-flies ; diminutives of nature !
Achil. My sweet Patroclus, 1 am thwarted quite
From my great purpose in to-morrow's battle.
Here is a letter from queen Hecuba ;
A token from her daughter, my fair love ;
Both taxing me, and gaging me to keep
An oath that I have sworn. I will not break it :
Fall, Greeks ; fail, fame ; honour, or go, or stay.
My major vow lies here, this I'll obey. — —
Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent ;
This night in banqueting must all be spent.
Away, Patroclus.
{^Exeunt Achilles and Patroclus.
Ther. With too much blood, and too little brain,
these two may run mad ; but if with too much
brain, and too little blood, they do, I'll be a curer
of madmen. Here's Agamemnon, — an honest
fellow enough, but he has not so much brain as
ear-wax: And the goodly transformation of Jupiter
there, his brother, the bull, — the primitive statue,
and oblique memorial of cuckolds 9 ; a thrifty shoe-
ing-horn in a chain, hanging at his brother's leg, —
to what form, but that he is, should wit larded
with malice, and malice forced i with wit, turn him
to ? To an ass, were nothing : he is both ass and
ox : to an ox, were nothing ; he is both ox and ass.
To be a dog, a mule, a cat, a fitchew % a toad, a
lizard, an owl, a puttock, or a herring without a
roe, I would not care : but to be Menelaus, — I
would conspire against destiny. Ask me not what
I would be, if I were not Thersites ; for I care not
to be the louse of a lazar3, so I were not Mene-
laus. — Hey-day ! spirits and fires !
Enter Hector, Troilus, Ajax, Agamemnon,
Ulysses, Nestor, Menelaus, and Diomed, with
Lights.
Agam. We go wrong, we go wrong.
Ajax. No, yonder 'tis ;
There, where we see the lights.
Hect. I trouble you.
Ajax. No, not a whit.
Ulyss. Here comes himself to guide you.
Enter Achilles.
Achil* Welcome, brave Hector: welcome, princes
all!
Agam. So now, fair prince of Troy, I bid good
night.
Ajax commands the guard to tend on you.
Hect. Thanks, and good night to the Greeks'
general.
Men. Good night, my lord.
Hect. Good night, sweet Menelaus.
AchU. Good night.
And welcome, both to those that go or tarry.
Agam. Good night.
[Exeunt Agamemnon and Menelaus.
7 Contrariety.
" Stuffed.
" Coarse, unwroiight. ^ Menelaus.
* Polecat. 3 A diseased beggar
AchU. Old Nestor tarries ; and you too, Diomed,
Xeep Hector company an hour or two.
Dio. I cannot, lord ; I have important business.
The tide whereof is now. — Good night, great
Hector.
Hect. Give me your hand.
Ulyss. Follow his torch, he goes
To Calchas' tent ; I'll keep you company.
[Asi/le to Troilus.
Tro. Sweet sir, you honour me.
Hect. And so good night.
[Exit Diomed ; Ulysses and Troilus
following.
AchU. Come, come, enter my tent.
[Exeunt Achilles, Hector, Ajax, and
Nestor.
Ther. That same Diomed's a false-hearted rogue,
a most unjust knave ; I will no more trust him
when he leers, than I will a serpent when he hisses :
he will spend his mouth, and promise, like Brabler
the hound ; but when he performs, astronomers
foretell it : it is prodigious i, there will come some
change ; the sun borrows of the moon, when
Diomed keeps his word. I will rather leave to see
Hector, than not to dog him : they say, he keeps a
Trojan drab, and uses the traitor Calchas' tent :
111 after. [ExU.
SCENE II. — Before Calchas' Tent,
Enter Diomedes.
Dio. What are you up here, ho ? speak.
Cal [Within.'] Who calls?
Dio. Diomed. — Calchas, I think. — Where's
your daughter ?
Cal. [Within.] She comes to you.
Enter Troilus and Ulysses, at a distance ; after
them Thersites.
Ulyss. Stand where the torch may not discover us.
Enter Cressida.
Tro. Cressid, come forth to him !
Dio. How now, my charge ?
Cres. Now, my sweet guardian ! — Hark ! a word
with you. [ Whispers.
Tro. Yea, so familiar !
Ulyss. She will sing any man at first sight.
Ther. And any man may sing her, if he can take
her cliffy ; she's noted.
Dio. Will you remember ?
Cres. Remember? yes.
Dio. Nay, but do then ;
And let your mind be coupled with your words.
Tro. What should she remember ?
Ulyss. List !
Cres. Sweet honey Greek, tempt me no more to
folly.
Ther. Roguery !
Dio. Nay, then, — ^H
Ci-es. I'll tell you what : "^Mk
Dio. Pho, pho ! come, tell a pin : You are for-
sworn. —
Cres. In faith, I cannot : What would you have
me do?
Dio. What did you swear ?
Cres. I pr'ythee, do not hold me to mine oath j
Bid me do any thing but that, sweet Greek.
♦ Portentous, ominous. * Key.
Scene II.
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
619
Dio. Good night.
Tro. Hold, patience !
Ulyss. How now, Trojan ?
Cres. Diomed,
Dio. No, no, good night: I'llbeyourfoolnomore.
Tro. Thy better must.
Cres. Hark ! one word in your ear.
Tro. O plague and madness !
Ulyss. You are mov'd, prince; let us depart, I
pray you,
I.est your displeasure should enlarge itself
To wrathful terms : this place is dangerous ;
llie time right deadly ; 1 beseech you, go.
Tro. Behold, I pray you !
Ulyss. Now, good my lord, go off:
You flow to great destruction : come, my lord.
Tro. I pr'yihee, stay.
Ulyss. You have not patience : come.
Tro. I pray you, stay ; by hell, and all hell's plagues,
I will not speak a v/ord.
Dio. And so, good night.
Cres. Nay, but you part in anger.
Tro. Doth that grieve thee ?
0 wither'd truth !
Ulyss. Why, how now, lord ?
Tro. By Jove,
1 will be patient.
Cres. Guardian ! — why, Greek !
Dio. Pho, pho ! adieu ; you palter.^
Cres. In faith, I do not ; come hither once again.
Ulyss. You shake, my lord, at something; will
you go ?
You will break out.
Tro. She strokes his cheek !
Ulyss. Come, come.
Tro. Nay, stay ; by Jove, I will not speak a word :
There is between my will and all offences
A guard of patience ; — stay a little while.
Dio. But will you then ?
Cres. In faith, I will, la; never trust me else.
Dio. Give me some token for the surety of it.
Cres. I'll fetch you one. {^Exit.
Ulyss. You have sworn patience.
Tro. Fear me not, my lord ;
I will not be myself, nor have cognition ^
Of what I feel ; I am all patience.
Re-enter Ckessida.
Ther. Now the pledge ; now, now, now !
Cres. Here, Diomed, keep this sleeve.
Tro. O beauty ! where's thy faith ?
Ulyss. My lord,
Tro. I will be patient ; outwardly I will.
Cres. You look upon that sleeve; Behold it well. —
He loveil me — O false wench ! — Give't me again.
Dio. Who was't ?
Cres. No matter, now I have't again.
I will not meet with you to-morrow night :
I pr'ythee, Diomed, visit me no more.
Ther, Now she sharpens ; — Well said, whetstone.
Dio. I shall have it.
Cres. What, this ?
Dio. Ay, that.
Cres. O, all you gods ! — O pretty, pretty pledge !
Thy master now lies thinking in his bed
Of thee and me ; and sighs, and takes my glove,
And gives memorial dainty kisses to it.
As I kiss thee. ^ Nay, do not snatch it from me ;
He, that takes that, must take my heart withal.
* Shuffle. ^ Knowledge.
Dio. I had your heart before, this follows it.
Tro. I did swear patience.
Cres. You shall not have it, Diomed ; 'faith you
shall not ;
I'll give you something else
Db. I will have this; Whose was it?
Cres. 'Tis no matter.
Dio. Come, tell me whose it was.
Cres. 'Twas one's that loved me better than you
will.
But, now you have it, take it.
Dio. Whose was it ?
Cres. By all Diana's waiting-women yonder 8,
And by herself, I will not tell you whose.
Dio. To-morrow will I wear it on my helm ;
And grieve his spirit that dares not challenge it.
Tro. Wert thou the devil, and wor'st it on thy horn.
It should be challeng'd.
Cres. Well, well, 'tis done, 'tis past ; — And yet
it is not ;
I will not keep my word.
Dio. Why then, farewell ;
Thou never shalt mock Diomed again.
Cres. You shall not go : — One cannot speak a
word.
But it straight starts you.
Dio. I do not like this fooling.
Tlier. Nor I, by Pluto : but that that likes not
you, pleases me best.
Dio. What, shall I come ? the hour?
Cres. Ay, come : — O Jove ! —
Do come : — 1 shall be plagu'd.
Dio. Farewell till then.
Cres. Good night. I pr'ythee, come. —
[EtU Diomed£s.
Troilus, farewell ! one eye yet looks on thee ;
But with my heart the other eye doth see.
Ah ! poor our sex ! this fault in us I find,
The error of our eye directs our mind :
What error leads, must err ; O then conclude.
Minds, sway'd by eyes, are full of turpitude.
[Exit Cressida.
Ulyss. All's done, my lord.
Tro. It is.
Ulyss. Why stay we tlien ?
Tro. To make a recordation 9 to my soul
Of every syllable that here was spoke.
But, if I tell how these two did co-act.
Shall I not lie in publishing a truth ?
Sith yet there is a credence in my heart.
An esperance so obstinately strong.
That doth invert the attest of eyes and ears ;
As if those organs had deceptions functions,
Created only to calumniate.
Was Cressid here ?
Ulyss. I cannot conjure, Trojan.
Tro. She was not, sure.
Ulyss. ISIost sure she was.
Tro. Why, my negation hath no taste of madness.
Ulyss. Nor mine, my lord : Cressid was here but
now.
Tro. Let it not be believ'd for ' womanhood !
Think, we had mothers ; do not give advantage
To stubborn criticks ^ — apt, without a theme.
For depravation, — to square tlie general sex
By Cressid's rule : rather think tliis not Cressid.
Ulyss. What hath she done, prince, that can soil
our motlicrs ?
• The iUrs.
• For the sake of.
> Remembrance.
» Cynics.
620
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
Act V.
Tro. Nothing at all, unless that this were she.
Ther. Will he swagger himself out on's own eyes ?
Tro. Tliis she ? no, this is Diomed's Cressida :
If beauty have a soul, this is not she ;
If souls guide vows, if vows be sanctimony.
If sanctimony be the gods' delight,
If there be rule in unity itself,
This was not she. O madness of discourse,
That cause sets up with and against itself !
Bi-fold authority ! where reason can revolt
Without perdition, and loss assume all reason
Without revolt ; this is, and is not, Cressid !
Within my soul there doth commence a fight
Of this strange nature, that a thing inseparate
Divides more vdder than the sky and earth ;
And yet the spacious breadth of this division
Admits no orifice for a point, as subtle
As is Arachne's broken woof, to enter.
Instance, O instance ! strong as Pluto's gates ;
Cressid is mine, tied with the bonds of heaven :
Instance, O instance ! strong as heaven itself ;
The bonds of heaven are slipp'd, dissolv'd, and loos'd ;
And with another knot, five-finger-tied.
The fractions of her faith, orts of her love.
The fragments, scraps, the bits, and greasy reliques
Of her o'er-eaten faith are bound to Diomed.
Ulyss. May worthy Troilus be half attach'd
With that which here his passion doth express ?
Tro. Ay, Greek ; and that shall be divulged well
In characters as red as Mars his heart
Inflam'd with Venus : never did young man fancy 3
With so eternal and so fix'd a soul.
Hark, Greek ; — As much as I do Cressid love.
So much by weight hate I her Diomed :
That sleeve is mine, that he'll bear on his helm ;
Were it a casque compos'd by Vulcan's skill,
My sword should bite it : not the dreadful spout,
Which shipmen do the hurricano call
Constring'd ^ in mass by the almighty sun
Shall dizzy with more clamour Neptune's ear
In his descent, than shall my prompted sword
Falling on Diomed.
Ther. He'll tickle it.
Tro. O Cressid! O false Cressid ! false, false, false!
Let all untruths stand by thy stained name.
And they'll seem glorious.
Uhjss. O, contain yourself;
Your passion draws ears hither.
Enter ^neas.
^ne. I have been seeking you this hour, my lord :
Hector, by this, is arming him in Troy ;
Ajax, your guard, stays to conduct you home.
Tro. Have with you, prince : — My courteous
lord, adieu :
Farewell, revolted fair ! — and, Diomed,
Stand fast, and wear a castle on thy head !
Ulyss. I'll bring you to the gates.
Tro. Accept distracted thanks.
{^Exeunt Troilus, JEneas, and Ulysses.
Ther. 'Would, I could meet that rogue Diomed I
I would croak like a raven ; I would bode, I would
bode. lExit.
SCENE III Troy. Before Priam's Palace.
Enter Hector and Andromache.
And. When was my lord so much ungently tem-
per'd.
3 I ove.
* CoTi))ressecl.
To stop his ears against admonishment ?
Unarm, unarm, and do not fight to-day.
Hect. You train me to offend you : get you in ;
By all the everlasting gods, I'll go.
And. My dreams will, sure, prove ominous to the
day.
Hect. No more, I say.
Enter Cassandra.
Cas. Where is my brother Hector ?
And. Here, sister ; arm'd, and bloody in intent ;
Consort with me in loud and dear petition,
Pursue we him on knees ; for I have dream'd
Of bloody turbulence, and this whole night
Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaughter.
Cas. O, it is true.
Hect. Ho ! bid my trumpet sound !
Cas. No notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet
brother.
Hect. Begone, I say : the gods have heard me
swear.
Cas. The gods are deaf to hot and peevish * vows ;
They are polluted offerings, more abhorr'd
Than spotted livers in the sacrifice.
And. O ! be persuaded : Do not count it holy
To hurt by being just : it is as lawful.
For we would give much, to use violent thefts,
And rob in the behalf of charity.
Cas. It is the purpose that makes strong the vow j
But vows, to every purpose, must not hold :
Unarm, sweet Hector.
Hect. Hold you still, I say ;
Mine honour keeps the weather of my fate :
Life every man holds dear ; but the dear man
Holds honour far more precious-dear than life, —
Enter Troilus.
How now, young man mean'st thou to fight to-day ?
And. Cassandra, call my father to persuade.
\^Exit Cassandra.
Hect. No, 'faith, young Troilus j doff ^ thy har-
ness, youth,
I am to-day i'the vein of chivalry :
Let grow thy sinews till their knots be strong,
And tempt not yet the brushes of the war.
Unarm thee, go ; and doubt thou not, brave b^y,
I'll stand, to-day, for thee, and me, and Troy.
Tro. Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you
Which better fits a lion, than a man.
Hect. What vice is that, good Troilus ? chide me
for it.
Tro. When many times the captive Grecians fall,
Even in the fan and wind of your fair sword.
You bid them rise, and live.
Hect. O, 'tis fair play.
Tro. Fool's play, by heaven. Hector.
Hect. How now ? how now ?
Tro. For the love of all the gods*^
Let's leave the hermit pity with our mother ; a
And when we have our armours bucklea on, ^
The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords ;
Spur them to ruthful 7 work, rein them from ruth. 8
Hect. Fye, savage, fye !
Tro. Hector, then 'tis wars.
Hect. Troilus, I would not have you fight to-day.
Tro. Who should withhold me?
Not fate, obedience, nor the hand of Mars
Beckoning with fiery truncheon my retire;
Not Priamus and Hecuba on knees,
* Foolish. 6 Put off " Rueful, woeful. '' Mercy.
Scene III.
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
621
Their eyes o'ergalled with recourse of tears ;
Nor you, my brother, with your true sword drawn,
Oppos'd to hinder me, should stop my way,
But by my ruin.
Ee-etiter Cassandra, with Priam.
Cos. Lay hold upon him, Priam, hold him fast :
He is thy crutch ; now if tliou lose thy stay.
Thou on him leaning, and all Troy on thee.
Fall all together.
Pri. Come, Hector, come, go back :
Thy wife hath dieam'd ; thy mother hath had visions ;
Cassandra doth foresee, and I myself
Am like a prophet suddenly enrapt.
To tell thee — that this day is ominous :
Therefore, come back.
Ilect. ^neas is a-field ;
And I do stand engag'd to many Greeks,
Even in the faith of valour, to appear
This morning to them.
Pri. But thou shalt not go.
Hect. I must not break my faith.
You know me dutiful ; therefore, dear sir.
Let me not shame respect ; but give me leave
To take that course by your consent and voice,
AVhich you do here forbid me, royal Priam.
Cos. O Priam, yield not to him.
yf7id. Do not, dear father.
Hect. Andromache, I am offended with you :
Upon the love you bear me, get you in.
[Exit Andromache.
Tro. This foolish, dreaming, superstitious girl
Makes all these bodements.
Cas. O farewell, dear Hector,
l^ook, how thou diest ! look, how thy eye turns pale !
Ivook, how thy wounds do bleed at many vents !
Hark, how Troy roars ! how Hecuba cries out !
How poor Andromache shrills her dolours forth !
Behold, destruction, frenzy, and amazement,
Like witless anticks, one another meet.
And all cry — Hector ! Hector's dead ! O Hector !
Tro. Away ! — Away !
Cas. Farewell. — Yet soft : — Hector, I take my
leave ;
Thou dost thyself and all our Troy deceive. [Exit.
Hect. You are amaz'd, my liege, at her exclaim ;
Go in, and cheer the town : we'll forth and fight :
Uo deeds worth praise, and tell you them at night.
Pri. Farewell : the gods with safety stand about
thee!
[Exeunt severally Priam and Hectoh.
Alarums.
Tro. They are at it ; hark ! Proud Diomed, believe,
I come to lose my arm, or win my sleeve.
As Troilus is going ow/, enter, from the otlier side,
Pandarus.
Paru Do you hear, my lord? do you hear?
Tro. What now ?
Pan. Here's a letter from yon' poor girl.
Tro. Let me read.
Patu A ptisick, a rascally ptisick so troubles me,
and tlie foolish fortune of this girl ; and what one
tiling, what another, that I shall leave you one o'these
days : And I have a rheum in mine eyes too ; and
such an ache in my bones, ttiat I cannot tell what
to think on't. — What says she there ?
Tro. Words, words, mere words, no matter from
the heart ; [ Tearing the Letter.
The effect doth operate another way. —
Go, wind, to wind, there turn and change together. —
My love with words and errors still she feeds ;
But edifies another with her deeds.
[Exeunt severalli/.
SCENE IV. — Betufeen Troy and the Grecian
Camp.
Alarums: Excursions. Enter Thersitks.
Ther. Now they are clapper-clawing one another ,
I'll go look on. That dissembling abominable var-
let, Diomed, has got that same scurvy doting foolish
young knave's sleeve of Troy there, in his helm : I
would fain see them meet; that that same young
Trojan ass, that loves the jilt there, might send that
Greekish villain with the sleeve, back to the dis-
sembling luxurious drab, on a sleeveless errand
O' the other side. The policy of those crafty swearing
rascals, — that stale old mouse-eaten dry cheese,
Nestor ; and that same dog-fox, Ulysses, — is not
proved worth a black-berry : — They set me up, in
policy, that mongrel cur, Ajax, against that dog of
as bad a kind, Achjlles : and now is the cur Ajax
prouder than the cur Achilles, and will not arm to-
day : Whereupon the Grecians begin to proclaim
barbarism, and policy grows into an ill opinion. —
Soft ! here come sleeve, and t'other.
Enter Diomedes, Tkoizus following.
Tro. Fly not ; for, shouldst thou take the river
Styx,
I would swim after.
Dio. Thou dost miscall retire :
I do not fly ; but advantageous care
Withdrew me from the odds of multitude :
Have at thee !
Ther. Now the sleeve, now the sleeve !
[Exeunt Troilus and DionzDiSt Jighting.
Enter Hector.
Hect. What art thou, Greek? art thou for Hector's
match ?
Art thou of blood, and honour ?
Ther. No, no : — I am a rascal ; a scurvy railing
knave ; a very filthy rogue.
Hect. I do believe thee ; — live. [Exit.
Ther. Jove-a-mercy, that thou vrilt believe me ;
But a plague break thy neck, for frighting me !
What's become of the wenching rogues ? I think,
they have swallowed one another : 1 would laugh at
that miracle. I'll seek them. [Exit.
SCENE V. — The same.
Enter Diomedes and a Servant.
Dio. Go, go, my servant, take thou Troilus' horse ;
Present the fair steed to my lady Cressid :
Fellow, commend my service to her beauty ;
Tell her, I have chastis'd the amorous Trojan,
And am her knight by proof.
Serv. I go, my lord. [Exit Servant.
Enter Agamemnon.
Agam. Renew, renew ! The fierce Polydamus
Hath beat down Menon : bastard Margarelon
Hath Doreus prisoner :
And stands colossus-wise, waving his beam 9,
Upon the pashed > corses of the kings
Epistrophus and Ccdius : Polixenes is slain ;
9 Lance. > Bruued. cnuhed.
622
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
Act V.
Amphimachus, and Thoas, deadly hurt ;
Patroclus taVn or slain ; and Palamedes
Sore hurt and hruis'd : the dreadful Sagittary
Appals our numbers ; haste we, Diomed,
To reinforcement, or we perish all.
Enter Nestor.
Nest. Go, bear Patroclus' body to Achilles ;
And bid the snail-pac'd Ajax arm for shame. —
There is a thousand Hectors in the field •
Now here he fights on Galathe his horse,
And there lacks work ; anon, he's there afoot,
And there they fly, or die, like scaled sculls^
Before the belching whale ; then is he yonder,
And there the strawy Greeks, ripe for his edge.
Fall down before him, like the mower's swath :
Here, there, and every where, he leaves, and takes ;
Dexterity so obeying appetite.
That what he will, he does ; and does so much,
That proof is call'd impossibility.
Enter Ulysses.
Ulyss. O, courage, courage, princes! great Achilles
Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance :
Patroclus' wounds have rous'd his drowsy blood.
Together with his mangled myrmidons.
That noseless, handless, hack'd and chipp'd, come
to him.
Crying on Hector. Ajax hath lost a friend.
And foams at mouth, and he is arm'd, and at it,
Roaring for Troilus ; who hath done to-day
Mad and fantastick execution ;
Engaging and redeeming of himself.
With such a careless force, and forceless care,
As if that luck, in very spite of cunning.
Bade him win all.
Enter Ajax.
j^jax. Troilus ! thou coward Troilus ! \^Exit.
Dio. Ay, there, there.
Nest. So, so, we draw together.
Enter Achilles.
AchU. Where is this Hector ?
Come, come, thou boy-queller, show thy face :
Know what it is to meet Achilles angry.
Hector ! where's Hector ? I will none but Hector.
\_Exeunt.
SCENE VI. — Another Part of the Field.
Enter Ajax.
Ajax. Troilus, thou coward Troilus, show thy head !
Enter Diomedes.
Dio. Troilus, I say ! where's Troilus ?
Ajax. What wouldst thou ?
Dio. I would correct him.
Ajax. Were I the general, thou shouldst have my
office.
Ere that correction : — Troilus, I say! what, Troilus!
Enter Troilus.
Tro. O traitor Diomed ! — turn thy false face,
thou traitor.
And pay thy life thou ow'st me for my horse !
Dio. Ha ! art thou there ?
Ajax. I'll fight with him alone : stand, Diomed.
Dio. He is my prize, I will not look upon,
2 Shoal of fish.
^ Tro. Come both, you cogging » Greeks ; have at
you both. {Exeunt Jighting.
Enter Hector.
Hect. Yea, Troilus ? O, well fought, my youngest
brother !
Enter Achilles.
AchU. Now do I see thee : Ha ! — Have at tl^ee,
Hector.
Hect. Pause, if thou wilt.
AchU. I do disdain thy courtesy, proud Trojan.
Be happy, that my arms are out of use :
My rest and negligence befriend thee now.
But thou anon shalt hear of me again j
Till when, go seek thy fortune. [ExU.
Hect. Fare thee well : —
I would have been much more a fresher man.
Had I expected thee How now, my brother ?
Re-enter Troilus.
Tro. Ajax hath ta'en ^neas ; Shall it be ?
No, by the flame of yonder glorious heaven.
He shall not carry * him ; I'll be taken too.
Or bring him oflf: — Fate, hear me what I say !
I reck 5 not though I end my life to-day. [Exit.
Enter one in sumptuous Armour.
Hect. Stand, stand, thou Greek ? thou art a goodly
mark : —
No ? wilt thou not ? — I like thy armour well ;
I'll frush 6 it, and unlock the rivets all.
But I'll be master of it : — Wilt thou not, beast,
abide ?
Why, then fly on, I'll hunt thee for thy hide.
[Exennt.
SCENE Vll. — The same.
Enter Achilles, with Myrmidons.
AchU. Come here about me, you my Myrmidons;
Mark what I say. — Attend me where I wheel :
Strike not a stroke, but keep yourselves in breath ;
And when I have the bloody Hector found.
Empale him with your weapons round about ;
In fellest manner execute your arms.
Follow me, sirs, and my proceedings eye :
It is decreed — Hector the great must die.
\_Exeunt.
SCENE VIII. — The same.
Enter Menelaus and Fakis, Jighting : then Ther-
SITES.
Ther. The cuckold, and the cuckold-maker are at
it : Now, bull ! now, dog ! 'Loo, Paris, 'loo ! The
bull has the game. [Exeunt.
SCENE IX Another Part of the Field.
Enter Hector.
Hect. Most putrefied core, so fair without.
Thy goodly armour thus hath cost thy life.
Now is my day's work done ; I'll take good breath ;
Rest, sword ; thou hast thy fill of blood and death I
[Puts off his Helmet, and hangs his Shield
behind him.
Enter Achilles and Myrmidons.
AchU. Look, Hector, how the sun begins to sel^
How ugly night comes breathing at his heels :
3 Lying. * Prevail over. * Care. ^ Burst,
I
Scene X.
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
623
t
Even with the vail and dark'ning of the sun,
To close the day up, Hector's life is done.
Hect. I am unarm'd ; forego this vantage, Greek.
Achil. Strike, fellows, strike ; this is the man I
seek. [Hkctok falls.
So Ilion, fall thou next ! now, Troy, sink down ;
Here lies thy heart, thy sinews, and thy bone. —
On, Myrmidons j and cry you all amain,
AchiUes hath the mighty Hector slain.
[A Retreat sounded.
Hark ! a retreat upon our Grecian part.
Myr. The Trojan trumpets sound the like, my
lord.
Achil. The dragon wing of night o'erspreads the
earth,
And, stickler' like, the armies separates.
My half-supp'd sword, that frankly 8 would have fed,
Pleas'd with this dainty bit, thus goes to bed. —
[Sheathes his sword.
Come, tie his body to my horse's tail ;
Along the field I will the Trojan trail. [Exeunt.
SCENE X. — The same.
Enter Agamemnon, Ajax, Menelaus, Nestor,
DioMEDEs, and others, marching. Shouts within.
Agam. Hark ! hark ! what shout is that ?
Nest. Peace, drums.
[WUhin.] Achilles!
Achilles ! Hector's slain ! Achilles !
Dio. The bruit 9 is — Hector's slain, and by
Achilles.
Ajnx. If it be so, yet bragless let it be ;
Great Hector was as good a man as he.
Agam. March patiently along : — Let one be sent
To pray Achilles see us at our tent. —
If in his death the gods have us befriended,
Great Troy is ours, and our sharp wars are ended.
[Exeunt marching.
SCENE XL— Another Part of the Field.
Enter wSIneas and Trojans.
JEne. Stand, ho ! yet are we masters of the field :
Never go home ; here starve we out the night.
7 An arbitrator at athletick games. « Fattening.
B Noise, rumour.
Enter Troilcs.
Tro. Hector is slain.
AU. Hector ? — The gods forbid !
Tro. He's dead; and at the murderer's horse's tail,
In beastly sort, dragg'd through the shameful
field. —
Frown on, you heavens, effect your rage with speed !
Sit, gods, upon your thrones, and smile at Troy !
I say, at once let your brief plagues be mercy,
And linger not our sure destructions on !
JEne. My lord, you do discomfort all the host.
Tro. You understand me not, that tell me so :
I do not speak of flight, of fear, of death ;
But dare all imminence, that gods and men,
Address their dangers in. Hector is gone !
Who shall tell Priam so, or Hecuba ?
Let him, that will a screech-owl aye be call'd.
Go in to Troy, and say there — Hector's dead :
There is a word will Priam turn to stone ;
Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives,
Cold statues of the youth ; and, in a word.
Scare Troy out of itself. But, march, away ;
Hector is dead ; there is no more to say.
Stay yet ; — You vile abominable tents.
Thus proudly pight ' upon our Phrygian plains,
Let Titan rise as early as he dare,
I'll through and through you ! — And thou, great-
siz'd coward !
No space of earth shall sunder oiu- two hates :
I'll haunt thee like a wicked conscience still,
That mouldeth goblins swift as frenzy thoughts. —
Strike a free march to Troy ! — with comfort go :
Hope of revenge shall hide our inward woe.
[Exeunt ^neas and Trojans.
As Troilus is going out, enter, from the otiier side,
Pandarus.
Pan. But hear you, hear you !
Tro. Hence, broker lackey ! ignomy« and shame
Pursue thy life, and live aye with thy name !
[Exit Troilus.
Pan. A goodly med'cine for my aching bones ! —
O world ! world ! world ! thus is the poor agent
despised ! O traitors and pimps, how earnestly are
you set a' work, and how ill requited ! [Exit.
> Pitched, fixed. * Ignominy.
vX
(^
vH
TIMON OF ATHENS.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
TiMON, a noble Athenian.
Lucius, "1
LucuLLUS, l Lords, and Flatterers of Timon.
Sempronius, J
Ventidius, one of Timon' s false Friends.
ApEMANTus, a churlish Philosopher.
Alcibiades, an Athenian General.
Flavius, Steward to Timon.
Flaminius, "j
LuciLius, y Timon's Servants.
Servilius, J
Caphis,
Philotus,
Trrus,
Lucius,
hortensius,
Sen^ants to Timon's Creditors.
Two Servants of Varro.
The Servant of Isidore.
Two of Timon's Creditors.
Cupid and Maskers.
Three Strangers.
Poet.
Painter.
Jeweller.
Merchant.
An old Athenian.
A Page.
A Fool.
Other Lords, Senators, Ojficers, Soldiers,
and Attendants.
Thieves
SCENE, Athens ; and the Woods adjoining.
THia )3 IN THEE A NalOHE BDT AFFE<M BD ;
A POOH 0NMANI,Y MELANCHOLY, SPRONG
PROM CHANGE OF FORIDNE
TIMON OF ATHENS,
ACT I.
SCENE I. — Athens. A Hall in Timon's House-
Enter Poet, Painter, Jeweller, Merchant, and others,
at several doors-
Poet. Good day, sir.
Pain. I am glad you are well.
Poet. I have not seen you long ; How goes the
world ?
Pain. It wears, sir, as it grows.
Poet. Ay, that's well known :
But what particular rarity ? what strange.
Which manifold record not matches ? See,
Magick of bounty ! all these spirits thy power
Hath conjur'd to attend. I know the merchant.
Pain. I know them both ; t'other's a jeweller.
Mer. O, 'tis a worthy lord !
Jew. Nay, that's most fix'd.
Mer. A most incomparable man ; breathed ', as j
it were.
To an untirable and continuate '^ goodness :
He passes. ^
Jew. I have a jewel here.
Mer. O, pray, let's see't : For the lord Timon, sir ?
Jew. If he will touch the estimate ; But, for that —
Poet. When we for recompence haveprais'd the vile,
It stains the glory in that happy verse
IVhich aptly sings the goid-
' Inured by constant practice. * Continual.
^ «■ e. Exceeds, goes beyond common bounds.
Mer. 'Tis a good form.
[Looking at the jewel.
Jew. And rich : here is a water, look you.
Pain. You are rapt, sir, in some work, some de-
dication
To the great lord.
Poet. A thing slipp'd idly from me.
Our poesy is as a gum, wliicli oozes
From whence 'tis nourislied : The fire i' the flint
Shows not till it be struck ; our gentle flame
Provokes itself, and, like the current, flies
Each bound it chafes. What have you here?
Pain. A picture, sir. — And when comes youi
book forth ?
Poet. Upon the heels of my presentment ^, sir
Let's see your piece.
Pain. 'Tis a good piece.
Poet. So 'tis: this comes off well and excellent.
Pain. Indifferent.
Poet. Admirable : How this grace
Speaks his own standing ! what a mental power
This eye shoots forth ! how big imagination
Moves in this lip ! to the dumbness of the gesture
One might interpret.
Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life.
Here is a touch ; Is't good ?
Poet. Pll say of it,
•♦As soon as my book has been presented to Timoa
II
Act I. Scene I.
TIMON OF ATHENS.
625
It tutors nature : artificial strife *
Lives in these touches, livelier than life.
Enter certain Senators, and pass over.
Pain. How this lord's follow'd !
Poet. The senators of Athens : — Happy men !
Pain. Look, more !
Poet. You see this confluence, this great flood of
visitors.
I have, in this rough work, shap'd out a man,
Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hug
With amplest entertainment : My free drift
Halts not particularly '', but moves itself
In a wide sea of wax : no levell'd malice
Infects one comma in the course I hold ;
But flies an eagle flight, bold, and forth on,
Leaving no tract behind.
Paiti. How shall I understand you ?
Poet. I'll unbolt to you.
You see how all conditions, how all minds,
(As well of glib and slippery creatures, as
Of grave and austere quality,) tender down
Their services to lord Timon : his large fortune.
Upon his good and gracious nature hanging.
Subdues and properties to liis love and tendance
All sorts of heaits: yea, from the glass-fac'd flatterer'
To Apemantus, that few tilings loves better
Than to abhor himself ; even he drops down
The knee before him, and returns in peace
Most rich in Timon 's nod. ^
Pain. I saw them speak together.
Poet. Sir, I have upon a high and pleasant hill,
Feign'd Fortune to be tliron'd : The base o'the mount
Is rank'd with all deserts, all kind of natures.
That labour on the bosom of this sphere
To propagate their states 8 : amongst them all,
WTiose eyes are on this sovereign lady fixed.
One do I personate of lord Timon's frame.
Whom Fortune with her ivory hands wafts to her ;
Whose present grace to present slaves and servants
Translates his rivals.
Pain. 'Tis conceiv'd to scope.
This throne, this Fortune, and this hill, methinks.
With one man beckon'd from the rest below.
Bowing his head against the steepy mount
To climb his happiness, would be well express'd
In our condition.
Poet. Nay, sir, but hear me on :
All those which were his fellows but of late,
(Some better than his value,) on the moment
Follow his strides, his lobbies fill with tendance.
Rain sacrificial whisperings in his ear.
Make sacred even his stirrop, and tlirough him
Drink the free air.
Pain. Ay, marry, what of these ?
Poet. When fortune in her shift and change of
mood,
Spurns down her late belov'd, all his dependants.
Which labour'd after him to the mountain's top,
Even on their knees and hands, let him slip down,
Not one accompanying his declining foot.
Pain. 'Tis common :
A thousand moral paintings I can show
That shall demonstrate these quick blows of fortune
More pregnantly than words. Yet you do well.
To show lord Timon that mean eyes have seen
The foot above the head.
* i. e. The contest of art with nature.
' My design does not stop at any particular character.
1 One who shows by reflection the looks of his patron.
• To advance their conditions of life.
Trumpets sound. Enter Timon, attended; the
Servant of Ventidius talking ruith him.
Tim. Imprison'd is he, say you ?
Ven. Seru. Ay, my good lord : five talents is his
debt;
His means most short, his creditors most strait :
Your honourable letter he desires
To those liave shut him up ; which failing to him.
Periods his comfort.
Tim. Noble Ventidius ! Well;
I am not of that feather, to shake oflT
My friend when he must need me. I do know him,
A gentleman, tliat well deserves a help.
Which he shall have : I'll pay the debt, and free him.
Ven. Serv. Your lordship ever binds him.
Tim. Commend me to him : I will send his ran-
some ;
And, being enfranchis'd, bid him come to me : —
'Tis not enough to help the feeble up.
But to support him after. — Fare you well.
Ven. Serv. All happiness to your honour ! [Exit.
Enter an old Athenian.
Old Ath. Lord Timon, hear me speak.
Tim. Freely, good father.
Old Ath. Thou hast a servant nam'd Lucilius.
Tim. I have so : What of him ?
Old Ath. Most noble Timon, call the man be-
fore thee.
Tim. Attends he here, or no ? — Lucilius !
Enter Lucilius.
Luc Here, at your lordship's service.
Old Ath. This fellow here, lord Timon, this thy
creature.
By night frequents my house. I am a man
That from my first have been inclin'd to thrift ,
And my estate deserves an heir more rais'd.
Than one which holds a trencher.
Tim. Well; what further?
Old Ath. One only daughter have I, no kin else,
On whom I may confer what I have got :
The maid is fair, o'the youngest for a bride,
And I have bred her at my dearest cost,
In qualities of the best. This man of thine
Attempts her love : I pr'ythee, noble lord,
Join with me to forbid him her resort ;
Myself have spoke in vain.
Tim. The man is honest.
Old Ath. Therefore he will be, Timon :
His honesty rewards him in itself.
It must not bear my daughter.
Tim. Does she love him ?
Old Ath. She is young and apt :
Our own precedent passions do instruct us
What levity's in youth.
TVm. [To Lucilius.] Love you the maid?
L%ic. Ay, my good lord, and she accepts of it.
Old Ath. If in her marriage my consent be
missing,
I call the gods to witness, I will choose
Mine heir from forth the beggars of the world.
And dispossess her all.
Tim. How shall she be endow'd,
If she be mated with an equal husband ?
Old Ath. Three talents, on the present ; in future,
all.
Tim. This gentleman of mine hath serv'd me long;
To build his fortune, I will strain a little,
S s
626
TIMON OF ATHENS.
Act I.
For 'tis a bond in men. Give him thy daughter :
What you bestow, in him I'll counterpoise,
And make him weigh with her.
Old Ath. Most noble lord,
Pawn me to this your honour, she is his.
Tm. My hand to thee; mine honour on my
promise.
Luc. Humbly I thank your lordship: Never may
That state or fortune fall into my keeping,
Which is not ow'd to you !
[Exeunt Lucilius and old Athenian.
Poet. Vouchsafe my labour, and long live your
lordship !
Tim. I thank you ; you shall hear from me anon :
Go not away. — What have you there, my friend ?
Pain. A piece of painting, which I do beseech
Your lordship to accept.
Tim. Painting is welcome.
The painting is almost the natural man ;
For since dishonour trafficks with man's nature,
He is but outside : These pencil'd figures are
Even such as they give out. I like your work ;
And you shall find, I like it : wait attendance.
Till you hear further from me.
Pain. The gods preserve you !
Tim. Well fare you, gentlemen : Give me your
hand :
We must needs dine together. — Sir, your jewel
Hath sufFer'd under praise.
Jew. What, my lord ? dispraise ?
Tim. A mere satiety of commendations.
If I should pay you for't as 'tis extoll'd,
It would unclewS me quite.
Jew. My lord, 'tis rated
As those, which sell, would give : But you well know,
Things of like value, differing in the owners.
Are prized by their masters ; believe't, dear lord.
You mend the jewel by wearing it.
Tim. Well mock'd.
Mer. No, my good lord ; he speaks the common
tongue.
Which all men speak with him.
Tim.. Look, who comes here? Will you be chid?
Enter Apemantus.
Jew. We will bear, with your lordship.
Mer. He'll spare none.
Tim. Good morrow to thee, gentle Apemantus !
Apem. Till I be gentle, stay for thy good morrow;
When thou artTimon's dog, and these knaves honest.
Tim. Why dost thou call them knaves ? thou
know'st them not.
Apem. Are they not Athenians ?
Tim. Yes.
Apem. Then I repent not.
Jew. You know me, Apemantus.
Aj)em. Thou knowest, I do ; I call'd thee by thy
name.
Tim. Thou art proud, Apemantus.
Apem. Of nothing so much, as that I am not
like Timon.
Tim. Whither art going ?
Apem. To knock out an honest Athenian's brains.
Tim. That's a deed thou'lt die for.
Apem. Right, if doing nothing be death by the
law.
Tim. How likest thou this pictuie, Apemantus ?
Apem. The best, for the innocence.
Tim. How dost thou like this jewel, Apemantus ?
9 Ruin.
Apem. Not so well as plain dealing ', which will
not cost a man a doit.
Tim. What dost thou think 'tis worth ?
Apem. Not worth my thinking. — How now, poet ?
Poet. How now, philosopher ?
Apem. Thou liest.
Poet. Art not one ?
Apem. Yes.
Poet. Then I lie not.
Apem. Art not a poet ?
Poet. Yes.
Apem. Then thou liest : look in thy last work,
Where thou hast feign'd him a worthy fellow.
Poet. That's not feign'd, he is so.
Apem. Yes, he is worthy of thee, and to pay
thee for thy labour : He, that loves to be flattered,
is worthy o'the flatterer. Heavens, that I were a
lord!
Tim. What would'st do then, Apemantus ?
Apem. Even as Apemantus does now, hate a
lord with my heart.
Tim. What, thyself?
Apem. Ay.
Tim. Wherefore?
Apem. That I had no angry wit to be a lord. —
Art not thou a merchant ?
Mer. Ay, Apemantus.
Apem. TraflSck confound thee, if the gods will not !
Mer. If traffick do it, the gods do it.
Apem, Traffick's thy god, and thy god confound
thee !
Trumpets sound. Enter a Servant.
Tim. What trumpet's that ?
Serv. 'Tis Alcibiades and
Some twenty horse, all of companionship.
Tim. Pray, entertain them ; give them guide to
us. ^ [Exeunt some Attendants.
You must needs dine with me : — Go not you hence.
Till I have thank'd you ; and when dinner's done.
Show me this piece. — I am joyful of your sights. —
Enter Alcibiades, vdth his Company/.
Most welcome, sir ! [They salute*
Apem. So, so ; there ! —
Aches contract and starve your supple joints ! —
That there should be small love 'mongst these sweet
knaves.
And all this court'sy ! The strain of man's bred out
Into baboon and monkey.
Aldb. Sir, you have sav'd my longing, and I feed
Most hungrily on your sight.
Tim. Right welcome, sir :
Ere we depart, we'll share a bounteous time
In different pleasures. Pray you, let us in.
[Exeunt all but Apemantus.
Enter two Lords.
1 Lord. What time a day is't, Apemantus ?
Apem. Time to be honest.
1 Lord. That time serves still.
Apem. The most accursed tliou, that still oinit'st
it.
2 Lord. Thou art going to lord Timon's feast.
Apem. Ay ; to see meat fill knaves, and wine
heat fools.
2 Lord. Fare thee well, fare thee well.
Apem. Thou art a fool, to bid me farewell twice.
1 Alluding to the proverb : Plain-dealing is a jewel, but
they who use it beggars.
Scene II.
TIMON OF ATHENS.
627
2 Lord. Why, Apemantus?
Apem. Shouldst have kept one to thyself, for I
mean to give thee none.
1 Lord. Hang thyself.
jApem. No, I will do nothing at thy bidding;
make thy requests to thy friend.
2 Lord. Away, unpeaceable dog, or I'll spurn
thee hence.
Apem* I will fly like a dog, the heels of the ass.
1 Lord. He's opposite to humanity. Come, shall
we in.
And taste lord Timon's bounty? he outgoes
The very heart of kindness.
2 Lord. He pours it out ; Plutus the god of gold
Is but his steward : no meed 2, but he repays
Sevenfold above itself ; no gift to him.
But breeds the giver a return exceeding
All use of quittance. 3
1 Lord. The noblest mind he carries,
That ever govern'd man.
2. Lord. Long may he live in fortunes! Shall
we in?
1 Lord. I'll keep you company. \Exewnt.
SCENE 11.—^ noom of State in Timon'* House.
Hautboys playing loud Musick. A great Banquet
served in; Flavius a7id others attending; then
enter Timon, Alcibiades, Lucius, Lucullus,
Sempronius, and other Athenian Senators, with
Ventidius, and Attendants. Then comes, drop-
ping after all, Apemantus, discontentedly.
Ven. Most honour'd Timon, *t hath pleas'd the
gods remember
My father's age, and call him to long peace.
He is gone happy, and has left me rich :
Then, as in grateful virtue 1 am bound
To your free heart, I do return those talents.
Doubled with thanks, and service, from whose help
I deriv'd liberty.
2'/'m. O, by no means.
Honest Ventidius : you mistake my love ;
I gave it freely ever ; and there's none
Can truly say, he gives, if he receives :
If our betters play at that game, we must not dare
To imitate them ; Faults that are rich, are fair.
Ven. A noble spirit.
[ They all stand ceremoniously looking on Timon.
Tim. Nay, my lords, ceremony
Was but devis'd at first, to set a gloss
On faint deeds, hollow welcomes,
Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown ;
liut where there is true friendsliip, there needs none.
l*ray sit ; more welcome are ye to my fortunes.
Than my fortunes to me. [ They sit.
1 Lord. My lord, we always have confess'd it.
Apem. Ho, ho, confess'd it ? hang'd it, have you
not?
Tim. O, Apemantus ! — you are welcome.
Apem. No.
You shall not make me welcome :
X come to have thee thrust me out of doors.
Tim. Fye, tliou art a churl ; you have got a
humour tliere
Does not become a man, 'tis much to blame :
'-' Meed here means desert
' ». e. All the customary returns made in discharge of ob-
ligations.
They say, my lords, that ira furor brevis est *,
But yond' man's ever angry.
Go, let him have a table by himself;
For he does neither affect company,
Nor is he fit for it, indeed.
Apem. Let me stay at thine own peril, Timon ;
I come to observe ; I give thee warning on't,
Tim. I take no heed of thee ; thou art an Athe-
nian ; therefore welcome : I myself would have no
power : pr'ythee, let my meat make thee silent.
Apem. I scorn thy meat ; 'twould choke me, for
I should
Ne'er flatter thee. — O you gods ! what a number
Of men eat Timon, and he sees them not !
It grieves me to see so many dip their meat
In one man's blood ; and all the madness is,
He cheers them up too. ^
I wonder men dare trust themselves with men :
Methinks they should invite them without knives ;
Good for their meat, and safer for their lives.
There's much example for't ; the fellow, that
Sits next him now, parts bread with him, and pledges
The breath of liim in a divided draught.
Is the readiest man to kill him : it has been prov'd.
If I
Were a huge man, I should fear to drink, at meals ;
Lest they should spy my windpipe's dangerous notes :
Great men should drink with harness ^ on their
throats.
Tim. My lord, in heart 7 ; and let the health go
round.
2 Lord. Let it flow this way, my good lord.
Apem. Flow this way !
A brave fellow ! — he keeps his tides well. Timon,
Those healths will make thee, and thy state, look ill.
Here's that which is too weak to be a sinner,
Honest water, which ne'er left man i' the mire :
This, and my food, are equals ; there's no odds,
Feasts are too proud to give thanks to the gods.
Apemantus's Grace.
Immortal gods, I crave no pelf;
I jrrayfor no man but myself:
Grant I may never prove so fond ^
To trust man on his oath or bond ;
Or a harlot for her weeping;
Or a dog that seems a sleejting ;
Or a keeper with my freedom ;
Or my friends, if I should need 'em.
Amen. So fall to't :
Rich men sin, and I eat root.
[Eats and drinks.
Much good dich thy good heart, Apemantus !
Tim. Captain Alcibiades, your heart's in the field
now.
Alcib. My heart is ever at your service, my lord.
Tim. You had rather be at a breakfast of ene-
mies, than a dinner of friends.
Alcib. So they were bleeding-new, my lord,
there's no meat like them ; I could wish my best
friend at such a feast.
Apem. 'Would all those flatterers were thine
enemies then ; that then tliou mightst kill 'em, and
bid me to 'em.
* Anger is a short nudness.
> The allusion is to a pack of hounds trained to pursuit, by
being gratified with the blood of an animal which they kill ;
and the wonder is, that the animal, on which they are feeding,
cheers them to the chase.
• Armour. ^ With sincerity. • Foolish.
Ss 2
628
TIMON OF ATHENS.
Act I.
1 Lord. Might we but have that liappiness, my
lord, that you would once use our hearts, whereby
we might express some part of our zeals, we should
think ourselves for ever perfect.
Tim. O, no doubt, my good friends, but the gods
themselves have provided that I shall have much
help from you : How had you been my friends else?
why have you that charitable title from thousands,
did you not chiefly belong to my heart? I have told
more of you to myself, tlian you can with modesty
speak in your own behalf; and thus far 1 confirm
you. O, you gods, think I, what need we have any
friends, if we should never have need of them?
they were the most needless creatures living, should
we ne'er have use for them ; and would most re-
semble sweet instruments hung up in cases, that
keep their sounds to themselves. Why, I liave
often wished myself poorer, that I might come
nearer to you. We are born to do benefits ; and
what better or properer can we call our own, than
the riches of our friends? O, what a precious
comfort 'tis, to have so many, like brothers, com-
manding one another's fortunes ! O joy, e'en made
away ere it can be born ! Mine eyes cannot hold
out water, methinks : to forget their faults, I drink
to you.
4])em. Thou weepest to make them drink, Timon.
2 Lord. Joy had the like conception in our eyes.
S Lord. I promise you, my lord, you mov'd me
much.
Apem. Much ! 9 [Tucket sounded.
Tim. What means that trump ? — How now ?
E7iter a Servant.
Serv. Please you, my lord, there are certain ladies
most desirous of admittance.
Tim. Ladies ? what are their wills ?
Serv. Tliere comes with them a forerunner, my
lord, which bears that office, to signify their pleasures.
Tim. I pray, let them be admitted.
Enter Cupid.
Cup. Hail to thee, worthy Timon ; — and to all
That of his bounties taste ! — The five best senses
Acknowledge thee their patron ; and come freely
To gratulate thy plenteous bosom : The ear,
Taste, touch, smell, all pleas'd from thy table rise ;
They only now come but to feast thine eyes.
Tim. They are welcome all ; let them have kind
admittance :
Musick, make their welcome. [Exit Cupid.
1 Lord. You see, my lord, how ample you are
belov'd.
Musick. Re-enter Cupid, with a Masque of Ladies
as Amazons, with Lutes in their Hands, dancing,
and playing.
Apem. Hey day, what a sweep of vanity comes
this way !
They dance ! they are mad women.
Like madness is the glory of this life.
As this pomp shows to a little oil, and root.
We make ourselves fools, to disport ourselves ;
And spend our flatteries.
Who lives, that's not
Depraved, or depraves ? who dies, that bears
Not one spurn to their graves of their friends' gift ?
I should fear, those, that dance before me now,
9 Much, was formerly an expression of contemptuous ad-
miration.
Would one day stamp upon me : It has been done ;
Men shut their doors against a setting sun.
The Lords rise from Table with much adoring of
Timon j and to show their Loves, each singles out
an Amazon, and all dance. Men with Women, a
lofty Strain or two to the Hautboys, and cease.
Tim. You have done our pleasures much grace,
fair ladies.
Set a fair fashion on our entertainment.
Which was not half so beautiful and kind ;
You liave added worth unto't, and lively lustre.
And entertain'd me with mine own device ;
I am to thank you for it.
1 Lady. My lord, you take us even at the best,
Tim. Ladies, there is an idle banquet
Attends you : Please you to dispose yourselves.
All Lad. Most thankfully, my lord.
[Exeunt Cupid, and Ladies.
Tim. Flavins,
Flav. My lord.
Tim. The little casket bring me hither.
Flav. Yes, my lord. — More jewels yet !
There is no crossing him in his humour ; [Aside.
Else I should tell him, — Well, — i'faith, I should.
When all's spent, he'd be cross'd • then, an he could.
'Tis pity, bounty had not eyes behind ;
That man might ne'er be wretched for his mind. ^
[Exit, and returns with the Casket.
1 Lord. Wliere be our men ?
Serv. Here, my lord, in readiness.
2 Lord. Our horses.
Tim. O my friends, I have one word
To say to you : — Look you, my good lord, I must
Entreat you, honour me so much, as to
Advance this jewel ;
Accept, and wear it, kind my lord.
1 Lord. I am so far already in your gifts, —
All. So are we all.
Enter a Servant.
Serv. My lord, there are certain nobles of the senate
Newly alighted, and come to visit you.
Tim. They are fairly welcome.
jriav. I beseech your honour.
Vouchsafe me a word : it does concern you near.
Tim- Near ? why then another time I'll hear thee:
I pr'ythee, let us be provided
To sliow them entertainment.
Elav. I scarce know how.''
[Aside
Enter another Servant.
2 Serv. May it please your honour, the lord Lucius,
Out of his free love, hath presented to you
Four milk-white horses, trapp'd in silver.
Tim. 1 shall accept them fairly : let the presents
Enter a third Servant.
Be worthily entertain'd. — How now, what news ?
3 Serv. Please you, my lord, that honourable
gentleman, lord Lucullus, entreats your company
to-morrow to hunt with him; and has sent your
lionour two brace of greyhounds.
Tim. I'll hunt with him; And let them be re-
ceiv'd,
Not without fair reward.
1 Shakspeare plays on the word crossed; alluding to the
piece of silver money called a cross.
■^ For his nobleness of souL
I
I
I
Act II. Scene I.
TIMON OF ATHENS.
629
Flav. [^side.'l What will this come to?
He commands us to provide, and give great gifts,
And all out of an empty coffer. —
Nor will he know his purse ; or yield rae this.
To show him wliat a beggar his heart is,
Being of no power to make his wishes good ;
His promises fly so beyond his state,
That what he speaks is all in debt, he owes
For every word ; he is so kind, that he now
Pays interest for't ; his land's put to their books.
Well, 'would I were gently put out of office,
Before I were forc'd out !
Happier is he that has no friend to feed,
Than such as do even enemies exceed.
I bleed inwardly for my lord. [Exit.
Tim. You do yourselves
Much wrong, you bate too much of your own merits;
Here, my lord, a trifle of our love.
2 Lord. With more than common thanks I will
receive it.
3 Lord. O, he is the very soul of bounty !
TYm. And now I remember me, my lord, you gave
Good words the other day of a bay courser
I rode on : it is yours, because you lik'd it.
2 Lord. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, in
that.
Tim. You may take my word, my lord ; I know,
no man
Can justly praise, but what he does affect :
I weigh my friend's affection with mine own :
I'll tell you true. I'll call on you.
.All Lords. None so welcome.
Tim. I take all and your several visitations
So kind to heart, 'tis not enough to give ;
INIethinks, I could deal kingdoms to my friends,
And ne'er be weary. — Alcibiades,
Thou art a soldier, therefore seldom rich,
It comes in charity to thee : for all thy living
Is 'mongst the dead ; and all the lands thou hast
Lie in a pitch'd field.
^Icib. Ay, defiled land, my lord.
1 Lord. We are so virtuously bound,
Ti?n. And so
Am I to you.
2 Lord. So infinitely endear'd, — —
Tim. All to you. 4 — Lights, more lights.
1 Lord. The best of happiness,
Honour, and fortunes, keep with you, lord Tiraon !
Tim. Ready for his friends.
[Exeunt Alcibiades, Lords, ^c.
Apem. What a coil's here !
I doubt whether their legs be worth the sums
That are given for 'em. Friendship's full of dregs :
Methinks, false hearts should never have sound legs.
Thus honest fools lay out their wealth on court'sies.
Tim. Now, Apemantus, if thou wert not sullen,
I'd be good to thee.
Apem. No, I'll nothing : for,
If I should be brib'd too, there would be none left
To rail upon thee ; and then thou wouldst sin the
faster.
Thou giv'st so long, Timon, I fear me, thou
Wilt give away thyself in paper shortly :
What needs these feasts, pomps, and vain glories?
Tiin. Nay,
An you begin to rail on society once,
I am sworn, not to give regard to you.
Farewell ; and come with better musick. [Exit.
Apem. So ; —
Thou'lt not hear me now, — thou shalt not then, I'll
lock
Thy heaven * from thee. O, that men's cars should be
To counsel deaf, but not to flattery ! [Exit.
ACT II.
SCENE I. — A Room in a Senator'* House.
Enter a Senator, with Papers in his Hand.
Sen. And late, five thousand to Varro ; and to
Isidore
He owes nine thousand ; besides my former sum,
Which makes it five and twenty. — Still in motion
Of raging waste ? It cannot hold ; it will not.
If I want gold, steal but a beggar's dog,
And give it Timon, why, the dog coins gold :
If I would sell my horse, and buy twenty more
Better than he, why, give my horse to llmon.
Ask notliing, give it him, it foals me, straight.
And able horses : No porter at his gate ;
But rather one that smiles, and still invites
All tliat pass by. It cannot hold ; no reason
Can found his state in safety. Caphis, ho !
Caphis, I say !
Enter Cafhis.
Caph. Here, sir ; What is your pleasure ?
Sen. Get on your cloak, and haste you to lord
Timon ;
Importune him for my monies : be not ceas'd '
Witli slight denial ; nor then silenc'd, when —
Commend me to your master — and the cap
s Stopped.
Plays in the right hand, thus : — but tell him, sirrah,
My uses cry to me, I must serve my turn
Out of mine own ; his days and times are past,
And my reb'ances on his fracted dates
Have smit my credit : I love, and honour him ;
But must not break my back, to heal his finger .
Immediate are my needs ; and my relief
Must not be toss'd and tum'd to me in words.
But find supply immediate. Get you gone :
Put on a most importunate aspect,
A visage of demand ; for, I do fear,
When every feather sticks in his own wing,
Lord Timon will be left a naked gull,
Which flashes now a phoenix. Get you gone.
Caph. I go, sir.
Seji. I go, sir ? — take the bonds along with you,
And have the dates in compt.
Caph. I will, sir.
Sen. Co. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. — ^ HaU in Timon'* House.
Enter Flavius, «i/A many Bills in his Hand.
Flav. No care, no stop ! so senseless of expense,
That he will neither know how to maintain it.
Nor cease his flow of riot : Takes no account
* i. e. All happincts to jroa
* By hU heaven he means good advice.
Ss 3
630
TIMON OF ATHENS.
Act II.
How things go from him ; nor resumes no care
Of what is to continue : Never mind
"Was to be so unwise, to be so kind.
What shall be done ? He will not hear, till feel :
I must be round with him now he comes from hunting.
Fye, fye, fye, fye !
Unter Caphis, and the Servants of Isidore and
Varro.
Caph. Good even, Varro : What,
You come for money ?
Var. Serv. Is't not your business too ?
Caph. It is ; — And yours too, Isidore ?
Isid. Serv. It is so.
Caph. 'Would we were all discharg'd !
Var. Serv. I fear it.
Caph. Here comes the lord.
Enter Timon, Alcibiades, and Lords, ^c.
Tim. So soon as dinner's done, we'll forth again,
My Alcibiades. — With me ? What's your will ?
Caph. My lord, here is a note of certain dues.
Tim. Dues ? Whence are you ?
Caph. Of Athens here, my lord.
Tim. Go to my steward.
Caph. Please it your lordship, he hath put me off
To the succession of new days this month :
My master is awak'd by great occasion,
To call upon his own ; and humbly prays you,
That with your other noble parts you'll suit.
In giving him his right.
Tim. Mine honest friend,
I pr'ythee, but repair to me next morning.
Caph. Nay, good my lord,
Tim. Contain thyself, good friend.
Var. Serv. One Varro's servant, my good lord, —
Isid. Serv. From Isidore ;
He humbly prays your speedy payment,
Caph. If you did know, my lord, my master's
wants,
Var. Serv. Twas due, on forfeiture, my lord, six
weeks,
And past,
Isid. Serv. Your steward puts me off, my lord ;
And I am sent expressly to your lordship.
Tim. Give me breath :
I do beseech you, good my lords, keep on ;
[Exeunt Alcibiades and Lords.
I'll wait upon you instantly. — Come hither, pray
you [To Flavius.
How goes the world, that I am thus encounter'd
With clamorous demands of date-broke bonds.
And the detention of long-since-due debts,
Against my honour ?
Flav. Please you, gentlemen,
The time is unagreeable to this business :
Your importunacy cease, till after dinner ;
That I may make his lordship understand
Wherefore you are not paid.
Tim. Do so, my friends :
See them well entertain'd. [Exit Timon.
Elav. I pray, draw near. [Exit Flavius.
Enter Apekantus and a Fool.
Caj)h. Stay, stay, here comes the fool with Ape-
mantus ; let's have some sport with 'em.
Var. Serv. Hang him, he'll abuse us.
Isid. Serv. A plague upon him, dog !
Var. Serv. How dost, fool ?
ylpem. Dost dialogue with thy shadow ?
Var. Serv. I speak not to thee.
Apem. No ; 'tis to thyself, — Come away.
[To the Fool.
All Serv. What are we, Apemantus ?
Apem. Asses.
All Serv. Why?
Apem. That you ask me what you are, and do not
know yourselves. — Speak to 'em, fool.
Fool. How do you, gentlemen ?
All Serv. Gramercies, good fool : How does your
mistress?'
Enter Page.
Fool. Look you, here comes my mistress' page.
Page. [To the Fool.] Why, how now, captain?
what do you in this wise company ? — How dost
thou, Apemantus?
Apem. 'Would I had a rod in my mouth, that I
might answer thee profitably.
Page. Pr'ythee, Apemantus, read me the super-
scription of these letters; I know not which is which.
Apem. Canst not read '
Page. No.
Apem. There will little learning die then, that
day thou art hanged. This is to lord Timon ; this
to Alcibiades. Go.
Page. Answer not, I am gone. [Exit Page.
Apem. Even so thou out-run'st grace. Fool, I
will go with you to lord Timon *s.
Fool. Will you leave me there ?
Apem. If Timon stay at home. — You three serve
three usurers?
All Serv. Ay ; 'would they served us !
Apem. So would I, — as good a trick as ever
hangman served thief.
Fool. Are you three usurers* men ?
All Serv. Ay, fool.
Fool. I think, no usurer but has a fool to his ser-
vant : My mistress is one, and I am her fool. When
men come to borrow of your masters, they approach
sadly, and go away merry ; but they enter my mis-
tress' house merrily, and go away sadly.
Var. Serv. Thou art not altogether a fool.
Fool. Nor thou altogether a wise man : as much
foolery as I have, so much wit thou lackest.
Apem. That answer might have become Ape-
mantus.
All Serv. Aside, aside ; here comes lord Timon.
Re-enter Timok and Flavius.
Apem. Come, with me, fool, come.
Fool. I do not always follow lover, elder brother,
and woman j sometime, the philosopher. .
[Exeunt Apemantus and Fool.
Flav. 'Pray you, walk near ; I'll speak with you
anon. [Exeunt Serv.
Tim. You make me marvel : Wherefore, ere tliis
time.
Had you not fully laid my state before me ;
That I might so have rated my expense.
As I had leave of means ?
Flav. You would not hear me.
At many leisures I propos'd.
Tim. Go to :
Perchance, some single vantages you took.
When my indisposition put you back ;
And that unaptness made your minister.
Thus to excuse yourself.
Flav. O my good lord !
At many times 1 brought in my accounts,
I
Scene II.
TIMON OF ATHENS.
631
Laid them before you ; you would throw them off,
And say, you found them in mine honesty.
When, for some trifling present, you have bid me
Return so much ^, I have shook my head, and wept;
Yea, 'gainst the authority of manners, pray'd you
To hold your hand more close : I did endure
Not seldom, nor no slight checks ; when I have
Prompted you, in the ebb of your estate.
And your great flow of debts. My dear-lov'd lord.
Though you hear now, (too late !) yet now's a time.
The greatest of your having lacks a half
To pay your present debts.
Tim. Let all my land be sold.
Flav. 'Tis all engag'd, some forfeited and gone ;
And what remains will hardly stop the mouth
Of present dues : the future comes apace :
What shall defend the interim? and at length
How goes our reckoning ?
Tim- To Lacedaemon did my land extend.
FlaV' O my good lord, the world is but a word ;
Were it all yours to give it in a breath.
How quickly were it gone ?
Tim. You tell me true.
Flav. If you suspect my husbandry, or falsehood.
Call me before the exactest auditors,
And set me on the proof. So the gods bless me.
When all our offices 7 have been oppress'd
With riotous feeders ; M'hen our vaults have wept
With drunken spilth of wine ; when every room
Hath blaz'd with lights, and bray'd with minstrelsy ;
I have retir'd me to a wasteful cock,
And set mine eyes at flow.
Tim. Pry'thee, no more.
Flav. Heavens, have I said, the bounty of this lord!
How many prodigal bits have slaves, and peasants,
This night englutted ! Who is not Timon's ?
What heart, head, sword, force, means, but is lord
Timon's ?
Great Timon, noble, worthy, royal Timon ?
Ah ! when the means are gone, that buy this praise,
The breath is gone whereof this praise is made :
Feast-won, fast-lost ; one cloud of winter showers,
These flies are couch'd.
Tim^ Come, sermon me no further :
No villainous bounty yet hath pass'd my heart j
Unwisely, not ignobly, have I given.
Why dost thou weep ? Canst thou the conscience lack.
To think I shall lack friends ? Secure thy heart ;
If I would broach the vessels of my love.
And try the argument of hearts by borrowing.
Men, and men's fortunes, could I frankly use.
As I can bid thee speak.
Flav. Assurance bless your thoughts !
Tim. And, in some sort, these wants of mine are
crown'd 8,
That I account them blessings ; for by these
Shall I try friends : You shall perceive, how you
Mistake my fortunes; I am wealthy in my friends.
Within there, ho ! — Flaminius, Servilius !
Enter Flaminios, Servilius, and other Ser>'ants.
Serv. My lord, my lord, —
* A certain sum.
' The apartnients allotted to culinary offices, &c.
> Dignified, made respectable
Tim. I will despatch you severally. — You, to
lord Lucius. —
To lord Lucullus you ; I hunted with his
Honour to-day ; — You to Sempronius ;
Commend me to their loves; and, I am proud,
say.
That my occasions have found time to use them
Toward a supply of money : let the request
Be flfty talents.
Flam. As you have said, my lord.
Flav. Lord Lucius, and lord Lucullus ? humph !
[^side.
Tim^ Go you, sir, \^To another Serv.'\ to the
senators,
(Of whom, even to the state's best health, I have
Deserv'd this hearing,) bid 'em send o' the instant
A thousand talents to me.
Flav. I have been bold,
(For that I knew it the most general way,)
To them to use your signet, and your name ;
But they do shake their heads, and I am here
No richer in return.
Tim. Is't true ? can it be ?
Flav. They answer, in a joint and corporate voice,
That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot
Do what they would ; are sorry — you are honour-
able, —
But yet they could have wish'd — they know not—
but
Something hath been amiss — a noble nature
May catch a wrench — would all were well — 'tis
pity —
And so, intending 9 other serious matters.
After distasteful looks, and these hard fractions,
With certain half-caps ', and cold-moving nods,
They froze me into silence.
Tim. You gods, reward them ! —
I pr'ythee, man, look cheerly ; These old fellows
Have their ingratitude in them hereditary :
Their blood is cak'd, 'tis cold, it seldom flows ;
'Tis lack of kindly warmth, they are not kind ;
And nature, as it grows again toward earth.
Is fashion'd for the journey, dull, and heavy. —
Go to Ventidius, — \^To a Serv.] 'Pr'ythee, {To
Flavius.] be not sad.
Thou art true, and honest ; ingeniously « I speak,
No blame belongs to thee: [To Serv.] Ventidius
lately
Buried his father ; by whose death, he's stepp'd
Into a great estate : when he was poor,
Imprison'd, and in scarcity of friends,
I clear'd him with five talents ; Greet him from me;
Bid him suppose, some good necessity
Touches his friend, which craves to be remember'd
With those five talents : — that had, — [To Flav.]
give it these fellows
To whom 'tis instant due. Ne'er speak, or think.
That Timon's fortunes 'mong his friends can sink.
Flav. I would, I could not think it ; that thought
is bounty's foe ;
Being free ' itself, it thinks all others so. {Exeunt.
* Intending had anciently the same meaning as attending.
' A half.cap is a cap slightly moved, not put oflT.
3 For ingenuously. ' Liberal, not parftimoniousL
Ss 4
632
TIMON OF ATHENS.
Act III
ACT III
SCENE I. — A Room in LucuUus'* House.
Flaminius waiting. Enter a Servant to him.
Serv. I have told my lord of you j he is coming
down to you.
Flam. I thank you, sir.
Enter Lucullus.
Serv, Here's my lord.
Lucul. [^Aside.^ One of lord Timon's men? a
gift, I warrant. Why this hits right ; I dreamt of
a silver bason and ewer to-night. Flaminius, honest
Flaminius ; you are very respectively * welcome,
sir. — Fill me some wine. — \_Exit Servant.] And
how does that honourable, complete, free-hearted
gentleman of Athens, thy very bountiful good lord
and master ?
Flam. His health is well, sir.
Lucul. I am right glad that his health is well, sir.
And what hast thou there, under thy cloak, pretty
Flaminius ?
Flam. 'Faith, nothing but an empty box, sir;
which, in my lord's behalf, I come to entreat your
honour to supply ; who, having great and instant
occasion to use fifty talents, hath sent to your lord-
ship to furnish him ; nothing doubting your present
assistance therein.
Lucul. La, la, la, la, — nothing doubting, says
he ? alas, good lord ! a noble gentleman 'tis, if he
would not keep so good a house. Many a time and
often I have din'd with him, and told him on't ; and
come again to supper to him, of purpose to have him
spend less : and yet he would embrace no counsel,
take no warning by my coming. Every man has
his fault, and honesty ^ is his ; I have told him on't,
but I could never get him from it.
Re-enter Servant with Wine.
Serv. Please your lordship, here is the wine.
Lucul. Flaminius, I have noted thee always wise.
Here's to thee.
Flam. Your lordship speaks your pleasure.
Lucul. I have observed thee always for a towardly
prompt spirit, — give thee thy due, — and one that
knows what belongs to reason ; and canst use the
time well, if the time use thee well : good parts in
thee. — Get you gone, sirrah. — {To the Servant,
who goes out.'] — Draw nearer honest Flaminius.
Thy lord's a bountiful gentleman : but thou art
■wise; and thou knowest well enough, although
thou comest to me, that this is no time to lend
iQoney ; especially upon bare friendship, without
security. Here's three solidares for thee ; good boy,
wink at me, and say, thou sawest me not. Fare
thee well.
Flam. Is't possible, the world should so much
differ;
And we alive, that liv'd? Fly, damned baseness.
To him that worships thee.
[Throwing the Monet/ away.
Lucul. Ha ! Now I see thou art a fool, and fit
for thy master. [Exit Lucullus.
Flam. May these add to the number that may
scald thee !
Thou disease of a friend, and not himself !
« For respectfully.
Honesty here means liberality.
Has friendship such a faint and milky heart,
It lurns in less than two nights? O, you gods,
I feel my master's passion ! ^ This slave
Unto his honour, has my lord's meat in him :
Why should it thrive, and turn to nutriment,
When he is turn'd to poison ?
O, may diseases only work upon't !
And, when he is sick to death, let not that part of
nature
"Which my lord paid for, be of any power
To expel sickness, but prolong his hour ! [Exit.
SCENE II. — A publick Place.
Enter Lucius, vnth three Strangers.
Luc. Who, the lord Timon ? he is my very good
friend, and an honourable gentleman.
1 Stran. We know him for no less, though we are
but strangers to him. But I can tell you one thing,
my lord, and which I hear from common rumours ;
now lord Timon's happy houi-s are done and past,
and his estate shrinks from him.
Luc. Fye, no, do not believe it : he cannot want
for money.
2 Stran. But believe you this, my lord, that not
long ago, one of his men, was with the lord Lucullus,
to borrow so many talents ; nay, urged extremely
for't, and show'd what necessity belong'd to't, and
yet was denied.
Luc. How ?
2 Stran. I tell you, denied, my lord.
Luc. What a strange case was that ? now, before
the gods, I am asham'd on't. Denied that honour-
able man ? there was very little honour show'd in't.
For my own part, I must needs confess, I have re-
ceived some small kindnesses from him, as money,
plate, jewels, and such like trifles, nothing com-
paring to his ; yet, had he mistook him, and sent
to me, I should ne'er have denied his occasion so
many talents.
Enter Servilius.
Ser. See, by good hap, yonder's my lord ; I have
sweat to see his honour. — My honoured lord. —
[To Lucius.
Luc. Servilius ! your are kindly met, sir. Fare thee
well : — Commend me to thy honourable-virtuous
lord, my very exquisite friend.
Ser. May it please your honour, my lord hath
sent
Luc. Ha ! what has he sent ? I am so much
endeared to that lord ; he's ever sending : How
shall I thank him, thinkest thou ? And what has
he sent now ?
Ser. He has only sent his present occasion now,
my lord ; requesting your lordship to supply his instant
use with so many talents.
Luc. I know, his lordship is but merry with me ;
He cannot want fifty-five hundred talents.
Ser. But in the mean time he wants less, my lord.
If his occasion were not virtuous,
I should not urge it half so faithfully.
Luc. Dost thou speak seriously, Servilius ?
Ser. Upon my soul, 'tis true, sir.
Luc. What a wicked beast was I, to disfurnish
6 Suflfering.
Scene III.
TIMON OF ATHENS.
633
myself against such a good time, when I might have
shown myself honourable ! how unluckily it hap-
pened, that I should purchase the day before for
a little part, and undo a great deal of honour ! —
Servilius, now, before the gods, I am not able to
do't ; the more beast, I say : — I was sending to use
lord Timon myself, these gentlemen can witness ;
But I would not for the wealth of Athens, I had
done it now. Commend me bountifully to his
good lordship ; and I hope, his honour will conceive
the fairest of me, because I have no power to be
kind : And tell him this from me, I count it one of
my greatest afflictions, say, that 1 cannot pleasure
such an honourable gentleman. Good Servilius,
will you befriend me so far, as to use mine own
words to him ?
Ser. Yes, sir, I shall.
Luc. I will look you out a good turn, Servilius. —
\^Exit Servilius.
True, as you said, Timon is shrunk, indeed ;
And he, that's once denied, will hardly speed.
{ExU Lucxus.
1 Stran. Do you observe this, Hostilius?
2 Stran. Ay, too well.
1 Stran. Why this
Is the world's soul ; and just of the same piece
Is every flatterer's spirit. In my knowing.
The noble Timon has been this lord's father,
And kept his credit with his purse ;
Supported his estate ; nay, Timon's money
Has paid his men their wages ; He ne'er drinks.
But Timon's silver treads upon his lip ;
And yet, (O, see the monstrousness of man
When he looks out in an ungrateful shape !)
He does deny him, in respect of his.
What charitable men afford to beggars.
3 Stran. Religion groans at it.
1 Stran. For mine own part,
I never tasted Timon in my life.
Nor came any of his bounties over me.
To mark me for his friend ; yet, I protest,
For his right noble mind, illustrious virtue
And honourable carriage.
Had his necessity made use of me,
I would have put my wealth into donation.
And the best half should have retum'd to him,
So much I love his heart : But, I perceive.
Men must learn now with pity to dispense :
For policy sits above conscience. [Exeunt.
SCENE III. — A Room in Sempronius'* House.
Enter Semfronius, and a Servant of Timon's.
Sem. Must he needs trouble me in't? 'Bove all
others ?
He might have tried lord Lucius, or Lucullus;
And now Ventidius is wealthy too,
Whom he redeem'd from prison : All these three
Owe their estates unto him.
Serv. O my lord.
They have all been touch'd, and found base metal ;
for
They have all denied him !
Sem. How ! have they denied him ?
Has Ventidius and Lucullus denied him ?
And does he send to me ? Three ? humph ! —
It shows but little love or judgment in him.
Must I be his last refuge? His friends, like phy-
sicians.
Thrive, give him over ; Must I take the cure upon
me?
He has much disgrac'd me in't ; I am angry at him.
That might have known my place: I see no sense for't.
But his occasions might have woo'd me first ;
For, in my conscience, I was the first man
That e'er receiv'd gift from him :
And does he think so backwardly of me now.
That I'll requite it last? No : So it may prove
An argument of laughter to the rest.
And I amongst the lords be thought a fool.
I had rather than the worth of thrice the sum,
He had sent to me first, but for my mind's sake ;
I had such a courage to do him good. But now return.
And with their faint reply this answer join ;
Who bates mine honour shall not know my coin.
[ExU.
Serv. Excellent ! Your lordsliip's a goodly villain.
The devil knew not what he did, when he made
man politick ; he cross'd himself by't : and I cannot
think, but in the end, the villainies of man >\ ill set
him clear. How fairly this lord strives to appear
foul! takes virtuous copies to be wicked; like those
that, under hot ardent zeal, would set whole realms
on fire.
Of such a nature is his politick love.
This was my lord's best hopes ; now all are fled.
Save the gods only : Now his friends are dead,
Doors, that were ne'er acquainted with their wards
Many a bounteous year, must be employ'd
Now to guard sure their master.
And this is all a liberal course allows ;
Who cannot keep his wealth, must keep his house.
[Exit.
SCENE IV. — A Hall in Timon's House.
Enter two Servants of Varro, and the Servant oj
Lucius, meeting Titus, Hortensius, and other
Servants to Timon's Creditors, waiting his coming
out.
Var. Serv. Well met ; good morrow, Titus and
Hortensius.
Tit. The like to you, kind Varro.
Hot. Lucius ?
What, do we meet together ?
Luc. Serv. Ay, and, I think.
One business does command us all ; for mine
Is money.
Tit. So is theirs and ours.
Enter Phi lotus.
Luc. Serv. And sir
Fhilotus too !
Phi. Good day at once.
Luc. Ser. Welcome, good brother.
What do you think the hour ?
Phi, Labouring for nine.
Luc. Ser. So much ?
Pfti. Is not my lord seen yet ?
Luc. Serv. Not yet.
Phi. I wonder on't : he was wont to shine at seven.
Luc. Serv. Ay, but tlie days are waxed shorter
with him :
You must consider, that a prodigal course
Is like the sun's ; but not, like his, recoverable.
I fear,
'Tis deepest winter in lord Timon's purse ;
That is, one may reach deep enough, and yet
Find little.
Phi. I am of your fear for tliat.
T\t. I'll show you how to observe a strange event.
Your lord sends now for money.
634.
TIMON OF ATHENS.
Act III.
Hor. Most true, he does.
Tit. And he wears jewels now of Timon's gift.
For which I wait for money.
Hor. It is against my heart.
Luc. Serv. Mark, how strange it shows,
Timon in this should pay more than he owes ;
And e'en as if your lord should wear rich jewels.
And send for money for 'em.
Hor. I am weary of this charge, the gods can
witness :
I know, my lord hath spent of Timon's wealth.
And now ingratitude makes it worse than stealth.
1 Var. Serv. Yes, mine's three thousands crowns :
What's yours ?
Luc. Serv. Five thousand mine.
1 Var. Serv. 'Tis much deep : and it should seem
by the sum.
Your master's confidence was above mine ;
Else, surely his had equall'd.
Enter Flaminius.
Tit. One of lord Timon's men.
Luc. Serv. Flaminius! sir, a word : 'Pray, is my
lord ready to come forth ?
Flam. No, indeed, he is not.
Tit. We attend his lordship; 'pray, signify so much.
Flam. I need not tell him that : he knows, you
are too diligent. [^Exit FtAMiNtus.
Enter Flavius in a Cloak, muffled.
Luc. Serv. Ha ! is not that his steward mufflecl so?
He goes away in a cloud ; call him, call him.
Tit. Do you hear, sir ?
1 Var. Serv. By your leave, sir, — —
Flav. What do you ask of me, my friend ?
Tit. We wait for certain money here, sir.
Flav. Ay,
If money were as certain as your waiting,
'Twere sure enough. Why then preferr'd you not
Your sums and bills, when your false masters eat
Of my lord's meat? Then they could smile, and fawn
Upon his debts, and take down th' interest
Into their gluttonous maws. You do yourselves
but wrong,
To stir me up ; let me pass quietly :
Belie v't, my lord and I have made an end :
I have no more to reckon, he to spend.
Luc. Serv. Ay, but this answer will not serve.
Flav. If 'twill not,
'Tis not so base as you j for you serve knaves.
[Exit.
1 Var. Serv. How ! what does his cashier' d wor-
ship mutter ?
2 Var. Serv. No matter what; he's poor, and
that's revenge enough. Who can speak broader
than he that has no house to put his head in ? such
may rail against great buildings.
Filter Servilius.
Tit. O, here's Servilius ; now we shall know
Some answer.
Ser. If I might beseech you, gentlemen.
To repair some other hour, I should much
Derive from it : for, take it on my soul.
My lord leans wond'rously to discontent.
His comfortable temper has forsook him ;
He is much out of health, and keeps his chauiber.
Luc. Serv. Many do keep their chambers, are not
sick :
And, if it be so far beyond his health.
Methinks, he should the sooner pay his debts.
And make a clear way to the gods.
Ser. Good gods !
Tit. We cannot take this for an answer, sir.
Flam. [fVithin.] Servilius, help ! — my lord! my
lord ! —
Enter Timon, in a rage ; Fla^iviv a following.
Tim. What are my doors oppos'd against my
passage?
Have I been ever free, and must my house
Be my retentive enemy, my gaol ?
The place, which I have feasted, does it now,
Like all mankind, show me an iron heart ?
Luc. Serv. Put in now, Titus.
Tit. My lord, here is my bill.
Luc. Serv. Here's mine.
Hor. Serv. And mine, my lord.
Both Var. Serv. And ours, my lord.
Phi. All our bills.
Tim. Knock me down with *em7 : cleave me to
the girdle.
Luc. Serv. Alas ! my lord, ?
Tim, Cut my heart in sums.
Tit. Mine, fifty talents.
Tim. Tell out my blood.
Luc. Serv. Five thousand crowns, my lord.
Tim. Five thousand drops pays that. —
What yours ? — and yours ?
1 Var. Serv. My lord,
2 Var. Serv. My lord,
Tim. Tear me, take me, and the gods fall upon
you ! [Exit.
Hor. 'Faith, I perceive our masters may throw
their caps at their money ; these debts may well be
called desperate ones, for a madman owes 'em.
lExeunt.
Re-enter Timon and Flavius.
Tim. They have e'en put my breath from me,
the slaves :
Creditors I — devils.
Flav. My dear lord,
Tim. What if it should be so ?
Flav. My lord,
Tim. I'll have it so : — My steward !
Flav, Here, my lord.
Tim. So fitly ? Go, bid all my friends again,
Lucius, Lucullus, and Sempronius; all:
I'll once more feed the rascals.
Flav. O my lord.
You only speak from your distracted soul ;
There is not so much left to furnish out
A moderate table.
Tim. Be't not in thy care ; go,
I charge thee ; invite them all : let in the tide
Of knaves once more ; my cook and I'll provide.
[Exeu:
SCENE V. — The Senate-House.
The Senate sitting. Enter Alcibiades, attended.
1 Sen. Mylord, you have my voice to it; the fault's
Bloody ; 'tis necessary he should die :
Nothing emboldens sin so much as mercy
2 Sen. Most true ; the law shall bruise him.
Alcib. Honour, health, and compassion to the
senate !
1 Sen. Now, captain ?
Alcib. I am an humble suitor to your virtues ;
7 Timon quibbles. They present their written bills j he
catches at the word, and alludes to bills or battle.^xes.
I
Scene V.
TIMON OF ATHENS.
635
For pity is the virtue of the law.
And none but tyrants use it cruelly.
It pleases time, and fortune, to lie heavy
Upon a friend of mine, who in hot blood,
Hath stepp'd into the law, which is past depth
To those that, without heed, do plunge into it.
He is a man, setting his fate aside.
Of comely virtues :
Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice ;
(An honour in him which buys out his fault,)
But, with a noble fury, and fair spirit,
Seeing his reputation touch'd to dcath^
He did oppose his foe :
And with such sober and unnoted passion
He did behave 8 his anger, ere 'twas spent,
As if he had but prov'd an argument.
1 Sen. You undergo too strict a paradox,
Striving to make an ugly deed look fair ;
Your words have took such pains, as if they labour'd
To bring manslaughter into form, set quarrelling
Upoif the head of valour ; which, indeed.
Is valour misbegot, and came into the world
When sects and factions were newly born :
He's truly valiant, that can wisely suffer
Tlie worst that man can breathe; and make his wrongs
His outsides ; wear them like his raiment, carelessly ;
And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart,
To bring it into danger.
If wrongs be evils, and enforce us kill,
Wliat folly 'tis to hazard life for ill ?
^Icib. My lord,
1 Sen. You cannot make gross sins look clear j
To revenge is no valour, but to bear.
Alcib. My lords, then, under favour, pardon me.
If I speak like a captain. — —
Why do fond men expose themselves to battle.
And not endure all threaten! ngs ? sleep upon it.
And let the foes quietly cut their throats.
Without repugnancy ? but if there be
Such valour in the bearing, what make we
Abroad ? why then, women are more valiant,
That stay at home, if bearing carry it ;
And th' ass, more captain than the lion; the felon,
Loaden with irons, wiser than the judge.
If wisdom be in suffering. O my lords,
As you are great, be pitifully good :
Who cannot condemn rashness in cold blood?
To kill, I grant, is sin's extremest gust 9;
But, in defence, by mercy, 'tis most just.
To be in anger, is impiety ;
But who is man, that is not angry ?
Weigh but the crime with this.
2 Sen. You breathe in vain.
^Icib. In vain ? his service done
At Lacedsmon, and Byzantium,
Were a sufficient briber for his life.
1 Sen. What's that?
^tcib. Why, I say, my lords, h'as done fair service,
And slain in fight many of your enemies :
How full of valour did he bear himself
In the last conflict, and made plenteous wounds?
2 Sen. He has made too much plenty with 'em, he
Is a sworn rioter ; h'as a sin that often
Drowns him, and takes his valour prisoner :
If there were no foes, that were enough alone
To overcome him : in tliat beastly fury
He has been known to commit outrages.
And cherish factions: 'Tis inferr'd to us.
His days are foul, and liis drink dangerous.
8 Manage, govern. » For aggravation.
1 5^71. He dies.
Aldb. Hard fate ! he might have died in war.
My lords, if not for any parts in him,
(Though his right arm might purchase his own time,
And be in debt to none,) yet more to move you,
Take my deserts to his, and join them both :
And, for I know, your reverend ages love
Security, I'll pawn my victories, all
My honour to you, upon his good returns.
If by this crime he owes the law his life,
Why, let the war receive't in valiant gore ;
For law is strict, and war is nothing more.
1 Sen. We are for law, he dies ; urge it no more.
On height of our displeasure : Friend, or brother.
He forfeits his own blood, that spills another.
Alcib. Must it be so ? it must not be. My lords,
I do beseech you, know me.
2 Sen. How?
Alcib. Call me to your remembrances.
3 Sen. What?
^Icib. 1 cannot think, but your age has forgot me ;
It could not else be, I should prove so base ',
To sue, and be denied such common grace :
My wounds ache at you.
1 Sen. Do you dare our an^er ?
'Tis in few words, but spacious in effect ;
We banish thee for ever.
Alcib. Banish me?
Banish your dotage ; banish usury.
That makes the senate ugly.
1 iS^. If, after two days' shine, Athens contain
thee.
Attend our weightier judgment. And, not to swell
our spirit.
He shall be executed presently. [Exeunt Senators.
jilcib. Now the gods keep you old enough : that
you may live
Only in bone, that none may look on you !
I am worse than mad : I have kept back theu: foes,
While they have told their money, and let out
Their coin upon large interest ; I myself.
Rich only in large hurts ; — All those, for this ?
Is this the balsam, that the usuring senate
Pours into captains' wounds ? ha ! banishment ?
It comes not ill ; I hate not to be banish'd ;
Ic is a cause worthy my spleen and fury,
That I may strike at Athens. I'll cheer up
My discontented troops, and lay for hearts *,
'Tis honour, with most lands to be at odds ;
Soldiers should brook as little wrongs, as gods.
[Exit.
SCENE VI. — -4 magnificent Room in Timon'i
House.
Mustek. Tables set out .- Servants attending. Enter
divers Lords, at several Doors.
1 Lord. The good time of day to you, sir.
2 Lord. I also wish it to you. I think, this
honourable lord did but try us this otlier day.
1 Lord. Upon that were my thoughts tiring',
when we encountered : I hope it is not so low with
him, as he madft it seem in the trial of his several
friends.
2 Lord. It should not be, by the persuasion of
his new feasting.
1 Lord. I should tliink so : He hath sent me an
' For dishonoured.
« Wc should now say — lay out for hearts, i. e. the affec-
tions of the people.
> To tire on a thing meant to be idly employed on it
636
TIMON OF ATHENS.
Act III.
earnest inviting, which many my near occasions did
urge me to put off; but he hath conjiu-ed me beyond
them, and I must needs appear.
2 Lord. In Hke manner was I in debt to my
importunate business, but he would not hear my
excuse. I am sorry, when he sent to borrow of me,
that my provision was out.
1 Lord. I am sick of that grief too, as I under-
stand how all things go.
2 Lord. Every man here's so. What would he
have borrowed of you ?
1 Lord. A thousand pieces.
2 Lord. A thousand pieces !
1 Lord. What of you ?
3 Lord. He sent to me, sir — Here he comes.
Enter Timon, and Attendants.
Tim. With all my heart, gentlemen both : — And
how fare you ?
1 Lord. Ever at the best, hearing well of your
lordship.
2 Lord. The swallow follows not summer more
willing, than we your lordship.
Tim. [^Aside."] Nor more willingly leaves winter ;
such summer-birds are men. — Gentlemen, our
dinner will not recompense this long stay: feast
your ears with the musick awhile ; if they will fare
so harshly on the trumpet's sound : we shall to't
presently.
1 Lord. I hope it remains not unkindly with your
lordship, that I returned you an empty messenger.
Tim. O, sir, let it not trouble you.
2 Lord. My noble lord, — ' —
Tim. Ah, my good friend, what cheer ?
[The Banquet brought in.
2 Lord. My most honourable lord, I am e'en sick
of shame, that, when your lordship this other day
sent to me, I was so unfortunate a beggar.
Tim. Think not on't, sir.
2 Lord. If you had sent but two hours before, —
Tim. Let it not cumber your better remembrance.
— Come, bring in all together.
2 Lord. All covered dishes !
1 Lord. Royal cheer, I warrant you.
3 Lord. Doubt not that, if money and the season
can yield it.
1 Lord. How do you ? what's the news ?
3 Lord. Alcibiades is banished : Hear you of it ?
1^2 Lord. Alcibiades banished !
3 Lord. 'Tis so, be sure of it.
1 Lord. How? how?
2 Lord. I pray you, upon what ?
Tim. My worthy friends, will you draw near ?
3 Lord. I'll tell you more anon. Here's a noble
f^ast toward.
2 Lord. This is the old man still.
3 Lord. Will'thold? will't hold?
2 Lord. It does : but time will — and so
3 Lord. I do conceive.
Tim. Each man to his stool, with that spur as he
would to the lip of his mistress : your diet shall be
in all places alike. Make not a city feast of it, to let
the meat cool ere we can agree upon the first place ;
Sit, sit. The gods require our thanks.
You great benefactors, sprinkle our society with
thankfulness. For your own gifts, make yourselves
prais'.'d : but reserve still to give, lest your deities be
despised. Lend to each man enough, that one need
not lend to another : for, were your godheads to
borrow of men, men would forsake the gods. Make
the meat be beloved, more than the man that gives it.
Let no assembly of twenty be without a score of vil-
lains : If there sit twelve women at the table, let a
dozen of them be — as they are. — The rest of your
fees, 0 gods, — the senators of Athens, together with
the common lag '* of people, — ivhat is amiss in them,
you gods make suitable for destruction. For these
my present friends, — as they are to me nothing, so
in nothing bless them, and to nothing they are welcome.
Uncover, dogs, and lap.
[The dishes uncovered are full of warm water.
Some speak. What does his lordship mean ?
Some other. I know not.
Tim. May you a better feast never behold,
You knot of mouth-friends ! smoke, and luke-wann
water
Is your perfection. This is Timon's last ;
Who stuck and spangled you with flatteries,
Washes it off, and sprinkles in your faces
[ Throwing water in their faces.
Your reeking villainy. Live loath'd, and long.
Most smiling, smooth, detested parasites.
Courteous destroyers, affable wolves, meek bears,
You fools of fortune, trencher-friends, time's flies,
Cap and knee slaves, vapours, and minute-jacks ! *
Of man and beast, the infinite malady
Crust you quite o'er ! — What, dost thou go ?
Soft, take thy physick first — thou too, — and
thou ; —
[Throws the dishes at them, and drives them out.
Stay, I will lend thee money, borrow none
What, all in motion ? Henceforth be no feast.
Whereat a villain's not a welcome guest.
Burn, house ! sink, Athens ! henceforth hated be
Of Timon, man, and all humanity ! [ExU.
Re-enter the Lords, with other Lords and Senators.
1 Lord. How now, my lords ?
2 Lord. Know you the quality of lord Timon's
fury?
3 Lord. Pish ! did you see my cap ?
4 Lord. I have lost my gown.
3 Lord. He's but a mad lord, and nought but
humour sways him. He gave me a jewel the other
day, and now he has beat it out of my hat : — Did
you see ray jewel ?
4 Lord. Did you see my cap ?
2 Lord. Here 'tis.
4 Lord. Here lies my gown.
1 Lord. Let's make no stay.
2 Lord. Lord Timon's mad.
3 Lord. I feel't upon my bones.
4 Lord. One day he gives us diamonds, next day
stones. [Exeunt.^
^ The lowest . .
5 Jacks of the clock; like those of St Dunstan's church, m
Fleet-street
I
Act IV. Scene I.
TIMON OF ATHENS.
637
ACT IV.
SCENE I. — iruhout the Walls of Athena.
Enter Timon.
Tim. Let me look back upon thee, O thou wall,
That girdlest in those wolves ! Dive in the earth,
And fence not Athens ! Matrons, turn incontinent !
Obedience fail in children ! slaves, and fools,
Pluck the grave wrinkled senate from the bench,
And minister in their steads ! bankrupts, hold fast ;
Rather than render back, out with your knifes.
And cut your trusters' throats ! bound servants, steal !
Large-handed robbers your grave masters are ;
Son of sixteen.
Pluck the lin'd crutch from the old limping sire,
With it beat out his brains ! piety, and fear.
Religion to the gods, peace, justice, truth,
Domestick awe, night-rest, and neighbourhood.
Instruction, manners, mysteries, and trades.
Degrees, observances, customs, and laws,
Decline to your confounding contraries.
And yet confusion live ! — Plagues, incident to men,
Your potent and infectious fevers heap
On Athens, ripe for stroke ! thou cold sciatica,
Cripple our senators, that their limbs may halt
As lamely as their manners ! breath infect breath ;
That their society, as their friendship, may
Be merely poison ! Nothing PU bear from thee,
But nakedness, thou detestable town !
Take thou that too, with multiplying banns ! ^
Timon will to the woods ; where he shall find
The unkindest beast more kinder than mankind.
The gods confound (hear me, ye good gods all,)
The Athenians both within and out that wall !
And grant, as Timon grows, his hate may grow
To tlie whole race of mankind, high and low !
SCENE II. — Athens. A Room in Timon'*
House.
Enter Flavius, with two or three Servants.
1 Serv. Hear you, master steward, where's our
master ?
Are we undone ? cast off? nothing remaining ?
Flav. Alack, my fellows, what should I say to you?
Let me be recorded by the righteous gods,
I am as poor as you.
1 Serv. Such a house broke !
So noble a master fallen ! All gone ! and not
One friend, to take his fortune by the arm.
And go along witli him !
2 Serv. As we do turn our backs
From our companion, thrown into his grave ;
So his familiars to his buried fortunes
Slink all away ; leave their false vows with him,
Like empty purses pick'd : and his poor self,
A dedicated beggar to the air.
With his disease of all-shunn'd poverty,
Walks, like contempt, alone. — More of our fellows.
Enter other Servants.
Flav. All broken implements of a ruin'd house.
3 Serv. Yet do our hearts wear Timon *s livery.
That see I by our faces ; we are fellows still.
Serving alike in sorrow : Leak'd is our bark ;
< AccumuUted cutset.
And we, poor mates, stand on the dying deck.
Hearing the surges threat : we must all part
Into this sea of air.
Flav. Good fellows all,
The latest of my wealth I'll share amongst you.
Wherever we shall meet, for Timon's sake.
Let's yet be fellows ; let's shake our heads, and say.
As 'twere a knell unto our master's fortunes,
fVe have seen better days. Let each take some ;
[Giving them money.
Nay, put out all your hands. Not one word more ;
Tims part we rich in sorrow, parting poor.
[Exeunt Servants.
O, the fierce' wretchedness that glory brings us !
Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt.
Since riches point to misery and contempt ?
Who'd be so mock'd with glory ? or to live
But in a dream of friendship ?
To have his pomp, and all what state compounds.
But only painted like his varnish'd friends ?
Poor honest lord, brought low by his own heart ;
Undone by goodness ! Strange, unusual blood 8,
When man's worst sin is, he does too much good !
Who then dares to be half so kind again ?
For bounty, that makes gods, does still mar men.
My dearest lord, — bless'd to be most accurs'd.
Rich, only to be wretched ; — thy great fortunes
Are made thy chief afflictions. Alas, kind lord !
He's flung in rage from this ungrateful seat
Of monstrous friends : nor has he with him to
Supply his life, or that wliich can command it.
I'll follow, and inquire him out ;
I'll serve his mind with my best will ;
Whilst I have gold, I'll be his steward still. [Exit.
SCENE IIL — The Woods.
Enter Timon.
Tim. O blessed breeding sun, draw from the earth
Rotten humidity ; below thy sister's orb
Infect the air ! Twinn'd brothers of one womb
Whose procreation, residence, and birth.
Scarce is dividant, — touch them with several for
tunes ;
The greater scorns the lesser : Not nature.
To whom all sores lay siege, can bear great fortune.
But by'> contempt of nature.
Raise me this beggar, and denude that lord ;
The senator shall bear contempt hereditary.
The beggar native honour.
It is tlie pasture lards the brother's sides.
The want thatmakes him lean. Who dares, whodares,
In purity of manhood stand upright.
And say. This mans ajlatterer ? If one be.
So are they all ; for every grize of fortune
Is smooth'd by that below : the learned pate
Ducks to the golden fool : All is oblique ;
There's nothing level in our cursed natures,
But direct villainy. Therefore be abhorr'd
All feasts, societies, and throngs of men !
His semblable, yea, himself, Timon disdains :
Destruction fang > mankind ! — Earth, yield me
roots! [Dicing.
Who seeks for better of thee, sauce his palate
' Haaty, precipitate » Propensity, disposition.
* But bjf u here used for without. ' Seize, gripe.
688
TIMON OF ATHENS.
Act IV.
With thy most operant poison ! What is here !
Gold? yellow, glittering, precious gold? No, gods,
I am no idle votarist. Roots, you clear heavens !
Thus much of this, will make black, white ; foul,
fair;
Wrong, right ; base, noble ; old, young ; coward,
valiant.
Ha, you gods ! why this ? What this, you gods ?
Why this
Will lug your priests and servants from your sides;
Pluck stout men's pillows from below their heads :
This yellow slave
Will knit and break religions ; bless the accurs'd ;
Make the hoar leprosy ador'd ; place thieves,
And give them title, knee, and approbation,
With senators on the bench : this is it.
That makes the wappen'd - widow wed again ;
[March afar off.'] — Ha? a drum? — Thou'rt quick,
But yet I'll bury thee : Thou'lt go, strong thief.
When gouty keepers of thee cannot stand : —
Nay, stay thou out for earnest. [Keeping some Gold.
Enter Alcibiades, with Drum and Fife, in warlike
manner.
Aldb. What art thou there?
Tim. A beast, as thou art. The canker gnaw
thy heart,
For showing me again the eyes of man !
Alcib. What is thy name ? Is man so hateful to
thee,
That art thyself a man ?
Tim. I am misanthropes, and hate mankind.
For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog.
That I might love thee something.
Alcib. I know thee well :
But in thy fortunes am unleam'd and strange.
Tim. I know thee too ; and more, than that I
know thee,
I not desire to know. Follow thy drum ;
With man's blood paint the ground, gules, gules :
Religious canons, civil laws are cruel;
Then what should war he ?
Alcib. How came the noble Timon to this change?
Tim. As the moon does, by wanting light to give :
But then renew I could not, like the moon ;
That were no suns to borrow of.
Alcib, Noble Timon,
What friendship may I do thee ?
Tim. None, but to
Maintain my opinion.
Alcib. What is it, Timon ?
Tim. Promise me friendship, but perform none : If
Thou wilt not promise, the gods plague thee, for
Thou art a man ! if thou dost perform, confound thee,
For thou'rt a man !
Alcib. I have heard in some sort of thy miseries.
Tim. Thou saw'st them, when I had prosperity.
Alcib. I see them now : then was a blessed time.
I have but little gold of late, brave Timon,
The want whereof doth daily make revolt
In my penurious band; I have heard, and griev'd.
How cursed Athens, mindless of thy worth.
Forgetting thy great deeds, when neighbour states,
But for thy sword and fortune, trod upon them, —
Tim. I pr'y thee, beat thy drum, and get thee gone.
Alcib. I am thy friend, and pity thee, dear Timon.
Tim. How dost thou pity him, whom thou dost
trouble ?
I had rather be alone. |
* Sorrowful !
!
Alcib. Why, fare thee well :
Here's some gold for thee.
Tim. Keep't, I cannot eat it.
Alcib. When I have laid proud Athens on a
heap,
Tim. Warr'st thou against Athens ?
Alcib. Ay, Timon, and have cause.
Tim. The gods confound them all i'thy conquest ;
and
Thee after, when thou hast conquer'd !
Alcib. Why me, Timon?
Tim. That
By killing villains, thou wast born to conquer
My country.
Put up thy gold : Go on, — here's gold, ^go on ;«
Be as a planetary plague, when Jove
Will o'er some high-vic'd city hang his poison
In the sick air : Let not thy sword skip one :
Pity not honour'd age for his white beard.
He's an usurer : Strike me the counterfeit matron ;
It is her habit only that is honest.
Let not the virgin's cheek
Make soft thy trenchant 3 sword ; spare not the babe.
Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust tlieir
mercy ;
Think it a bastard <, whom the oracle
Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat shall cut.
And mince it sans remorse ^ : Swear against objects ^ :
Put armour on thine ears, and on thine eyes ;
Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes.
Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding,
Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy soldiers .
Make large confusion ; and, thy fury spent.
Confounded be thyself ! speak not, be gone.
Alcib. Hast thou gold yet? I'll take the gold
thou giv'st thee !
Not all thy counsel.
Tim. Dost thou, or dost thou not, heaven's curse
upon thee !
Alcib. Strike up the drum towards Athens.
Farewell, Timon !
If I thrive well, I'll visit thee again.
Tim. If I hope well, I'll never see thee more.
Alcib. I never did thee harm.
Tim. Yes, thou spok'st well of me.
Alcib. Call'st thou that harm ?
Tim. Men daily find it such. Get thee away.
Alcib. We but offend him. —
Strike. [Drum beats. Exit Alcibiades.
Tim. That nature, being sick of man's unkind-
ness.
Should yet be hungry ! — Common mother, thou
[Digging.
Whose womb unmeasurable, and infinite breast.
Teems, and feeds all ; whose self-same mettle.
Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puff'd,
Engenders the black toad, and adder blue.
The gilded newt, and eyeless venom'd worm 7,
With all the abhorred births below crisp » heaven
Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth shine ;
Yield him, who all thy human sons doth hate.
From forth thy plenteous bosom one poor root !
Ensear thy fertile and conceptious womb.
Let it no more bring out ungrateful man !
Go great with tigers, dragons, wolves, and bears ;
Teem with new monsters, whom thy upward face
' Cutting. 4 An allusion to the tale of Oedipus.
» Without pity.
* t c. Against objects of charity and compassion.
7 The serpent called the blind worm. '^ Curved.
I
II
II
JL
Scene III.
TIMON OF ATHENS.
639
Hath to the marbled mansion all above
Never presented ! — O, a root, — Dear thanks !
Dry up thy marrows, vines, and plough-torn leas :
Wliereof ingrateful man, with liquorish draughts,
And morsels unctuous, greases his pure mind,
That from it all consideration slips !
Enter Apemantus.
More man ? Plague ! plague !
Apem. I was directed hither : Men report,
Thou dost affect my manners, and dost use tlicm.
Tim. 'Tis then, because thou dost not keep a dog
Whom I would imitate : consumption catch thee !
Apem. This is in thee a nature but affected ;
A poor unmanly melancholy, sprung
From change of fortune. Why this spade? this place?
This slave-like habit, and these looks of care ?
Thy flatterers yet wear silk, drink wine, lie soft.
Hug their diseas'd perfumes, and have forgot
That ever Timon was. Shame not these woods.
By putting on the cunning of a carper.
13e thou a flatterer now, and seek to thrive
By that which has undone thee : hinge thy knee,
And let his very breath, whom thou'lt observe,
Blow off* thy cap ; praise his most vicious strain,
And call it excellent; thou wast told thus ;
Thou gav'st thine ears, like tapsters, that bid welcome.
To knaves, and all approachers : 'Tis most just,
That thou turn rascal ; hadst thou wealth again.
Rascals should have't Do not assume my likeness.
Tim. Were I like thee, I'd throw away myself.
Apem. Tliou hast cast away thyself, being like
thyself;
A madman so long, now a fool : What, think'st
That the bleak air, thy boisterous chamberlain,
Will put thy shirt on warm ? Will these moss'd trees,
That have outliv'd the eagle, page thy heels,
And skip when thou point'st out? Will the cold
brook,
Candied with ice, caudle thy morning taste.
To cure thy o'er-night surfeit ? call the creatures, —
Whose naked natures live in all the spite
Of wreakful heaven ; whose bare unhoused trunks,
To the conflicting elements expos'd.
Answer mere nature, — bid tliem flatter thee ;
O ! thou Shalt find
Tim. A fool of thee : Depart.
Apem. I love thee better now than e'er I did.
Tim. I hate thee worse.
Apem. Why ?
Tim. Thou flatter'st misery.
Aj}em. I flatter not ; but say thou art a caitiff".
2Yw. Why dost thou seek me out ?
Afxm. To vex thee.
Tim. Always a villain's office, or a fool's.
Dost please thyself in't ?
Ajyem. Ay.
Tim. What ! a knave too ?
Apem. If thou didst put this sour cold habit on
To castigate thy pride, 'twere well : but thou
Dost it enforcedly ; tliou'dst courtier be again,
Wert thou not beggar. Willing misery
Outlives uncertain pomp, is crown'd before 9 :
Tlie one is filling still, never complete ;
The other, at high wisli : Best state, contentlcss.
Hath a distracted and most wretched being,
Worse than the worst, content.
Thou shouldst desire to die, being miserable.
Tim. Not by his breath ' that is more miserable.
9 I. e. Arrives sooner at the completion of it« withet.
> By his voice, sentence
Thou art a slave, whom fortune's tender arm
With favour never clasp'd ; but bred a dog.
Hadst thou, like us, from our first swath ^ pro-
ceeded,
TTie sweet degrees that this brief world affords
To such as may the passive drugs of it
Freely command, thou wouldst have plung'd thyself
In gen'ral riot ; and have never learn 'd
The icy precepts of respect, but folio w'd
The sugar'd game before thee. But myself.
Who had the world as my confectionary ;
The mouths, the tongues, the eyes and hearts of men
At duty, more than I could frame employment ;
That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves
Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush
Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare
For every storm that blows ; — I to bear this.
That never knew but better, is some burden :
Thy nature did commence in sufferance, time
Hath made thee nard in't. W^hy shouldst thou hate
men?
They never flatter'd thee : What hast thou given ?
Poor rogue hereditary. Hence ! be gone ! —
If thou hadst not been born the worst of men,
Thou hadst been a knave, and flatterer.
Apem. Art thou proud yet?
Tim. Ay, that I am not thee.
Apem. I, that I was
No prodigal.
Tim. I, that I am one now ;
Were all the wealth I have, shut up in thee,
I'd give thee leave to hang it. Get thee gone. —
That the whole life of Athens were in this !
Thus would I eat it. [Eatijig a Hoot.
Apem. Here ; I will mend thy feast.
[Offering him something,
Tim. First mend my company, take away thyself.
Apem. So I shall mend mine own, by the lack of
thine.
Tim. 'Tis not well mended so, it is but botch'd;
If not, I would it were.
Apem. What wouldst thou have to Athens ?
Tim. Thee thither in a whirlwind. If thou wilt
Tell them there, I have gold ; look, so I have.
Apem. Here is no use for gold.
Tim. Tlie best and truest ;
For here it sleeps, and does no hired harm.
Apem. Where ly'st o'nights, Timon ?
Tim. Under that's above me.
Where feed'st thou o'days, Apemantus ?
Apem. Where my stomach finds meat ; or, rather,
where I eat it.
THm. Would poison were obedient, and knew my
mind !
Apem. Where wouldst thou send it ?
Tim. To sauce thy dishes.
Apem. The middle of humanity thou never
knewest, but the extremity of both ends : When
thou wast in thy gilt, and thy perfume, they mocked
thee for too much curiosity ' ; in thy rags thou
knowest none, but art despised for the contrary.
There's a medlar for thee, eat it.
Tim. On what I hate, I feed not,
Ajyem. Dost hate a medlar?
Tim. Ay, though it look like thee.
A])em. An thou hadst hated medlars sooner, thou
shouldst have loved thyself better now. What man
didst thou ever know unthrift, tliat was beloved after
his means?
^ From infancy.
' For too much finical delicacy.
640
TIMON OF ATHENS,
Act IV
THm. Who, without those means thou talkcst of,
didst thou ever know beloved ?
Apem. Myself.
Tim. I understand thee ; thou hadst some means
to keep a dog.
Apem. What things in the world canst thou
nearest compare to thy flatterers ?
Tim. Women nearest : but men, men are the
things themselves. What wouldst thou do with the
world, Apemantus, if it lay in thy power ?
Apem. Give it the beasts, to be rid of the men.
Tim. Wouldst thou have thyself fall in the con-
fusion of men, and remain a beast with the beasts ?
Apem. Ay, Timon.
Tim. A beastly ambition, which the gods grant
thee to attain to ! If thou wert the lion, the fox
would beguile thee : if thou wert the lamb, the fox
would eat thee : if thou wert the fox, the lion would
suspect thee, when, peradventure, thou wert accused
by the ass : if thou wert the ass, thy dulness would
torment thee; and still thou livedst but as a break-
fast to the wolf : if thou wert the wolf, thy greedi-
ness would afflict thee, and oft thou shouldst hazard
thy life for thy dinner : wert thou the unicorn, pride
and wrath would confound thee, and make thine
own self the conquest of thy fury : wert thou a bear,
thou wouldst be killed by the horse : wert tliou a
horse, thou wouldst be seized by the leopard : wert
thou a leopard, thou wert german to the lion, and
the spots of thy kindred were jurors on thy life : all
tliy safety were remotion^ ; and thy defence, absence.
What beast couldst thou be, that were not subject to
a beast? and what a beast art thou already, that
seest not thy loss in transformation ?
Apem. If thou couldst please me with speaking
to me, thou mightst have hit upon it here : The com-
monwealth of Athens is become a forest of beasts.
Tim. How has the ass broke the wall, that thou
art out of the city ?
Apem. Yonder comes a poet and a painter : The
plague of company light upon thee ! I will fear to
catch it, and give way : When I know not what else
to do, I'll see thee again.
Tim. When there is nothing living but thee, thou
shalt be welcome. I had rather be a beggar's dog,
than Apemantus.
Apem. Thou art the cap ^ of all the fools alive.
l^im. Away,
Thou tedious rogue ! I am sorry, I shall lose
A stone by thee. [ Throws a Stone at him.
Apem. Beast !
Tim. Slave !
Apem. Toad !
Tim. Rogue^ rogue, rogue !
[Apemantus retreats backward, as going.
I am sick of this false world ; and will love nought
But even the mere necessities upon it.
Then, Timon, presently prepare thy grave ;
Lie where the light foam of the sea may beat
Thy grave-stone daily ; make thine epitaph.
That death in me at others' lives may laugh.
O thou sweet king-killer, and dear divorce
[Loo/cing on the Gold.
'Twixt natural son and sire ! thou bright defiler
Of Hymen's purest bed ! thou valiant Mars !
Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd and delicate wooer,
Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow
ITiat lies on Dian's lap ; thou visible god,
* Remoteness; the being placed at a distance from the lion.
* The top, the principal. I
That solder*8t close impossibilities.
And mak'st them kiss ! that speak'st with every
tongue.
To every purpose ! O thou touch ^ of hearts !
Think, thy slave man rebels ; and by thy virtue
Set them into confounding odds, that beasts
May have the world in empire !
Apem. 'Would 'twere so ; —
But not till I am dead ! — I'll say, thou hast gold •
Thou wilt be throng'd to shortly.
Tim. Throng'd to ?
Apem. Ay.
Tim. Thy back, I pr'ythee.
Apem. Live, and love thy misery !
Tim» Long live so, and so die ! — I am quit. —
{^Exii ArEMANTus.
More things like men ? — Eat, Timon, and abhor
them.
Enter Thieves.
1 Thief. Where should he have this gold ? It is
some poor fragment, some slender ort of his re-
mainder : The -mere want of gold, and the falHng-
from of his fiiends, drove him into this melancholy.
2 Thief. It is noised, he hath a mass of treasure.
3 Thief Let us make the assay upon him : if he
care not for't, he will supply us easily ; If he covet-
ously reserve it, how shall's get it ?
2 Thief. True ; for he bears it not about him, 'tis hid.
1 Thief. Is not this he?
Thieves. Where?
2 Thief. 'Tis his description.
3 Thief He ; I know him.
Thieves. Save thee, Timon.
Tim. Now, thieves?
Thieves. Soldiers, not thieves.
Tim. Both too ; and women's sons.
Thieves. We are not thieves, but men that much
do want.
Tim. Your greatest want is, you wantmuch of meat.
Why should you want ? Behold the earth hath roots ;
Within this mile break forth a hundred springs :
The oaks bear masts, the briars scarlet hips ;
The bounteous housewife, nature, on each bush
Lays her full mess before you. Want ? why want ?
1 Thief. We cannot live on grass, on berries, v» ater,
As beasts, and birds, and fishes.
Tim. Nor on the beasts themselves, the birds, and
fishes J
You must eat men. Yet thanks I must you con,
That you are thieves profess'd ; that you work not
In holier shapes : for there is boundless theft
In limited? professions. Rascal thieves,
Here's gold : Go, suck the subtle blood of the grape,
Till the high fever seeth your blood to froth,
And so 'scape hanging : trust not the physician ;
His antidotes are poison, and he slays
More than you rob : take wealth and lives together
Do villainy, do, since you profess to do't,
Like workmen. I'll example you with thievery :
The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction
Robs the vast sea : the moon's an arrant thief.
And her pale fire she snatches from the sun :
The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves
The moon into salt tears : each thing's a thief ;
The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power
Have uncheck'd theft. Love not yourselves : away,
Rob one another. There's more gold : Cut throats ;
All that you meet are thieves : To Athens, go.
I
* Touchstone.
Legal.
Act V. Scene I.
TIMON OF ATHENS.
641
Break open shops ; nothing can you steal,
But thieves do lose it ; Steal not less, for this
I give you ; and gold confound you howsoever !
[TiMON retires to his Cave.
3 Thief. He has almost charmed me from my
profession, l)y persuading me to it.
1 Thief. 'Tis in the malice of mankind, that he
thus advises us ; not to have us thrive in our mystery.
2 Thief. I'll believe him as an enemy, and give
over my trade.
1 Thief. Let us first see peace in Athens : There
is no time so miserable, but a man may be true.
lExeutit Thieves.
Enter Flavius.
Flav. O you gods !
Is yon despis'd and ruinous man my lord ?
Full of decay and failing ? O monument
And wonder of good deeds evilly betow'd !
What an alteration of honour has
Desperate want made !
What viler thing upon the earth, than friends,
Who can bring noblest minds to basest ends !
How rarely 8 does it meet with this time's guise,
When man was wish'd to love his enemies :
Grant, I may ever love, and rather woo
Those that would mischief me, than those that do !
He has caught me in his eye : I will present
My honest grief unto liim ; and, as my lord.
Still serve him with my life. — My dearest master !
TiMON comes forward from Ids Cave.
Tim. Away ! what art thou ?
Flav. Have you forgot me, sir?
Tim. Why dost ask that ? I have forgot all men ;
Then if thou grant'st thou'rt man, I have forgot thee.
Flav. An honest poor servant of yours.
Tim. Then
I know thee not : I ne'er had honest man
About me, I ; all that I kept were knaves,
To serve in meat to villains.
Flav. The gods are witness.
Ne'er did poor steward wear a truer grief
For his undone lord, than mine eyes for you.
Tim. What, dost thou weep ? — Come nearer ; —
then I love thee,
Because thou art a woman, and disclaim'st
Flinty mankind ; whose eyes do never give,
But thorough lust, and laughter. Pity's sleeping :
Strange times, that weep with laughing, not witli
weeping !
Flav. I beg of you to know me, good my lord,
To accept my grief, and whilst this pooi wealth lasts,
To entertain me as your steward still.
Tim. Had I a steward so true, so just, and now
So comfortable ? It almost turns
My dangerous nature wild. Let me behold
Thy face. — Surely, this man was born of woman. —
Forgive my general and exceptless rashness.
Perpetual-sober gods ! I do proclaim
One honest man, — mistake me not, — but one ;
No more, I pray, — and he is a steward. —
How fain would I have hated all mankind.
And thou redeem'st thyself: But all, save thee,
I fell with curses.
Methinks, thou art more honest now, than wise ;
For, by oppressing and betraying me.
Thou mightst have sooner got another service :
For many so arrive at second masters,
Upon their first lord's neck. But tell me true,
(For I must ever doubt, though ne'er so sure,)
Is not thy kindness subtle, covetous,
If not a usuring kindness : and as rich men deal gifts,
Expecting in return twenty for one ?
Flav. No, my most worthy master, in whose breast
Doubt and suspect, alas, are plac'd too late :
You should have fear'd false times, when you did feast :
Suspect still comes where an estate is least.
That which I show, heaven knows, is merely love.
Duty and zeal to your unmatched mind.
Care of your food and living : and, believe it,
My most honour'd lord.
For any benefit that points to me,
Either in hope, or present, I'd exchange
For this one wish. That you had power and wealth
To requite me, by making rich yourself-
Tim. Look thee, 'tis so ! — Thou singly honest man.
Here take : — the gods out of my misery
Have sent thee treasure. Go, live rich, and happy :
But thus condition'd ; Thou shalt build from men 9;
Hate all, curse all : show charity to none ;
But let the famish'd flesh slide from the bone.
Ere thou relieve the beggar : give to dogs
What thou deny'st to men ; let prisons swallow them,
Debts wither them : Be men like blasted woods.
And may diseases lick up their false bloods !
And so farewell, and thrive.
Flav. O, let me stay.
And comfort you, my master.
Tim, If thou hat'st
Curses, stay not ; fly, whilst thou'rt bless'd and free:
Ne'er see thou man, and let me ne'er see thee.
[^Exeunt severally.
ACT V,
SCENE I. — Before Timon's Cave.
Enter Poet and Painter ; Timon behind, unseen.
Pain. As I took note of the place, it cannot be
far where he abides.
Poet What's to be thought of him ? Does tlie
rumour hold for true, that he is so full of gold ?
Pain. Certain : Alcibiades reports it ; and he
enriched poor straggling soldiers with great quan-
tity : *Tis said, he gave unto his steward a mighty
sum.
Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but a
try for his friends.
• How happily.
Pain. Nothing else : you shall see him a palm in
Athens again, and flourish with the highest. There-
fore, 'tis not amiss, we tender our loves to him, in
this supposed distress of his : it will show honestly
in us ; and is very likely to load our purposes with
what they travel for, if it be a just and true report
that goes of his having.
Poet. What have you now to present unto him ?
Pain. Nothing at this time but my visitation :
only I will promise him an excellent piece.
Poet. I must serve him so too ; tell him of an
intent tliat's coming toward him.
Pain. Good as the best. Promising is the very
• Away from human habitation.
Tt
64.2
TIMON OF ATHENS.
Act V.
air o'the time : it opens the eyes of expectation :
performance is ever the duller for his act; and, but
in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed
of saying ' is quite out of use. To promise is most
courtly and fashionable : performance is a kind of
will or testament, which argues a great sickness in
his judgment that makes it.
Tim. Excellent workman ! Thou canst not paint
a man so bad as is thyself.
Poet. I am thinking, what I shall say I have
provided for him : It must be a personating of
himself: a satire against the softness of prosperity ;
with a discovery of the infinite flatteries, that follow
youth and opulency.
Tim. Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine
own work ? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in
other men ? Do so, I have gold for thee.
Poet. Nay, let's seek him :
Then do we sin against our own estate,
When we may profit meet, and come too late.
Pain. True;
When the day serves, before black- comer'd night,
Find what thou want'st, by free and oiFer'd light.
Come.
Tim. I'll meet you at the turn. What a god's gold,
That he is worshipp'd in a baser temple,
Than where swine feed !
'Tis thou that rigg'st the bark, and plough'st the
foam ;
Settlest admired reverence in a slave :
To thee be worship ! and thy saints for aye
Be crown'd with plagues, that thee alone obey !
'Fit I do meet them. [^Advancing.
Poet, Hail, worthy Timon !
Pain. Our late noble master.
Tim. Have I once liv'd to see two honest men ?
Poet. Sir,
Having often of your open bounty tasted.
Hearing you were retired, your friends fall'n off.
Whose thankless natures — O abhorred spirits !
Not all the whips of heaven are large enough —
What ! to you !
Whose star-like nobleness gave life and influence
To their whole being ! I'm rapt, and cannot cover
The monstrous bulk of this ingratitude
With any size of words.
Tim. Let it go naked, men may see't the better:
You, that are honest, by being what you are,
Make them best seen, and known.
Pain. He, and myself,
Have travell'd in the great shower of your gifts.
And sweetly felt it.
Tim. Ay, you are honest men.
Pain. We are hither come to offer you our service.
Tim. Most honest men ! Why, how shall I re-
quite you ?
Can you eat roots, and drink cold water ? no.
Both. What we can do, we'll do, to do you service.
Tim. You are honest men : You have heard that
I have gold :.
I am sure you have : speak truth : you are honest
men.
Pain. So it is said, my noble lord : but therefore
Came not my friend, nor I.
Tim. Good honest men : — Thou draw'st a coun-
terfeit 'i
Best in all Athens : thou art, indeed, the best ;
Thou counterfeit'st most lively.
' The doing of that we said we would do.
' A portrait was so called.
Pain. So, so, my lord.
Tim. Even so, sir, as I say : — And, for thy fic-
tion, [ To the Poet.
Why thy verse swells with stuff so fine and sm.'oth,
That thou art even natural in thine art. —
But, for all this, my honest-natur'd friends,
I must needs say, you have a little fault :
Marry, 'tis not monstrous in you ; neither wish I,
You take much pains to mend.
Both. Beseech your honour,
To make it known to us.
Tim. You'll take it ill.
Both. Most thankfully, my lord.
Tim. Will you, indeed ?
Both. Doubt it not, worthy lord.
Tim. There's ne'er a one of you but trusts a knave,
That mightily deceives you.
Both. Do we, my lord ?
Tim. Ay, and you hear him cog, see him dis-
semble.
Know his gross patchery, love him, feed him.
Keep in your bosom : yet remain assur'd,
That he's a made-up villain. 3
Pain. I know none such, my lord.
Poet. Nor I.
Tim. Look you, I love you well ; I'll give you
gold.
Rid me these villains from your companies :
Hang them, or stab them, drown them in a draught.
Confound them by some course, and come to me,
I'll give you gold enough.
Both. Name them, my lord, let's know them.
Tim. You that way, and you this, but two in
company : —
Each man apart, all single and alone,
Yet an arch-villain keeps him company.
If, where thou art, two villains shall not be,
[To the Painter.
Come not near him. — If thou wouldst not reside
[To the Poet.
But where one villain is, then him abandon, —
Hence ! pack ! there's gold, ye came for gold, ye
slaves :
You have done work for me, there's payment :
Hence !
You are an alchemist, make gold of that :
Out, rascal dogs !
\_Exil, heating and driving them out*
SCENE U.^ The same.
Enter Flavius, and two Senators.
Flav. It is in vain that you would speak with
Timon ;
For he is set so only to himself.
That nothing but himself, which looks like man.
Is friendly with him.
1 Sen. Bring us to his cave :
It is our part, and promise to the Athenians,
To speak with Timon.
2 Sen. At all times alike
Men are not still the same : 'Twas time, and griefs.
That fram'd him thus : time, with his fairer hand.
Offering the fortunes of his former days.
The former man may make him : Bring us to him,
A nd chance it as it may.
Flav. Here is his cave. —
Peace and content be here ! Lord Timon ! Timon !
Look out, and speak to friends: The Athenians,
3 A complete, a finished villain.
I
Scene II.
TIMON OF ATHENS.
643
I
By two of their most reverend senate, greet thee :
Speak to them, noble Timon.
Enter Timon.
rim. Thou sun, that comfort'st, burn ! — Speak,
and be hang'd :
For each true word, a blister ! and each false
Be as a caut'rizing to tlie root o'the tongue,
Consuming it with speaking !
1 Sen. Worthy Timon —
Tim. Of none but such as you, and you of Timon.
2 Sen. The senators of Athens greet thee, Timon.
Tim. I thank them j and would send them back
the plague,
Could I but catch it for them.
1 Sen. O, forget
What we are sorry for ourselves in thee.
The senators, with one consent of love.
Entreat thee back to Athens ; who have thought
On special dignities, which vacant lie
For thy best use and wearing.
2 Sen. They confess,
Toward thee, forgetfulness too general, gross :
Wliich now the publick body, — which doth seldom
Play the recanter, — feeling in itself
A lack of Timon's aid, hath sense withal
Of its own fall, restraining aid to Timon :
And send forth us, to make their sorrow'd render'*,
Together with a recompence more fruitful
Than tlieir offence can weigh down by the dram ;
Ay, even such heaps and sums of love and wealth.
As shall to thee blot out what wrongs were theirs,
And write in thee the figures of their love.
Ever to read them thine.
Tim. You witch me in it ;
Surprise me to the very brink of tears :
Lend me a fool's heart, and a woman's eyes,
And I'll beweep these comforts, worthy senators.
1 Sen. Therefore, so please tliee to return with us.
And of our Athens (tliine, and ours,) to take
The captainship, thou shalt be met with thanks,
Allow'd * with absolute power, and thy good name
Live with authority : — so soon we shall drive back
Of Alcibiades the approaches wild ;
Who, like a boar too savage, doth root up
His country's peace.
2 iSm. And shakes his threat'ning sword
Against the walls of Athens.
1 Seru Therefore, Timon, —
Tim. Well, sir, I will j therefore, I will, sirj
Thus, —
If Alcibiades kill my countrymen.
Let Alcibiades know this of Timon,
That — Timon cares not. But if he sack fair Athens,
And take our goodly aged men by the beards.
Giving our holy virgins to the stain
Of contumelious, b«istly, mad-brain'd war ;
Then, let him know, — and tell him, Timon speaks it.
In pity of our aged, and our youth,
I cannot choose but tell him, that — I care not.
And let him take't at worst ; for their knives care
not
While you have throats to answer : for myself.
There's not a wliittle 6 in the unruly camp,
But I do prize it at my love, before
The reverend'st throat in Athens. So I leave you
To the protection of the prosperous ' gods,
As thieves to keepers.
Flav. Stay not, all's in vain.
* Confession.
• A clasp knife
» Licensed, uncontrolled.
' Propitious.
Tim. Why, I was writing of my epitaph.
It will be seen to-morrow ; My long sickness
Of health, and living, now begins to mend,
And nothing brings me all tilings. Go, live still ;
Be Alcibiades your plague, you his.
And last so long enough !
1 Sen. We speak in vain.
Tim. But yet I love my country ; and am not
One that rejoices in the common wreck.
As common bruit « doth put it.
1 Sen. That's well spoke.
Tim. Commend me to my loving countrymen, — :
1 Sen. These words become your lips as they pass
through them.
2 Sen. And enter in our ears like great tridmphers
In their applauding gates.
Tim. Commend me to them ;
And tell them, that to ease them of their griefs.
Their fears of hostile strokes, tlieir aches, losses.
Their pangs of love, with other incident throes
That nature's fragile vessel doth sustain
In life's uncertain voyage, I will some kindness do
them :
I'll teach them to prevent wild Alcibiades' wrath.
2 Sen. I like tliis well, he will return again.
Tim. I have a tree, which grows here in my close,
That mine own use invites me to cut down.
And shortly must I fell it : Tell my friends,
Tell Athens in the sequence of degree,
From high to low throughout, that whoso please
To stop affliction, let him take his haste.
Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe,
And hang himself: — I pray you, do my greeting.
Flav. Trouble him no further, thus you still shall
find him.
Tim. Come not to me again : but say to Athens,
Timon hath made his everlasting mansion
Upon the beached verge of the salt flood ;
Which once a day with his embossed froth
The turbulent surge shall cover ; thither come,
And let my grave-stone be your oracle. —
Lips, let sour words go by, and language end :
What is amiss, plague and infection mend !
Graves only be men's works ; and death, their gain !
Sun, hide thy beams ! Timon hath done his reign.
{Exit TiMON
1 Sen. His discontents are unremoveaI)ly
Coupled to nature.
2 Sen. Our hope in him is dead : let us return.
And strain what other means is left unto us
In our dears peril.
1 Sen. It requires swifl foot. [Eixunt*
SCENE lU.^The Walls of Athene
Enter two Senators, and a Messengen
1 Sen. Thou hast painfully discovered ; are his files
As full as thy report ?
Mess. I have spoke the least :
Besides, his expedition promises
Present approach.
2 Sen. We stand much hazard, if they bring not
Timon.
Mess. I met a courier, one mine ancient friend ; —
Whom, though in general part we were oppos'd.
Yet our old love made a particular force,
And made us speak like friends : — this man was
riding
From Alcibiades to Timon's cave.
With letters of entreaty, which imported
' Report, rumour. * Dreadful
Tt 2
644.
TIMON OF ATHENS.
Act V.
His fellowship i'the cause against your city,
In part for his sake mov'd.
Enter Senators from Timon.
1 Sen. Here come our brothers.
2 Sen. No talk of Timon, nothing of him ex-
pect. —
The enemies' drum is heard, and fearful scouring
Doth choke the air with dust : in and prepare ;
Ours is the fall, I fear ; our foes, the snare.
{^Exeunt.
SCENE IV.^ The Woods. Tlmon' s Cave, and a
Tomb-stone seen.
Enter a Soldier, seeking Timow.
Sol. By all description this should be the place.
"Who's here ? speak, ho ! — No answer ? — What is
this?
Timon is dead, who hath outstretch'd his span :
Some beast rear'd this ; there does not live a man.
Dead, sure ; and this his grave. —
What's on this tomb I cannot read ; the character
I'll take with wax.
Our captain hath in every figure skill ;
An ag'd interpreter, though young in days :
Before proud Athens he's set down by this.
Whose fall the mark of his ambition is. {^Exit.
SCENE V. — Before the Walls of Athens.
Trumpets sound. Enter Alcibiades, and Forces.
Alcib. Sound to this coward and lascivious town
Our terrible approach. \_A Parley sounded.
Enter Senators on the Walls.
Till now you have gone on, and fill'd the time
With all licentious measure, making your wills
The scope of justice; till now, myself, and such
As slept within the shadow of your power.
Have wander'd with our travers'd arms i, and
breath'd
Our sufferance vainly ; Now the time is flush %
When crouching marrow, in the bearer strong,
Cries, of itself. No more : now breathless wrong,
Shall sit and pant in your great chairs of ease ;
And pursy insolence shall break his wind,
With fear and horrid flight.
1 Sen. Noble and young,
When thy first griefs were but a mere conceit,
Ere thou hadst power, or we had cause of fear.
We sent to thee ; to give thy rages balm.
To wipe out our ingratitude with loves
Above their quantity.
2 Sen. So did we woo
Transformed Timon to our city's love.
By humble message, and by promis'd means ;
We were not all unkind, nor all deserve
The common stroke of war.
1 Sen. These walls of ours
Were not erected by their hands, from whom
You have receiv'd your griefs : nor are they such.
That these great towers, trophies, and schools should
fall
For private faults in them.
2 Sen. Nor are they living
Who were the motives that you first went out ;
Shame, that they wanted cuiming, in excess
Hath broke their hearts. March, noble lord.
Into our city with thy banners spread :
By decimation, and a tithed death,
(If thy revenges hunger for that food,
1 Arms across. 2 Mature.
Which nature loathes,) take thou the destin'd tenth ;
And by the hazard of the spotted die.
Let die the spotted.
1 Sen. All have not offended ;
For those that were, it is not square 3 to take.
On those that are, revenges : crimes, like lands.
Are not inherited. Then, dear countryman.
Bring in thy ranks, but leave without thy rage :
Spare thy Athenian cradle, and those kin.
Which, in the bluster of thy wrath, must fall
With those that have offended : like a shepherd,
Approach the fold, and cull the infected forth,
But kill not all together.
2 5fen. What thou wilt,
Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile.
Than hew to't with thy sword.
1 Sen. Set but thy foot
Against our rampir'd gates, and they shall ope ;
So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before.
To say, thou'lt enter friendly.
2 Sen. Throw thy glove j
Or any token of thine honour else.
That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress,
And not as our confusion, all thy powers
Shall make their harbour in our town, till we
Have seal'd thy full desire.
Aldb. Then there's my glove ;
Descend, and open your uncharged ports "* ;
Those enemies of Timon's, and mine own.
Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof.
Fall, and no more : and, — to atone 5 your fears
With my more noble meaning, — not a man
Shall pass his quarter, or offend the stream
Of regular justice in your city's bounds.
But shall be remedied, to your publick laws
At heaviest answer.
Both. 'Tis most nobly spoken.
Alcib. Descend, and keep your words.
The Senators descend, and ojyen the Gates.
Enter a Soldier.
iSb^. My noble general, Timon is dead ;
Entomb'd upon the very hem o'the sea ;
And on his gravestone, this insculpture ; which
With wax I brought away, whose soft impression
Interprets for my poor ignorance.
Alcih. [Reads.] Here lies a wretched corse, of
wretched soul bereft :
Seek not my name : A plague consume you wicked
caitiff's left !
Here lie I, Timon ; who, alive, all living men did hate :
Pass by, and curse thy fU ; but pass, and stay not
here thy gait.
These well express in thee thy latter spirits ,
Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs,
Scorn'dst our brain's flow, and those our droplets
which
From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit
Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye
On thy low grave, on faults forgiven. Dead
Is noble Timon ; of whose memory
Hereafter more. — Bring me into your city,
And I will use the olive with my sword :
Make war breed peace ; make peace stint " war ;
make each
Prescribe to other, as each other's leech. 7
Let our drums strike. [Exeunt.
3 Not regular, not equitable. * Unattecked gates.
5 Reconcile. « Stop. ? Physician.
fo""
COKIOLANUS.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
Caius Marcius Coriolanus, a noble Roman.
Titus Lartius
cominius,
Menekius Agrippa, Friend to Coriolanus.
SiciNius Velutus,
Junius Brutus,
Young Marcius, Son to Coriolanus
A Roman Herald.
TuLLus AuFiDius, General of the Volscians.
Lieutenant to Aufidius.
Conspirators with Aufidius.
SCENE, partly in Rome, and partly in the Territories of the Volscians and Antiates
J- Generah against the Volscians.
A, Friend to Coriolanus.
j- Tribunes of the People.
A Citizen of Antium.
Tivo Volscian Guards.
VoLUMNiA, Mother to Coriolanus.
ViRGiLiA, Wife to Coriolanus.
Valeria, Friend to Virgilia.
Gentlewoman attending Virgilia.
Roman and Volscian Senators, Patricians, AUdi/es,
Lictors, Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers, Servants to
Aufidius, and other Attendants.
^
HK TrjIlNS AWAT ;
POWSJ. TAClffS I.FT D8 SHAMB HIM WIl H OCR KNECB.
CORIOLANUS.
ACT I.
SCENE I. — Rome. A Street.
Enter a Company of mutinous Citizens, with Slaves,
Clubs, and other Weapons.
1 Cit. Before we proceed any further, hear me
speak.
Cit. Speak, speak. [Several speakiiig at once.
1 Cit. You are all resolved rather to die, than to
famish ?
Cit. Resolved, resolved.
1 C7/. First, you know, Caius Marcius is chief
enemy to the people.
Cit. We know't, we know't.
1 Cit. Let us kill him, and we'll have corn at our
own price. Is't a verdict?
Cit. No more talking on't ; let it be done : away,
away.
2 Cit. One word, good citizens.
1 Cit. We are accounted poor citizens ; the pa-
tricians, good ' : What authority surfeits on, would
relieve us; If they would yield us but the super-
fluity, while it were wholesome, we might guess,
they relieved us humanely ! but they think, we are
too dear : the leanness that afflicts us, tlie object of
our misery, is an inventory to particularize their
abundance ; our sufferance is a gain to them. —
Let us revenge this witli our pikes, ere we become
rakes '-' : for the gods know, I speak this in hunger
for bread, not in thirst for revenge.
2 Cit. Would you proceed especially against Caius
Marcius ?
Cit. Against him first; he's a very dog to the
commonalty.
» Rich. » Thin aa raVcs.
2 Cit. Consider you what services he has done for
his country ?
1 CU. Very well ; and could be content to give
him good report for't, but that he pays himself with
being proud.
2 Cit. Nay, but speak not maliciously.
1 Cit. I say unto you, what he hath done famously,
he did it to that end : though soft conscienc'd men
can be content to say it was for his country, he
did it to please his mother, and to be partly proud j
which he is, even to the altitude of his virtue.
2 Cit. What he cannot help in his nature, you
account a vice in him : You must in no way say, he
is covetous.
1 Cit. If I must not, I need not be barren of
accusations ; he hath faults, with surplus, to tire in
repetition. \SlunUsu'ithin.'\ What shouts are these?
The other side o'the city is risen : Why stay we
prating here? to the Capitol.
Cit. Come, come.
1 CU. Soft ; wlio comes here ?
Enter Menenius Agrifpa.
2 Cit. Worthy IMenenius Agnppa; one that hath
always loved the people.
1 Cit. He's one honest enough ; 'Would, all the
rest were so !
Men. What work's, my countrymen, in hand ?
Where go you
With bats and clubs ? Tlie matter speak, I pray you.
1 Cit. Our business is not unknown to the senate ;
they have had inkling, this fortnight, what we intend
to do, wliich now we'll show *em in deeds. They
say, poor suitors have strong breaths ; they shall
know, we have strong arms too.
646
CORIOLANUS.
Act I.
Men. Why, masters, my good friends, mine honest
neighbours,
Will you undo yourselves ?
1 Cit. We cannot, sir, we are undone already.
Men. I tell you, friends, most charitable care
Have the patricians of you. For your wants,
Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well
Strike at tlie heaven with your staves, as lift them
Against the Roman state ; whose course will on
The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs
Of more strong link asunder, than can ever
A ppear in your impediment : For the dearth.
The gods, not the patricians, make it ; and
Your knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack,
You are transported by calamity
Thither where more attends you ; and you slander
The helms o'the state, who care for you like fathers,
When you curse them as enemies.
1 Cit. Care for us ! — True, indeed ! — They ne'er
cared for us yet. Suffer us to famish, and their
storehouses crammed with grain ; make edicts for
usury, to support usurers : repeal daily any whole-
some act established against the rich ; and provide
more piercing statutes daily, to chain up and re-
strain the poor. If the wars eat us not up, they
will ; and there's all the love they bear us.
Men. Either you must
Confess yourselves wondrous malicious,
Or be accus'd of folly. I shall tell you
A pretty tale ; it may be, you have heard it ;
But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture
To scale't^ a little more.
1 Cit. Well, I'll hear it, sir : yet you must not
think to fob off our disgrace with a tale : but, an't
please ycu, deliver.
Men. There was a time, when all the body's
members
Rebell'd against the belly ; thus accus'd it : —
That only like a gulf it did remain
I' the midst o' the body, idle and inactive.
Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing
Like labour with the rest ; where "i the other instru-
ments
Did see, and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel.
And, mutually participate, did minister
Unto the appetite and affection common
Of the whole body. The belly answered, —
1 Cit. Well, sir, what answer made the belly ?
Men. Sir, I shall tell you. — With a kind of smile,
Which ne'er came from the lungs, but even thus,
(For, look you, I may make the belly smile,
As well as speak,) it tauntingly replied
To the discontented members, the mutinous parts
That envied his receipt ; even so most fitly ^
As you malign our senators, for that
They are not such as you.
1 Cit. Your belly's answer : What
The kingly-crowned head, the vigilant eye.
The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier,
Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter.
With other muniments and petty helps
In this our fabrick, if that they
Men. What then ? —
'Fore me, this fellow speaks ? — What then ? what
then?
1 Cit. Should by the cormorant belly be re-
strain'd,
Who is the sink o' the body,
Men. Well, what then ?
3 Spread it. '^ Whereas. ^ Exactly.
1 Cit. The former agents, if they did complain,
What could the belly answer?
Men. I will tell you ;
If you'll bestow a small (of what you have little,)
Patience, a while, you'll hear the belly's answer.
1 at. You are long about it.
Men. Note me this, good friend ;
Your most grave belly, was deliberate,
Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer 'd :
True is it, my incorporate friends, quoth he,
That I receive the general food at first,
Which you do live upon : and fit it is ;
Because I am the storehouse, and the shop
Oftlie whole body : But if you do remember,
I send it through the rivers of your blood.
Even to the court, the heart, — to the seat o'the brain;
And, through the cranks^ and offices of man.
The strongest nerves, and small inferior veins.
From me receive that natural competency
Whereby they live : and though that all at once.
You, my good friends, (thissays the belly,) mark me, —
1 Cit. Ay, sir, well, well.
Men. Though all at once cannot
See what I do deliver out to each ;
Yet I can make my audit up, that all
From me do back receive thefiower of all.
And leave me but the bran. What say you to't ?
1 Cit. It was an answer : How apply you this ?
Men. The senators of Rome are this good belly,
And you the mutinous members : For examine
Their counsels, and their cares ; digest things rightly,
Touching the weal o' the common ; you shall find.
No publick benefit which you receive.
But it proceeds, or comes, from them to you.
And no way from yourselves. — What do you think ?
You the great toe of this assembly ? —
1 Cit. I the great toe ? Why the great toe ?
Men. For that being one o'the lowest, basest,
poorest.
Of this most wise rebellion, thou go'st foremost :
Thou rascal, that art worst in blood to run,
Lead'st first to win some vantage. —
But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs ;
Rome and her rats are at the point of battle,
The one side must have bale. 7 Hail, noble Marcius !
Enter Caius Marcius.
Mar. Thanks. — What's the matter, you dissen-
tious rogues?
1 Cit. We have ever your good word.
Mar. He that will give good words to thee, will
flatter
Beneath abhorring. — What would you have, you
curs,
That like nor peace, noi war ? the one affrights you,
The other makes you proud. He that trusts you,
Where he should find you lions, finds you hares ;
Where foxes, geese : You are no surer, no.
Than is the coal of fire upon the ice.
Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is.
To make him worthy, whose offence subdues him,
And curse that justice did it. Who deserves great-
ness.
Deserves your hate : and your affections are
A sick man's appetite, who desires most that
Which would increase his evil. He that depends
Upon your favours, swims with fins of lead.
And hews down oaks with .-ushes. Hang ye !
Trust ye !
6 Windings. ^ Bane.
Scene I.
CORIOLANUS
647
With every minute you do change a mind ;
And call him noble, that was now your hate,
Him vile, that was your garland. What's tlie matter,
That in these several places of the city
You cry against the noble senate, who,
Under the gods, keep you in awe, which else
Would feed on one another? — What's their seeking?
Meru For corn at their own rates j whereof they
say,
The city is well stor'd.
Mar. Hang 'em ! They say ?
They'll sit by the fire, and presume to know
What's done i'the Capitol : who's like to rise,
Who thrives, and who declines : side factions, and
give out
Conjectural marriages ; making parties strong,
And feebling such as stand not in tlieir liking.
Below their cobbled shoes. They say there's grain
enough ?
Would the nobility lay aside their ruth 8,
And let me use my sword, I'd make a quarry 9
With tliousands of these quarter'd slaves, as high
As I could pick ' my lance.
Meiu Nay, these are almost thoroughly per-
suaded ;
For though abundantly they lack discretion,
Yet are they passing cowardly. But I beseech you,
What says tlie other troop ?
Mar. They are dissolved : Hang *em !
They said they were an hungry ; sigh'd forth pro-
verbs ; —
That, hunger broke stone walls; that, dogs must eat;
That, meat was made for mouths ; that, the gods
sent not
Corn for the rich men only : — With these shreds
They vented their complainings ; which being an-
swer'd.
And a petition granted them, a strange one,
( To break the heart of generosity.
And make bold power look pale,) they threw their
caps
As they would hang them on the horns o'the moon,
Shouting their emulation. '^
Men. What is granted them ?
Mar. Five tribunes to defend their vulgar
wisdoms.
Of their own choice : One's Junius Brutus,
Sicinius Velutus, and I know not — 'Sdeath !
The rabble should have first unroofd the city.
Ere so prevail'd with me : it will in time
Win upon power, and throw forth greater themes
For insurrection's arguing.
Meiu This is strange.
Mar. Go, get you home, you fragments !
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Where's Caius Marcius?
Mar. Here, what's the matter?
Mess. The news is, sir, the Voices are in arms.
Mar. 1 am glad on't, then we shall have means
to vent
Our musty superfluity : — See, our best elders.
Enter Cominius, Titus Lartius, and other Sena-
tors; JuNirs BaoTus, and Sicimus Velutus.
1 Sen. Marcius, 'tis true, that you have lately
told us ;
The Voices are in arms.
" Pitv. rompassion » Heap of dead
> Pitch. « Faction.
Mar. They have a leader,
Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to't.
I sin in envying his nobility :
And were I any thing but what I am,
I would wish me only he.
Com. You have fought together.
Mar. Were half to half tie world by the ears,
and he
Upon my party, I'd revolt to make
Only my wars with him : he is a lion
That I am proud to hunt.
1 Sen. Then, worthy Mafcius,
Attend upon Cominius to these wars.
Com. It is your former promise.
Mar. Sir, it is ;
And I am constant. — Titus Lartius, thou
Shalt see ine once more strike at Tullus' face :
What, art thou stiff? stand'st out ?
Tit. No, Caius Marcius,
I'll lean upon one crutch, and fight with the other.
Ere stay beliiud this business.
Men. O, true bred !
1 Sen. Your company to the Capitol : where, I
know.
Our greatest friends attend us.
TU. Lead you on :
Follow, Cominius ; we must follow you ;
Right worthy your priority
Com. Noble Lartius !
1 Sen. Hence ! To your homes, be gone
[ To the Citizens.
Mar. Nay, let them follow :
The Voices have much corn ; take these rats thither,
To gnaw their garners ^ : — Worshipful mutineers,
Your valour puts well forth : pray, follow.
[Exeunt Senators, Com. Mar. Tit. and
Menek. Citizens steal away.
Sic. Was ever man so proud as is tliis Marcius ?
Jiru. He has no equal.
Sic. When we were chosen tribunes for the
people,
Bru. Mark'd you his lip, and eyes ?
Sic. Nay, but his taunts.
Bru. Being mov'd, he will not spare to gird* the
gods.
Sic. Bemock the modest moon.
Brtc. The present wars devour him : he is grown
Too proud to be so valiant.
Sic. Such a nature.
Tickled with good success, disdains the shadow
Which he treads on at noon : But I do wonder.
His insolence can brook to be commanded
Under Cominius.
Bru. Fame, at the which he aims, —
In whom already he is well grac'd, — cannot
Better be held, nor more attain'd than by
A place below the first : for what miscarries
Shall be the general's fault, though he perform
To the utmost of a man ; and giddy censure
Will then cry out of Marcius, O, if he
Had borne the business I
Sic. Besides, if things go well.
Opinion, that so sticks on Marcius, shall
Of his demerits * rob Cominius.
Bru. Come :
Half all Cominius' honours are to Marcius
Though Marcius earn'd tlicm not; and all his
faults
' Granaries.
* Demerits and Tn:>rits had anciently the same mMoing.
Tt 4
6i&
CORIOLANUS.
Act I.
To Marcius shall be honours, though, indeed,
In aught he merit not.
Sic. Let's hence, and hear
How the despatch is made ; and in what fashion,
More than in singularity, he goes
Upon his present action.
£ru. Let's along. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. — Corioli. The Senate- House.
Enter Tullus Aufidius, and certain Senators.
1 Sen. So, your opinion is, Aufidius,
That they of Rome are enter'd in our counsels.
And know how we proceed.
^uf. Is it not yours ?
What ever hath been thought on in this state,
That could be brought to bodily act, ere Rome
Had circumvention? 'Tis not four days gone.
Since I heard thence ; these are the words : I think,
I have the letter here ; yes, here it is : [Reads.
They have pressed a power, but it is not known
Whether for east, or west : The dearth is great ;
IVie people mutinous : and it is rumour d,
Cominius, Marcius, your old enemy,
( Who is of Rome worse hated than of you,)
And Titus Lartius, a most valiant RomMUi
These three lead on this preparation
Whither 'tis bent ; most likely, 'tis for you :
Consider of it.
1 Sen. Our army's in the field :
We never yet made doubt but Rome was ready
To answer us.
Auf. Nor did you think it folly,
To keep your great pretences veil'd, till when
They needs must show themselves ; which in the
hatching,
It seem'd, appear' d to Rome. By the discovery,
We shall be shorten'd in our aim ; which was.
To take in 6 many towns, ere, almost, Rome
Should know we were afoot.
2 Sen. Noble Aufidius,
Take your commission ; hie you to yoiu- bands :
Let us alone to guard Corioli ;
If they set down before us, for the femove
Bring up your army ; but, I think, you'll find
They have not prepar'd for us.
Auf. O, doubt not that j
I speak from certainties. Nay, more.
Some parcels of their powers are forth already.
And only hitherward. I leave your honours.
If we and Caius Marcius chance to meet,
'Tis sworn between us, we shall never strike
Till one can do no more.
All. The gods assist you !
Auf. And keep your honours safe !
1 Sen. Farewell.
2 Sen. Farewell.
All. Farewell. [Exeunt.
SCENE IIL
Rome. An Apartment in Mar-
cius' House.
Enter Volumnia and Vibgilia : They sit down on
two low Stools, and sew.
Vol. I pray you, daughter, sing ; or express your-
self in a more comfortable sort ; If my son were
my husband, I should freelier rejoice in that absence
wherein he won honour, than in the embracements
6 To subdue.
where he would show most love. When yet he
was but tender-bodied, and was my only son ; when
youth with comeliness plucked all gaze his way ;
when for a day of kings' entreaties, a mother should
not sell him an hour from her beholding ; I, —
considering how honour would become sucli a
person ; that it was no better than picture-like to
hang by the wall, if renown made it not stir, — was
pleased to let him seek danger where he was like to
find fame. To a cruel war 1 sent him ; from whence
he returned, his brows bound with oak. I tell thee,
daughter, — I sprang not more in joy at first hearing
he was a man-child, than now, in first seeing he had
proved himself a man.
Fir. But had he died in the business, madam ?
how then?
Vol. Then his good report should have been my
son ; I therein would have found issue. Hear me
profess sincerely : Had I a dozen sons, — each in
my love alike, and none less dear than thine and my
good Marcius, — I had rather had eleven die nobly
for their country, than one voluptuously surfeit out
of action.
Enter a Gentlewoman.
Gent, Madam, the lady Valeria is come to visit
you.
Vir. 'Beseech you, give me leave to retire myself.
Vol. Indeed, you shall not.
Methinks, I hear hither your husband's drum ;
See him pluck Aufidius down by the hair ;
As children from a bear, the Voices shunning him:
Methinks, I see him stamp thus, and call thus, —
Come on, you cowards, you were born in fear,
T'hough you were born in Rome : His bloody brow
With his mail'd hand then wiping, forth he goes j
Like to a harvest-man, that's task'd to mow
Or all, or lose his hire.
Vir. His bloody brow ! O, Jupiter, no blood !
Vol. Away, you fool ! it more becomes a man.
Than gilt 7 his trophy : The breasts of Hecuba,
When she did suckle Hector, look'd not lovelier
Than Hector's forehead, when it spit forth blood
At Grecian swords' contending. — Tell Valeria,
We are fit to bid her welcome. [Exit Gent.
Vir. Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius !
Vol. He'll beat Aufidius' head below his knee.
And tread upon his neck.
Re-enter Gentlewoman, wilh Valeria and her Usher,
Val. My ladies both, good day to you.
Vol. Sweet madam,
Vir. I am glad to see your ladyship.
Vol. How do you do both? you are manifest
housekeepers. What, are you sewing here ? A fine
spot, in good faith. — How does your little son ?
Vir. I thank your ladyship : well, good madam.
Vol. He had rather see the swords, and hear a
drum, than look upon his schooLmaster.
. Val. O' my word, the father's son : I'll swear, 'tis
a very pretty boy. I looked upon him o' Wednesday
half an hour together : he has such a confirmed
countenance. I saw him run after a gilded butter-
fly ; and when he caught it, he let it go again ; and
after it again ; and over and over he comes, and up
again ; catched it again : or whether his fall enraged
him, or how 'twas, he did so set his teeth, and tear
it ; O, I warrant, how he mammocked ^ it !
Vol. One of his father's moods.
' Gilding. » Tore.
Scene IV.
CORIOLANUS.
649
k
Val. Indeed, 'tis a noble child.
Vir. A cracks, madam.
Vcd. Come, lay aside your stitchery ; I must have
you play the idle huswife with me this afternoon.
Vir, No, good madam : I will not out of doors.
Val. Not out of doors !
Vol. Slie shall, she shall.
Vir. Indeed, no, by your patience: I will not
over the threshold, till my lord return from the wars.
Val. Fye, you confine yourself most unreasonably;
Come, you must go visit the good lady that lies in.
Vir. I will wish her speedy strength, and visit
her with my prayers ; but I cannot go thither.
Vol. Why, I pray you.
Vir. 'Tis not to save labour, nor that I want love.
Vol. You would be another Penelope : yet, they
say, all the yarn she spun, in Ulysses' absence, did
but fill Ithaca full of moths. Come ; I would, your
cambrick were sensible as your finger, that you
might leave pricking it for pity. Come, you shall
go with us.
Vir. No, good madam, pardon me ; indeed, I
will not forth.
Vol. In truth, go with me ; and I'll tell you ex-
cellent news of your husband.
Vir. O, good madam, there can be none yet.
Val. Verily, I do not jest with you ; there came
news from him last night.
Vir. Indeed, madam?
Vol. In earnest, it's true ; I heard a senator speak
it. Thus it is : — The Voices have an army forth ;
against whom Cominius the general is gone, with
one part of our Roman power : your lord, and Titus
Lartius, are set down before their city, Corioli ; they
nothing doubt prevailing, and to make it brief wars.
This is true, on mine honour : and so, I pray, go
with us.
Vir. Give me excuse, good madam ; I will obey
you in every thing hereafter.
Vol. Let her alone, lady ; as she is now, she will
but disease our better mirth.
Vol. In troth, I think, she would : — Fare you
well, then. — Come, good sweet lady. — Pr'ythee,
Virgil ia, turn thy solemness out o'door, and go along
with us.
Vir. No : at a word, madam ; indeed, I must
not. I wish you much mirtli.
Val. Well, then, farewell. {Exeunt.
SCENE IV.— Before Corioli.
Enter, with Drum and Colours, Marcius, Titus
Lartius, Officers and Soldiers. To them a Mes-
senger.
Mar. Yonder comes news : — A wager, they have
met.
Lart. My horse to yours, no.
Mar. 'Tis done.
Lort. Agreed.
Mar. Say, has our general met the enemy ?
Mess. They lie in view ; but have not spoke as
yet.
Lart. So the good horse is mine.
Mar. I'll buy him of you.
Lart. No, I'll nor sell, nor give him : lend you
him, I will,
For half a himdred years. — Summon the town.
Mar. How far off lie these armies ?
Mess. Within this mile and half.
» Boy.
Mar. Then shall we hear their 'larum, and they
ours.
Now, Mars, I pr'ythee make us quick in work ;
That we with smoking swords may march from
hence.
To help our fielded friends ■ — Come, blow thy blast.
They sound a Parley. Enter, on the Walls, some
Senators, and others.
Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls?
1 Sen. No, nor a man that fears you less than he.
That's lesser tlian a little. Hark, our drums
\_ Alarums afar off.
Are bringing forth our youth : We'll break our
walls.
Rather than they shall pound us up : our gates.
Which yet seem shut, we have but pinn'd with
rushes ;
They'll open of themselves. Hark, you, far off;
[Other Alarums,
There is Aufidius ; list what work he makes
Amongst your cloven army.
Mar. O, they are at it !
Lart. Their noise be our instruction. — Ladders,
ho!
JTie Voices enter, and 2>ass over the Stage.
Mar. They fear us not, but issue forth their city.
Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight
With hearts more proof than sliields. — Advance,
brave Titus:
They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts.
Which makes me sweat with wrath. — Come on, xnj
fellows ;
He that retires, I'll take him for a Voice,
And he shall feel mine edge.
Alarum, and exeunt Romans and Voices, Jlghting.
The Romans are beaten back to their T'renches.
Re-enter Marcius.
Mar. All the contagion of the south light on you,
You shames of Rome ! that you may be abhorr'd
Further than seen, you coward souls of geese.
That bear the shapes of men, how have you run
From slaves that apes would beat ? Pluto and hell !
All hurt behind ; backs red, and faces pale
With flight and agu'd fear ! Mend, and charge home,
Or, by the fires of heaven, I'll leave the foe.
And make my wars on you : look to't : Come on.
If you'll stand fast, we'll beat them to their wives,
As they us to our trenches followed.
Another Alarum. Tfie Voices and Romans re-enter,
and the Fight is renewed. The Voices retire into
Corioli, and Marcivs follows them to the Gates.
So, now the gates are ope : — Now prove good
seconds :
'Tis for the followers fortune widens them,
Not for the fliers : mark me, and do the like.
[He enters the Gates, atui is shut in.
1 Sol. Fool-hardiness; not I.
2 Sol. Nor I.
3 Sol. See, they
Have shut him in. [Alarum continues.
All. To the pot, I warrant him.
Enter Titus Lartius.
Lart. What is become of Marcius ?
All. Slain, sir, doubtless.
1 Sol. Following the fliers at the very heels.
650
CORIOLANUS.
Act I.
Witli them he enters : who, upon the sudden,
Clapp'd-to their gates ; he is himself alone,
To answer all the city.
Lart. O noble fellow !
Who, sensibly ', outdares his senseless^ sword,
And, when it bows, stands up ! Thou art left,
Marcius :
A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art.
Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier
Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible
Only in strokes ; but, with thy grim looks, and
The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds,
Tliou mad'st thine enemies shake, as if the world
Were feverous and did tremble.
Re-enter Marcius, bleeding, assaulted by the Enemy.
1 Sol. Look, sir.
Lart, 'Tis Marcius ;
Let's fetch him off, or make remain alike.
[Theyjig/it, and all enter the City.
SCENE V. — • Within the Town. A Street.
Enter certain Romans, with Spoils.
1 Rom. This will I carry to Rome.
2 Rom. And I this.
3 Rom. A murrain on't ! I took this for silver.
\_Alarum continues still afar off.
EnterMAJKCius, and Titus Lartius, wtVA a Trumpet.
Mar. See here these movers, that do prize their
hours
At a crack'd drachm 2 ! Cushions, leaden spoons,
Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would
Bury with those that wore them, these base slaves.
Ere yet the fight be done, pack up : — Down with
them. —
And hark, what noise the general makes ! — To
him: —
There is the man of my soul's hate, Aufidius,
Piercing our Romans : Then, valiant Titus, take
Convenient numbers to make good the city ;
Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste
To help Cominius.
Lart. Worthy sir, thou bleed'st;
Thy exercise hath been too violent for
A second course of fight.
Mar. Sir, praise me not :
My work hath yet not warm'd me : Fare you well.
The blood I drop is rather physical
Than dangerous to me : To Aufidius thus
I will appear, and fight.
Lart. Now the fair goddess, Fortune,
Fall deep in love with thee ; and her great charms
Misguide thy opposers' swords ! Bold gentleman.
Prosperity be thy page !
Mar. Thy friend no less
Than those she placeth highest ! So farewell.
Lart. Thou worthiest Marcius ! —
\^Exit Marcius.
Go, sound thy trumpet in the market place ;
Call thither all the officers of the town,
Where they shall know our mind : Away. [^Exeunt.
SCENE VI. — Near the Camp of Cominius.
Enter Cominius and Forces, retreating.
Com. Breathe you, my friends ; well fought, we
are come off
Having sensation, feeling.
2 A Roman coin.
Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands,
Nor cowardly in retire : believe me, sirs.
We shall be charg'd again. Whiles we have struck,
By interims, and conveying gusts, we have heard
The charges of our friends : — The Roman gods.
Lead their successes as we wish our own ;
That both our powers, with smiling fronts encoun-
tering.
Enter a Messenger.
May give you thankful sacrifice ! — Thy news ?
Mess. The citizens of Corioli have issued.
And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle :
I saw our party to their trenches driven.
And then I came away.
Com. Though thou speakst truth,
Methinks, thou speak'st not well. How long is't
since ?
Mess. Above an hour, my lord.
Com. 'Tis not a mile j briefly we heard their
drums;
How couldst thou in a mile confound 3 an hour,
And bring thy news so late?
Mess. Spies of the Voices
Held me in chase, that I was forc'd to wheel
Three or four miles about ; else had I, sir,
Half an hour since brought my report.
Enter Marcius.
Com. Who's yonder.
That does appear as he were flay'd ? O gods !
He has the stamp of Marcius j and I have
Before-time seen him thus.
Mar. Come I too late ?
Com. The shepherd knows not thunder from a
tabor,
More than I know the sound of Marcius' tongue
From every meaner man's.
Mar. Come I too late ?
Com. Ay, if you come not in the blood of others.
But mantled in your own.
Mar. O ! let me clip you ;
In arms as sound, as when I woo'd ; in heart
As merry, as on our nuptial day.
Com. Flower of warriors,
How is't with Titus Lartius ?
Mar. As with a man busied about decrees :
Condemning some to death, and some to exile ;
Ransoming him, or pitying, threat'riing the other ;
Holding Corioli in the name of Rome,
Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash.
To let him slip at will.
Com. WHiere is that slave.
Which told me they had beat you to your trenches?
Where is he ? Call him hither.
Mar. Let him alone,
He did inform the truth : But for our gentlemen,
The common file, (A plague ! — Tribunes for them !)
The mouse ne'er shunn'd the cat, as they did budge
From rascals worse than they.
Com. But how prevail'd you ?
Mar. Will the time serve to tell ? I do not think —
Where is the enemy? Are you lords o'the field?
If not, why cease you till you are so ?
Com. Marcius,
We have at disadvantage fought, and did
Retire to win our purpose.
Mar. How lies their battle ? Know you on which
side
They have plac'd their men of trust ?
^ Expend.
Scene VIII.
CORIOLANUS.
651
Com. As I guess, Marcius,
Their bands in the vaward ■♦ are the Antiates *,
Of their best trust : o'er them Aufidius,
Their very heart of hope.
Mar. I do beseech you,
By all the battles wherein we have fought,
By the blood we have shed together, by the vows
We have made to endure friends, that you directly
Set me against Aufidius, and his Antiates :
And that you not delay the present" ; but,
Filling the air with swords advanc'd, and darts.
We prove this very hour.
Coin. Though I could wish
You were conducted to a gentle bath.
And balms applied to you, yet dare I never
Deny your asking ; take your choice of those
The best can aid your action.
Mar. T^ose are they
That most are willing: — If any such be here,
(As it were sin to doubt,) that love this painting
Wherein you see me smear'd : if any fear
Lesser his person than an ill report ;
If any think, brave death outweighs bad life.
And that his country's dearer than himself ;
Let him, alone, or so many, so minded,
Wave thus, [^Waving his Hand.'] to express his dis-
position.
And follow Marcius.
[T/iey all shout, and wave their Swords: take
him up in their Arms, and cast up their Caps.
O me, alone ! Make you a sword of me ?
If tJicse shows be not outward, which of you
But is four Voices ? None of you but is
Able to bear against the great Aufidius
A shield as hard as his. A certain number,
Thougli thanks to all, must I select : the rest,
Shall bear the I)usiness in some other fight.
As cause will be obey'd. Please you to march ;—
And four shall quickly draw out my command,
Which men are best inclin'd.
Com. March on, my fellows :
Make good this ostentation, and you shall
Divide in all with us. [Exeunt.
SCENE VII. — The Gates of ConoM.
Titus Lartius, having set a Guard upon Corioli,
going with a Drum and Trumpet towards Comi-
Nius and Caius Marcius, enters with a Lieu-
tenant, a party of Soldiers, and a Scout.
Lart. So, let the ports ' be guarded : keep your
duties.
As I have set them down. If 1 do send, despatch
Those centuries » to our aid ; the rest will serve
For a short holding : if we lose the field.
We cannot keep the town.
Lieu. Fear not our care, sir.
Lart. Hence, and shut your gates upon us. —
Our guider, come ; to the Roman camp conduct us.
\^Ex€unl.
SCENE Wll. — A Field of Battle between the
Roman and the Volscian Camps.
Alarum. Enter Marcius and Aurioius.
Mar. I'll fight with none but thee ; for I do hate
thee
Worse than a promise-breaker.
« Front.
? Gates.
* Soldiers of Antium. « Pretent time.
" Companies of a hundred men.
Aif. We hate alike ;
Not Africk owns a serpent, I abhor
More than thy fame and envy : Fix thy foot.
Mar. Let the first budger die the other's slave.
And the gods doom liim after !
Auf. If I fly, Marcius,
lialluo me like a hare.
Mar. Within these three hours, Tullus,
Alone I fought in your Corioli walls,
And made what work I pleas'd ; 'Tis not my blood
Wherein thou seest me mask'd : for thy revenge.
Wrench up tliy power to the highest.
Auf Wert thou the Hector,
That was the whip of your bragg'd progeny.
Thou shouldst not scape me here. —
[They fight, and certain Voices come to the
aid of AvTimvs.
Officious, and not valiant — you have sham'd me
In your condemned seconds. '
[Exeunt fighting, driven in by Marcius.
SCENE IX. -^ The Roman Camp.
Alarum. A Retreat is sounded. Flourish. Enter,
at one side, Cominius, and Romans; at the other
side, Marcius, ivith his Arm in a Scarf, and other
Romans.
Com. If I should tell thee o'er this thy day's work,
Thou'lt not believe thy deeds : but I'll report it.
Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles ;
Where great patricians shall attend, and shrug,
I' the end, admire ; where ladies shall be frighted.
And, gladly quak'd '^, hear more ; where the dull
tribunes.
That, with the fusty plebeians, hate thine honours,
Shall say against their hearts — JVe thank the gods,
Our Rome hath such a soldier / —
Yet cam'st thou to a morsel of this feast.
Having fully dined before.
Enter Titus Lartius, urith his Power, from the
Pursuit.
Lart. O general.
Here is the steed, we the caparison :
Hadst thou beheld
Mar. Pray now, no more : my mother.
Who has a charter to extol her blood.
When she does praise me, grieves me. I have done.
As you have done ; that's what I can ; induc'd
As you have been ; that's for my country :
He, that has but effected his good M'ill,
Hath overta'en mine act.
Com. You shall not be
The grave of your deserving ; Rome must know
The value of her own : 'twere a concealment
Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement.
To hide your doings ; and to silence that.
Which to the spire and top of praises vouch 'd.
Would seem but modest ; Therefore, I beseech you,
( In sign of what you are, not to reward
What you have done,) before our army hear me.
Mar. I have some wounds upon me, and they
smart
To hear themselves remember'd.
Com. Should they not.
Well might they fester 'gainst ingratitude.
And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses
(Whereof we have ta'en good, and good store,) of all
> In affbrding such ill-timed help.
• Thrown into grateful trcpidatioa
652
CORIOLANUS.
Act II.
The treasure, in this field achiev'd, and city.
We render you the tenth ; to be ta'en forth,
Before the common distribution, at
Your only choice.
Mar. I thank you, general ;
But cannot make my heart consent to take
A bribe to pay my sword : I do refuse it j
And stand upon my common part with those
That have beheld the doing.
[J long Flourish. They all cry, Marcius ! Mar-
cius ! cast up their Caps and Lances : Cominius
and Lartius stand bare.
Mar. May these same instruments, which you
profane,
Never sound more ! When drums and trumpet shall
1* the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be
Made all of false-fac'd soothing ; When steel grows
Soft as the parasite's silk, let him be made
An overture for the wars ! No more, I say ;
For that I have not wash'd my nose that bled,
Or foil'd somedebile 3 wretch, — which, without note,
Here's many else have done, — you shout me forth
In acclamations hyperbolical ;
As if I loved my little should be dieted
In praises sauc'd with lies.
Com. Too modest are you ;
More cruel to your good report than grateful
To us that give you truly : by your patience,
If 'gainst yourself you be incens'd, we'll put you
(Like one that means his proper* harm,) in manacles,
Then reason safely with you. — Therefore, be it
known.
As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius
Wears this war's garland : in token of the which
My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him,
With all his trim belonging ; and, from this time.
For what he did before Corioli, call him.
With all the applause and clamour of the host,
Caius Marcius Coriolanus. —
Bear the addition nobly ever !
{^Flourish. Trumpets sound, and Drums.
All. Caius Marcius Coriolanus !
Cor. I will go wash ;
And when my face is fair, your shall perceive
Whether I blush, or no : Howbeit, I thank you.
I mean to stride your steed ; and, at all times.
To undercrest^ your good addition.
To the fairness of my power.
Com. So, to our tent :
Where, ere we do repose us, we will write
To Rome of our success. — You, Titus Lartius,
Must to Corioli back : send us to Rome
The best ^, with whom we may articulate, 7
For their own good, and ours.
Lart. I shall, my lord.
Cor. The gods begin to mock me. I that now
Refus'd most princely gifts, am bound to beg
Of my lord general.
Com. Take it : 'tis yours What is't ?
Cor. I sometime lay, here in Corioli,
3 Weak, feeble. < Own. ' Add more by doing his best.
8 Chief men. ^ Enter into articles.
At a poor man's house ; he us'd me kindly :
He cried to me ; I saw him prisoner ;
But then Aufidius was within my view.
And wrath o'erwhelm'd my pity : I request you
To give my poor host freedom.
Com, O, well begg'd
Were he the butcher of my son, he should
Be free, as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus.
Lart. Marcius, his name?
Cor. By Jupiter, forgot : —
I am weary ; yea, my memory is tir'd. —
Have we no wine here ?
Com. Go we to our tent :
The blood upon your visage dries : 'tis time
It should be look'd to : come. [^Exeunt.
SCENE X. — The Camp of the Voices.
A Flourish, Cornets. Enter Tullus Aufidius,
bloody, with two or three Soldiers.
Auf. The town is ta'en !
1 Sol. 'Twill be deliver'd back on good con-
dition.
Auf. Condition ! —
I would, I were a Roman ; for I cannot,
Being a Voice, be that I am. — Condition !
What good condition can a treaty find
I'the part that is at mercy ? Five times, Marcius,
I have fought with thee ; so often hast thou beat me ;
And wouldst do so, I think, should we encounter
As often as we eat. — By the elements.
If e'er again I meet him beard to beard.
He is mine, or I am his : Mine emulation
Hath not that honour in't, it had ; for where 8
I thought to crush him in an equal force,
( True sword to sword, ) I'll potch 9 at him some way ;
Or wrath, or craft, may get him.
1 Sol. He's the devil.
Auf. Bolder, though not so subtle : My valour's
poison'd.
With only suflering stain by him ; for him
Shall fly out of itself : nor sleep, nor sanctuary.
Being naked, sick : nor fane, nor Capitol,
The prayers of priests, nor times of sacrifice,
Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up
Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst
My hate to Marcius : where I find him, were it
At home, upon my brother's guard, even there
Against the hospitable canon, would I
Wash my fierce hand in his heart. Go you to the
city ;
Learn, how 'tis held ; and what they are, that must
Be hostages for Rome.
1 Sol. Will not you go ?
Auf. I am attended i at the cypress grove :
I pray you,
('Tis south the city mills,) bring me word thither
How the world goes ; that to the pace of it
I may spur on my journey.
1 Sol. I shall, sir. [Exeunt.
8 Whereas.
9 Poke, push.
1 Waited for.
Act II. Scene I.
CORIOLANUS.
653
ACT II.
SCENE. I. — Rome. A puUick Place.
Enter Menenius, Sicinius* and Brutus.
Men. The augurer tells me, we shall have news
to-night.
Bru. Good, or bad ?
Men. Not according to the prayer of the people,
for they love not Marcius.
Sic. Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.
Men. Pray you, who does the wolf love ?
Sic. The lamb.
Men. Ay, to devour him ; as the hungry ple-
beians would tlie noble Marcius.
Bru. He's a lamb indeed, that baes like a bear.
Men. He's a bear indeed, that lives like a lamb.
You two are old men j tell me one thing that I
shall ask you.
Both Trib. Well, sir.
Men. In what enormity is Marcius poor, that you
two have not in abundance ?
Bru. He's poor in no one fault, but stored with
all.
Sic. Especially in pride.
Bru. And topping all others in boasting.
Men. This is strange now ; Do you two know
how you are censured here in the city, I mean of
us o'the right hand file ? Do you ?
Both Trib. Why, how are we censured ?
Men. Because you talk of pride now, — Will you
not be angry ?
Both Trib. Well, well, sir, well.
Men. Why 'tis no great matter ; for a very little
thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of
patience : give your disposition the reins, and be
angry at your pleasures ; at the least, if you take
it as a pleasure to you, in being so. You blame
Marcius for being proud ?
Bru. We do it not alone, sir.
Men. I know, you can do very little alone ; for
your helps are many ; or else your actions would
grow wonderous single : your abilities are too in-
fant-like, for doing much alone. You talk of pride :
O, that you could turn your eyes towards the napes
of your necks, and make but an interior survey of
your good selves ! O, that you could !
Bru. What then, sir ?
Men. Why, then you should discover a brace of
unmeriting, proud, violent, testy magistrates, (alias
fools,) as any in Rome.
Sic. Menenius, you are known well enough too.
Men. I am known to be a humorous patrician,
and one that loves a cup of hot wine with not a
drop of allaying Tyber in't ; said to be something
imperfect, in favouring the first complaint: hasty,
and tinder-like, upon too trivial motion : what I
Uiink, I utter ; and spend my malice in my breath:
Meeting two such weals-men' as you are (I cannot
call you Lycurguses), if the drink you gave me,
touch my palate adversely, I make a crooked face
at it. I cannot say, your worships have delivered
the matter well, when I find the ass in compound
with the major part of your syllables : and though
I must be content to bear with those that say you
are reverend grave men ; yet they lie deadly, that
« SUtestnea
tell, you have good faces. If you see this in the
map of my microcosm, follows it, that I am known
well enough too ? What harm can your bisson 3
conspectuities glean out of this character, if I be
known well enough too ?
Bru. Come, sir, come; we know you well enough.
Men. You know neither me, yourselves, nor any
thing. You are ambitious for poor knaves' caps
and legs ; you wear out a good wholesome fore-
noon, in hearing a cause between an orange -wife
and a fosset-seller ; and then rejourn the contro-
versy of three-pence to a second day of audience.
— When you are hearing a matter between party
and party, you dismiss the controversy bleeding,
the more entangled by your hearing : all the peace
you make in their cause, is, calling both the parties
knaves : You are a pair of strange ones.
Bru. Come, come, you are well understood to be
a perfecter giber for the table, than a necessary
bencher in the Capitol.
Men. Our very priests must become mockers, if
they shall encounter such ridiculous subjects as you
are. When you speak best unto the purpose, it is
not worth the wagging of your beards ; and your
beards deserve not so honourable a grave, as to stuff
a botcher's cushion, or to be entombed in an ass's
pack-saddle. Yet you must be saying, Marcius is
proud ; who, in a cheap estimation, is worth all
your predecessors, since Deucalion ; though, per-
adventure, some of the best of them were hereditary
hangmen. Good e'en to your worships : more of
your conversation would infect my brain, being the
herdsmen of the beastly plebeians : I will be bold to
take my leave of you.
[Bru. and Sic. retire to the back of the Scene.
Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, and Valeria, ^c.
How now, my as fair as noble ladies, (and the moon
were she earthly, no nobler,) whither do you follow
your eyes so fast ?
Vol. Honourable Menenius ; my boy Marcius
approaches : for the love of Juno, let's go.
Men. Ha! Marcius coming home?
Vol. Ay, worthy Menenius; and with most pros-
perous approbation.
Men. Take my cap, Jupiter, and I tliank thee : —
Hoo ! Marcius coming home ?
Two Ladies. Nay, 'tis true.
Vol. Look, here's a letter from him : the state
hath another, his wife another; and, I think, there's
one at home for you.
Men. I will make my very house reel to-night :
— A letter for me ?
Vir. Yes, certain, there's a letter for you ; I
saw it.
Men. A letter for me? It gives me an estate of
seven years' health; in which time 1 will make a lip
at the physician : the most sovereign prescription
in Galen is to this preservative, of no better report
than a horse-drench. Is he not wounded ? he was
wont to come home wounded.
Vir. O, no, no, no.
V<d. O, he is wounded, I thank the gods for't.
Men. So do I too, if it be not too much : — Brings
' BUnd.
654-
CORIOLANUS.
Act II.
*a victory in liis pocket ? — Tlie wounds become
him.
Vol. Oil's brows, Menenius : he comes the tliird
time home with the oaken garland.
Meti. Has he disciplined Aufidius soundly ?
Fot. Titus Lartius writes, — they fought together,
but Aufidius got off.
Men. And 'twas time for him too, I'll warrant
him that : an he had staid by him, I would not have
been so fidiused for all the chests in Corioli, and
the gold that's in them. Is the senate possessed of
this?
Vol. Good ladies, let's go : — Yes, yes, yes:
the senate has letters from the general, wherein he
gives my son the whole name of the war : he hath
in this action outdone his former deeds doubly.
Val. In troth, there's wondrous things spoke of
him.
Men. Wondrous? ay, I warrant you, and not
without his true purchasing.
Vir. The gods grant them true !
Vol. True ? pow, wow.
Men. True ? I'll be sworn they are true : —
Where is he wounded? — Jove save your good
worships! [To the Tribunes, who come forward.]
Marcius is coming home : he has more cause to be
proud. — Where is he wounded ?
Vol. r the shoulder, and i' the left arm ; There
will be large cicatrices to show the people, when he
shall stand for his place. He received in the re-
pulse of Tarquin, seven hurts i'the body. ,
Men. One in the neck, and two in the thigh, —
there's nine that I know.
Vol. He had, before this last expedition, twenty-
five wounds upon him.
Men. Now it's twenty-seven : every gash was an
enemy's grave: [A Shout, and Flourish.] Hark!
the trumpets.
Vol. These are the ushers of Marcius : before him
He carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears ;
Death, that dark spirit, in's nervy arm doth lie;
Which being advanc'd, declines; and then men die.
A Senn£t.^ Trumpets sound. Enter Cominius
and Titus Lartius ; between them, Coriola-
Nus, crowned with an oaken Garland; with Cap-
tains, Soldiers, and a Herald.
Her. Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight
Within Corioli' gates : where he hath won.
With fame, a name to Caius Marcius ; these
In honour follows, Coriolanus :
Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus !
[Flourish.
All. Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus !
Cor. No more of this, it does offend my heart;
Pray now, no more.
Com^ Look, sir, your mother.
Cor. O !
You have, I know, petition'd all the gods
For my prosperity. [Kneels.
Vol. Nay. my good soldier, up
My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and
By deed achieving honour newly nam'd,
What is it? Coriolanus, must I call thee?
But O, thy wife
Cor. My gracious * silence, hail !
Wouldst thou have laugh'd, had 1 come coffin'd
home,
That weep*«;t to see me triumph? Ah, my dear,
< Flourish on cornets. * Graceful.
Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear,
And mothers that lack sons.
Men. Now the gods crown thee !
Cor. And live you yet? — O my sweet lady,
pardon. [To Valeria.
Vol. I know not where to turn : — O welcome
home;
And welcome, general ; — And you are welcome all.
Men. A hundred thousand welcomes: I could
weep.
And I could laugh ; I am light, and heavy : Wel-
come:
A curse begin at very root of his heart,
That is not glad to see thee ! — You are three.
That Rome should dote on : yet, by the faith of
men,
We have some old crab-trees here at home, that
will not
Be grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, warriors :
We call a nettle, but a nettle ; and
The faults of fools, but folly.
Com. Ever right.
Cor. Menenius, ever, ever.
Her. Give way there, and go on.
Cor. Your hand, and yours :
[To his Wife and Mother.
Ere in our own house I do shade my head.
The good Patricians must be visited ;
Frorn whom I have receiv'd not only greetings,
But with them change of honours.
Vol. I have lived
To see inherited my very wishes.
And the buildings of my fancy : only there
Is one thing wanting, which I doubt not, but
Our Rome will cast upon thee.
Cor. Know, good mother,
I had rather be their servant in my way,
Than sway with them in theirs.
Com. On, to the Capitol.
[Flourish. Cornets. Exeunt in state, as before.
The Tribunes remain.
J8ru. All tongues speak of him, and the bleared
sights
Are spectacled to see him : Your prattling nurse
In a rapture lets her baby cry.
While she chats him : the kitchen malkin ^ pins
Her richest lockram 7 'bout her reechy 8 neck.
Clambering the walls to eye him : staUs, bulks,
windows,
Are smother'd up, leads fill'd and ridges hors'd
With variable complexions : all agreeing
In earnestness to see him ; seld 9 -shown flamens '
Do press among the popular throngs, and puff
To win a vulgar station : our veil'd dames
Commit the war of white and damask, in
Their nicely-gawded - cheeks, to the wanton spoil
Of Phcebus' burning kisses : such a pother.
As if that whatsoever god, who leads him,
Were slily crept into his human powers.
And gave him graceful posture.
Sic, On the sudden,
I warrant him consul.
Bru. Then our oflfice may.
During his power, go sleep.
Sic. He cannot temperately transport his honours
From where he should begin, and end ; but will
Lose those that he hath won.
Bru. In that there's comfort-
6 Maid. 7 Best linen. ^ Soiled with sweat and smoke
9 Seldom, i Priests. ' Adorned.
II
Scene II.
CORIOLANUS.
655
I
Sic. Doubt not, tlie commoners, for whom we
stand,
But they, upon their .ancient malice, will
Forget, with the least cause, these his new honours ;
Which that he'll give them, make as little question
As he is proud to do't.
Bru. I heard him swear.
Were he to stand for consul, never would he
Appear i' the market-place, nor on liim put
The napless vesture of humility ;
Nor, showing (as the manner is) his wounds
To the people, beg their stinking breaths.
Sic. 'Tis right.
Bru» It was his word : O, he would miss it,
rather
Than carry it, but by the suit o* the gentry to him,
And the desires of the nobles.
Sic. I wish no better,
Than have him hold that purpose, and put it
In execution.
Bru. *Tis most like, he will.
Sic. It shall be to him then, as our good wills ;
A sure destruction.
Bru. So it must fall out
To him, or our authorities. For an end.
We must suggest 3 the people in what hatred
He still hath held them; that, to his power he
would
Have made them mules, silenc'd their pleaders, and
Dispropertied their freedoms : holding them,
In human action and capacity.
Of no more soul, nor fitness for the world.
Than camels in their war ; who have their provand"*
Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows
For sinking under them.
Sic. Tliis, as you say, suggested
At some time when his soaring insolence
Shall teach the people, (which time shall not want,
If he be put upon't ; and that's as easy,
A«; to set dogs on sheep,) will be his fire
To kindle their dry stubble ; and their blaze
Shall darken him for ever.
Enter a Messenger.
Bru. What's the matter?
Mess. You are sent for to the Capitol. 'Tis
thought
That Marcius should be consul : I have seen
The dumb men throng to see him, and the blind
To hear him speak : The matrons flimg their gloves.
Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchiefs.
Upon him as he pass'd : the nobles bended,
As to Jove's statue ; and the commons made
A shower, and thunder, with their caps, and shouts:
I never saw the like.
Bru. Let's to the Capitol ;
And carry with us ears and eyes for the time.
But hearts for the event.
Sic Have witli you. [Exeunt.
SCENE IL — The CapUol.
Enter two Oflficers, to Iny Cushions.
1 0^. Come, come, they are almost here : How
many stand fur consulships i
"2 Off. Three, they say : but 'tis thought of every
one, Coriolanus will cairy it,
I Off. Tliat's a brave fellow ; but he's vengeance
proud, and loves not the common people.
* Inform. « Provender
2 Off. There have been many great men that
have flatter'd the people, who ne'er loved them ;
and there be many that they have loved, they know
not wherefore : so that, if they love they know not
why, they hate upon no better a ground : There-
fore, for Coriolanus neither to care whether they
love or hate him, manifests the true knowledge he
has in their disposition ; and, out of his noble care-
lessness, lets them plainly see't.
1 Off. If he did not care whether he had their
love, or no, he waved indifferently 'twixt doing
them neither good nor harm ; but he seeks their
hate with greater devotion than they can render it
him : and leaves nothing undone, that may fully
discover him their opposite. Now, to seem to
affect tlie malice and displeasure of the people, is
as bad as that which he dislikes, to flatter them for
their love.
2 Off. He hath deser\'ed worthily of his country.
And his ascent is not by such easy degrees as
those, who, having been supple and courteous to
the people, bonneted * without any further deed to
heave them at all into their estimation and report :
but he hath so planted his honours in their eyes,
and his actions in their hearts, that for their tongues
to be silent, and not confess so much, were a kind
of ingrateful injury ; to report otherwise were a
malice, that, giving itself the lie, would pluck re-
proof and rebuke from every ear that heard it.
I Off. No more of him ; he is a wortliy man :
Make way, they are coming.
A Sennet. Enter, ivith Lictors before them, Comi-
Nius, the Consul, Menenius, Coriolanus, vianif
other Senators, SiciNius, and Brutus. The Se-
nators take their Places ; the Tribunes take ihars
also hy themselves.
Men. Having determin'd of the Voices, and
To send for Titus Lartius, it remains.
As the main point of this our after-meeting,
To gratify his noble service, that
Hath thus stood for his country : Therefoie please
you.
Most reverend and grave elders, to desire
The present consul, and last general
In our well-found successes, to report
A little of that worthy work perform 'd
By Caius Marcius Coriolanus : whom
We meet here, both to thank and to remember
With honours like liimself.
1 5^71. Speak, good Cominiusr
Leave nothing out for length, and make us think,
Rather our state's defective for requital,
Than we to stretch it out. Masters o'the people.
We do request your kindest ears : and, after.
Your loving motion toward the common body,
To yield what passes here.
Sic. We are convented
Upon a pleasing treaty ; and have hearts
Inclinable to honour and advance
The theme of our assembly.
Bru. Which the rather
We shall be bless'd to do, if he remember
A kinder value of the people, tlian
He hath hereto priz'd them at.
Men. That's off, that's oflT « ;
I would you rather had been silent : Please you
To hear Cominius speak ?
Bru. Most willingly :
» Took off cape • Nothing to the purpoae.
656
CORIOLANUS.
Act II.
But yet my caution was more pertinent,
Than the rebuke you gave it.
Men. He loves your people ;
But tie him not to be their bedfellow. —
Worthy Cominius, speak. — Nay, keep your place.
[CoRioLANUs rises, and offers to go away.
1 Sen. Sit, Coriolanus : never shame to hear
What you have nobly done.
Cor. Your honours' pardon ;
I had rather have my wounds to heal again.
Than hear say how I got them.
Brti. Sir, I hope.
My words disbench'd you not.
Cqjs, No, sir ; yet oft
When blows have made me stay, I fled from words.
You sooth'd not, therefore, hurt not: But, your
people,
I love them as they weigh.
Men. Pray now, sit down.
Cor. I had rather have one scratch my head
i'the sun,
When the alarum were struck, than idly sit
To hear my nothings monster'd.
\_Exit Coriolanus.
Men. Masters o'the people.
Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter,
(That's thousand to one good one,) when you now
see.
He had rather venture all his limbs for honour.
Than one of his ears to hear it ? — Proceed, Co-
minius.
Com. I shall lack voice : the deeds of Coriolanus
Should not be utter'd feebly. — It is held.
That valour is the chiefest virtue, and
Most dignifies the haver : if it be.
The man I speak of cannot in the world
Be singly couuterpois'd. At sixteen years,
When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fought
Beyond the mark of others : our then dictator,
Whom with all praise I point at, saw him fight.
When with his Amazonian 7 chin he drove
The bristled lips before him : he bestrid
An o'er-press'd Roman, and i'the consul's view
Slew three opposers : Tarquin's self he met.
And struck him on his knee : in that day's feats.
When he might act the woman in the scene.
He prov'd best man i' the field, and for his meed ^
Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age
Man-enter'd thus, he waxed like a sea ;
And, in the brunt of seventeen battles since,
He lurch'd 9 all swords o' the garland. For this last.
Before and in Corioli, let me say,
I cannot speak him home : He stopp'd the fliers ;
And, by his rare example, made the coward
Turn terror into sport : as waves before
A vessel under sail, so men obey'd,
And fell below his stem: his sword (death's stamp)
Where it did mark it took ; from face to foot
He was a thing of blood, whose every motion
Was timed with dying cries : alone he enter'd
The mortal gate o'the city, which he painted
With shunless destiny, aidless came otf.
And with a sudden re-enforcement struck
Corioli, like a planet : now all's his :
When by and by the din of war 'gan pierce
His ready sense : then straight his doubled spirit
Re-qtiicken'd what in flesh was fatigate ',
And to the battle came he ; where he did
? Without a beard.
* Disappointed.
fi Reward.
» Wearied.
Run reeking o'er the lives of men, as if
'Twere a perpetual spoil ; and, till we call'd
Both field and city ours, he never stood
To ease his breast with panting.
Men. Worthy man !
1 Sen. He cannot but with measure fit the honours
Which we devise him.
Com. Our spoils he kick'd at ;
And look'd upon things precious, as they were
The common muck o'the world : he covets less
Than misery '^ itself would give ; rewards
His deeds with doing them ; and is content
To spend the time to end it.
Men. He's right noble ;
Let him be call'd for.
1 Sen. Call for Coriolanus.
Off. He doth appear.
Re-enter Coriolanus.
Men. The senate, Coriolanus, are well pleas'd
To make thee consul.
Cor. I do owe them still
My life, and services.
Men. It then remains.
That you do speak to the people.
Cor. I do beseech you.
Let me o'erleap that custom ; for I cannot
Put on the gown, stand naked, and entreat them.
For my wounds' sake, to give their suffrage : please
you.
That I may pass this doing.
Sic. Sir, the people
Must have their voices ; neither will they bate
One jot of ceremony.
Men. Put them not to't : —
Pray you, go fit you to the custom ; and
Take to you, as your predecessors have,
Your honour with your form.
Cor. It is a part
That I shall blush in acting, and might well
Be taken from the people.
Bru. Mark you that?
Cor. To brag unto them, — thus I did, and
thus ; —
Show them the unaching scars which I should hide.
As if I had receiv'd them for the hire
Of their breath only : —
Men. Ho not stand upon't. —
We recommend to you, tribunes of the people.
Our purpose to them ; — and to our noble consul
Wish we all joy and honour.
Sen. To Coriolanus come all joy and honour !
{^Flourish. Then exeunt Senators.
Bru. You see how he intends to use the people.
Sic. May they perceive his intent ! He that will
require them,
As if he did contemn what he requested
Should be in them to give.
IB^ru. Come, we'll inform them
Of our proceedings here : on the market-place,
I know they do attend us. \_Exeunt.
SCENE III. — The Forum.
Enter several Citizens.
1 Cit. Once, if he do require our voices, we ought
not to deny him.
2 Cit. We may, sir, if we will.
» Avarice.
I
Scene III.
COIIIOLANUS.
657
3 Cit. We have power in ourselves to do it, but it
is a power that we have no power to do : for if he
show us his wounds, and tell us his deeds, we are to
put our tongues into those wounds, and speak for
them ; so, if he tell us his noble deeds, we must also
tell him our noble acceptance of them. Ingratitude
is monstrous : and for the multitude to be ingrateful,
were to make a monster of tlie multitude ; of tlie
which, we being members, should bring ourselves
to be monstrous members.
1 Cit. And to make us no better thought of, a
little help will serve : for once, when we stood up
about the corn, he himself stuck not to call us the
many-headed multitude.
3 Cil. We have been called so of many ; not that
our heads are some brown, some black, some auburn,
some bald, but that our wits are so diversely coloured :
and truly I think, if all our wits were to issue out of
one skull, they would fly east, west, north, south ;
and their consent of one direct way should be at
once to all the points o' the compass.
2 Cit. Think you so ? Which way, do you judge,
my wit would fly ?
3 Cit. Nay, your wit will not so soon out as
another man's will, 'tis strongly wedged up in a
blockhead: but if it were at liberty, 'twould, sure,
southward.
2 Cit. Why that way ?
3 Cit. To lose itself in a fog ; where being three
parts melted away with rotten dews, the fourth
would return to help to get thee a wife.
2 Cit. You are never without your tricks : — You
may, you may.
3 Cit. Are you all resolved to give your voices ?
But that's no matter, the greater part carries it. I
say, if he would incline to the people, there was
never a worthier man.
Enter Coriolanus and Menenius.
Here he comes, and in the gown of humility ; mark
his behaviour. We are not to say all together, but
to come by him where he stands, by ones, by twos,
and by threes. He's to make his requests by parti-
culars : wherein every one of us has a single honour,
in giving him our own voices with our own tongues :
therefore, follow me, and I'll direct you how you
shall go by him.
All. Content, content.
Men. O sir, you are not right : have you not
known
The worthiest men have done it ?
Car. What must I say ? —
I pray, sir, — Plague upon't ! I cannot bring
My tongue to such a pace : Look, sir j — — my
wounds ; —
I got them in my country's service, when
Some certain of your brethren roar'd, and ran
From the noise of our own drums.
Men. O me, the gods !
You must not speak of tliat : you must desire them
To think upon you.
Cor. Think upon me ? Hang 'em !
I would they would forget me.
Men. You'll mar all ;
I'll leave you : Pray you, speak to them, I pray you,
In wholesome manner. \Exit.
Enter two Citizens.
Cor. Bid them wash their faces.
And keep their teeth clean. — So,here comes a brace. —
You know the cause, sir, of my standing here.
1 Cit. We do, sir ; tell us what hath brought you
to't.
Cor. Mine own desert.
2 Cit. Your own desert?
Cor. Ay, not
Mine own desire.
1 Cit. How ! not your own desire ?
Cor. No, sir :
'Twas never my desire yet.
To trouble tlie poor with begging.
1 Cct. You must think, if we give you any thing.
We hope to gain by you.
Cor. Well then, I pray, your price o' the consul-
ship?
1 Cit. The price is, sir, to ask it kindly.
Cor. Kindly ?
Sir, I pray, let me ha't : I have wounds to show you.
Which shall be yours in private. — Your good voice,
sir;
What say you ?
2 Cit. You shall have it, worthy sir.
Cor. A match, sir : —
There is in all two worthy voices begg'd : —
I have your alms ; adieu.
1 Cit. But this is something odd.
2 CU. An 'twere to give again, — But 'tis no
matter. [^Exeunt two Citizens.
Enter two other Citizens.
Cot. Pray you now, if it may stand with the tune
of your voices, that I may be consul, I have here
the customary gown.
3 Cit. You have deserved nobly of your country,
and you have not deserved nobly.
Cor. Your enigma ?
3 Cit. You have been a scourge to her enemies,
you have been a rod to her friends ; you have not,
indeed, loved the common people.
Cor. You should account me the more virtuous,
that I have not been common in my love. I will, sir,
flatter my sworn brother the people, to earn a dearer
estimation of them ; 'tis a condition they account
gentle : and since the wisdom of their choice is
rather to have my hat than my heart, I will practise
the insinuating nod, and be off to them most coun-
terfeitly ; that is, sir, I will counterfeit the bewitch-
ment of some popular man, and give it bountifully
to the desirers. Therefore, beseech you, I may be
consul.
4 Cit. We hope to find you our friend ; and there-
fore give you our voices heartily.
3 Cit. You have received many wounds for your
country.
Cor. I will not seal your knowledge with showing
them. I will make much of your voices, and so
trouble you no further.
Both Cit. The gods give you joy, sir, heartily !
[Exeunt.
Cor. Most sweet voices ! —
Better it is to die, better to starve.
Than crave the hire which first we do deserve.
Why in this wolvish gown should I stand here,
To l>eg of Hob and Dick, that do appear,
Their needless vouches ? Custom calls me to't : —
What custom wills, in all things should we do't.
The dust on antique time would lie unswept.
And mountainous error be too highly heap'd
For truth to over-peer.^ — Rather than fool it so,
Let the high oflBce and the honour go
» Over-look. •
Uu
658
CORIOLANUS.
Act II.
To one that would do thus. — I am half through ;
The one part suffer'd, the other will I do.
Enter three other Citizens.
Here come more voices, —
Your voices : for your voices I have fought ;
Watch'd for your voices ; for your voices, bear
Of wounds two dozen odd ; battles thrice six
I have seen and heard of ; for your voices have
Done many things, some less, some more : your
voices :
Indeed, I would be consul.
5 at. He has done nobly, and cannot go without
any honest man's voice.
6 Cit. Therefore let him be consul : The gods give
him joy, and make him good friend to the people !
All. Am.en, Amen.
Jove save thee, noble consul ! {^Exeunt Citizens.
Cor. Worthy voices !
Re-enter Menenius, with Brutus, and Sicinius.
Men. You have stood your limitation ; and the
tribunes
Endue you with the people's voice : Remains,
That, in the official marks invested, you
Anon do meet the senate.
Cor. Is this done ?
Sic. The custom of request you have discharg'd :
The people do admit you ; and are summon'd
To meet anon, upon your approbation.
Cor. Where ? at the senate-house ?
Sic. ■ Thefe, Coriolanus.
Cor. May I then change these garments ?
Sic. You may, sir.
Cor. That I'll straight do ; and, knowing myself
again.
Repair to the senate-house.
Men. I'll keep you company. — Will you along ?
Bru. We stay here for the people.
Sic. Fare you well.
[^Exeunt Coriol. and. Menen.
He has it now ; and by his looks, methinks,
'Tis warm at his heart.
Bru. With a proud heart he wore
His humble weeds : Will you dismiss the people ?
Re-enter Citizens.
Sic. How now, my masters ? have you chose this
man?
1 Cit. He has our voices, sir.
Bru. We pray the gods, he may deserve your loves.
2 Cit. Amen, sir : To my poor unworthy notice.
He mock'd us, when he begg'd our voices.
3 Cit. Certainly,
He flouted us down-right.
1 Cit. No, 'tis his kind of speech, he did not
mock us.
2 Cit. Not one amongst us save yourself, but says.
He us'd us scornfully : he should have show'd us
His marks of merit, wounds receiv'd for his country.
Sic. Why, so he did, I am sure.
Cit. No ; no man saw 'em.
{^Several speak.
S Cit. He said, he had wounds, which he could
show in private ;
And with his hat, thus waving it in scorn,
/ would be consul, says he : aged custom,
But by your voices, will not so permit me ;
Your voices therefore .- When we granted that.
Here was, — / thank you Jbr your voices, — thank
you, —
Your most sweet voices : — now you have left your
voices,
I have no further with you : — — Was not this
mockery ?
Sic. Why, either, were you ignorant to see't ?
Or, seeing it, of such childish friendliness
To yield your voices?
Bru. Could you not have told him,
As you were lesson'd, — When he had no power,
But was a petty servant to the state.
He was your enemy ; ever spake against
Your liberties, and the charters that you bear
I' the body of the weal ; and now, arriving
A place of potency, and sway o' the state.
If he should still malignantly remain
Fast foe to the plebeii *, your voices might
Be curses to yourselves ? You should have said,
That as his worthy deeds did claim no less
Than what he stood for ; so his gracious nature
Would think upon you for your voices, and
Translate his malice towards you into love,
Standing your friendly lord.
Sic. Thus to have said,
As you were fore-advis'd, had touch'd his spirit.
And try'd his inclination : from him pluck'd
Either his gracious promise, which you might,
As cause had call'd you up, have held him to ;
Or else it would have gall'd his surly nature.
Which easily endures not article
Tying him to aught ; so putting him to rage,
You should have ta'en the advantage of his choler.
And pass'd him unelected.
Bru. Did you perceive.
He did solicit you in free contempt,
When he did need your loves ; and do you think.
That his contempt shall not be bruising to you,
When he hath power to crush ? Why, had your bodies
No heart .among you ? Or had you tongues, to cry
Against the rectorship of judgment?
Sic. Have you.
Ere now, deny'd the asker ? and, now again.
On him, that did not ask, but mock, bestow
Your su'd-for tongues ?
3 Cit. He's not confirm'd, we may deny him yet.
2 Cit. And will deny him :
I'll have five hundred voices of that sound.
1 Cit. I twice five hundred, and their friends to
piece 'em.
Bru. Get you hence instantly : and tell those
friends, —
They have chose a consul, that will from them take
Their liberties ; make them of no more voice
Than dogs, that are as often beat for barking,
As therefore kept to do so.
Sic. Let them assemble j
And, on a safer judgment, all revoke
Your ignorant election : Enforce his pride,
And his old hate unto you : besides, forget not
With what contempt he wore the humble weed ;
How in his suit he scorn'd you : but your loves,
Thinking upon his services, took from you
The apprehension of his present portance ^,
Which gibingly, ungravely he did fashion
After the inveterate hate he bears you.
Bru. Lay
A fault on us, your tribunes ; that we labour'd
(No impediment between) but that you must
Cast your election on him.
Sic. Say, you chose him
* Plebeians, common people. * Carriage.
I
I
Act III. Scene I.
CORIOLANUS.
G59
More after our commandment, than as guided
By your own true affections : and that, your minds
Pre-occupy'd with what you rather must do
Than what you should, made you against the grain
To voice him consul : Lay the fault on us.
JSru. Ay, spare us not. Say, we read lectures to
you.
How youngly he began to serve his country,
How long continued : and what stock he springs of.
The noble house o' the Marcians ; from whence came
That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter's son,
Who, after great Hostilius, here was king :
Of the same house Publius and Quintus were,
That our best water brought by conduits hither ;
And Censorinus, darling of the people.
And nobly nam'd so, being censor twice,
Was his great ancestor.
Sic. One thus descended.
That hath beside well in his person wrought
To be set high in place, we did commend
To your remembrances : but you have found.
Scaling ^ his present bearing with his past,
That he's your fixed enemy, and revoke
Your sudden approbation.
Bru. Say, you ne'er had done't,
(Harp on that still,) but by our putting on :
And presently, when you have drawn your number,
Repair to the Capitol.
at. We will so : almost all {Several speak.
Repent in their election. [Exeunt Citizens.
Jiru. Let them go on ;
This mutiny were better put in hazard.
Than stay, past doubt, for greater ;
If, as his nature is, he fall in rage
With their refusal, both observe and answer
The vantage of his anger. .
Sic. To the Capitol i y
Come ; we'll be there before the stream o' the people ;
And this shall seem, as partly 'tis, their own,
Which we have goaded onward. [Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I. — A Street.
Cornets. Enter Coriolanus, Menenius, Comi-
Mus, Titus Lartius, Senators, and Patricians,
Cor. Tullus Aufidius then had made new head ?
Lart. He had, my lord ; and that it was, which
caus'd
Our swifter composition.
Cor. So then the Voices stand but as at first ;
Ready, when time shall prompt them, to make road
Upon us again.
Com. Tliey are worn, lord consul, so.
That we shall hardly in our ages see
Their banners wave again.
Cor. Saw you Aufidius?
Lart. On safe-guard he came to me ; and did curse
Against the Voices, for they had so vilely
Yielded the town : he is retir'd to Anlium.
Cor. Spoke he of me ?
Lart. He did, my lord.
Cor. How? what?
Laji. How often he had met you, sword to sword :
That, of all things upon the earth, he hated
Your person most : that he would pawn his fortunes
To hopeless restitution, so he might
Be call'd your vanquislier.
Cor. At Antium lives he ?
Lart. At Antium.
Cor. I wish I had a cause to seek him there.
To oppose his hatred fully. — Welcome home.
[To Lartius.
Enter SiciNius and Brutus.
Behold ! these are the tribunes of the people,
The tongues o' the common mouth. I do despise
them :
For they do prank them in authority,
Against all noble suflferance.
Sic. Pass no further.
Cor. Ha ! what is that ?
Jiru. It will be dangerous to
Go on : no further.
Cor. What makes this change ?
Men. Tlie matter ?
Com. Hath he not pass'd the nobles, and the
commons?
Bru. Cominius, no.
Cor. Have I had children's voices?
1 Sen. Tribunes, give way : he shall to the mar-
ket-place.
Bru. The people are incens'd against him.
Sic. Stop,
Or all will fall in broil.
Cor. Are these your herd ? —
Must these have voices, that can yield them now.
And straight disclaim their tongues? — What are
your oflBces ?
You being their mouths, why rule you not their
teeth ?
Have you not set them on ?
Men. Be calm, be calm.
Cor. It is a purpos'd thing, and grows by plot,
To curb the will of the nobility : —
Suffer it, and live with such as cannot rule,
Nor ever will be rul'd.
Bru. Call't not a plot :
The people cry, you mock'd them ; and, of late.
When corn was given them gratis, you repin'd ;
Scandal'd the suppliants for the people ; call'd them
Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness.
Cor. Why, this was known before.
Bru. Not to them all.
Cur. Have you inform'd them since ?
Bru. How ! I inform them !
Cor. You are like to do such business.
Bru. Not unlike.
Each way to better yours.
Cor. Why then should I be consul ? By yon clouds.
Let me deserve so ill as you, and make me
Your fellow-tribune.
Sic. You show too much of that.
For which the people stir : If you will pass
To where you are bound, you must inquire your way.
Which you are out of, with a gentler spirit ;
Or never be so noble as a consul,
Nor yoke with him for tribune.
Men. Let's be calm.
• Weighing.
U u 2
660
CORIOLANUS,
Act III.
Com. The people are abus'd : — Sot on. — This
palt'ring 7
Becomes not Rome ; nor has Coriolanus
Deserv'd this so dishonour' d rub, laid falsely
1' the plain way of his merit.
Cor. Toll me of corn !
This was my speech, and I will speak't again ; —
Men. Not now, not now.
1 Sen. Not in this heat, sir, now.
Cor. Now, as I live, I will. — My nobler friends,
I crave their pardons : —
For the mutable, rank-scented many, let them
Regard me as I do not flatter, and
Therein behold themselves : I say again,
In soothing them, we nourish 'gainst our senate
The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition.
Which we ourselves have plough'd for, sow'd and
scatter'd,
By mingling them with us, the honour'd number ;
Who lack not virtue, no, nor power, but that
Which they have given to beggars.
Men. Well, no more.
1 Sen. No more words, we beseech you.
Cor. How ! no more.
As for my country I have shed my blood.
Not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs
Coin words till their decay, against those meazels ^
Which we disdain should tetter 9 us, yet sought
The very way to catch them.
Bru. You speak o' the people,
As if you were a god to punish, not
A man of their infirmity.
Sic. 'Twere well.
We let the people know't.
Men. What, what ? his choler ?
Cor. Choler!
Were I as patient as the midnight sleep,
By Jove, 'twould be my mind.
Sic. It is a mind.
That shall remain a poison where it is,
Not poison any further.
Cor. Shall remain ! —
Hear you this Triton of the minnows ? mark you
His absolute shall ?
Com.. 'Twas from the canon. >
Cor. Shall/
O good, but most unwise patricians, why.
You grave, but reckless senators, have you thus
Given Hydra here to choose an officer.
That with his peremptory shall, being but
The horn and noise o'the monsters, wants not spirit
To say, he'll turn your current in a ditch.
And make your channel his ? If he have power.
Then vail your ignorance : if none, awake
Your dangerous lenity. If you are learned.
Be not as common fools ; if you are not.
Let them have cushions by you. You are plebeians.
If they be senators : and they are no less.
When both your voices blended, the greatest taste
Most palates theirs. They choose their magistrate ;
And such a one as he, who puts his shall,
His popular shall, against a graver bench
Than ever frown'd in Greece ! By Jove himself.
It makes the consuls base : and my soul aches,
To know, when two authorities are up,
Neither supreme, how soon confusion
May enter 'twixt the gap of both, and take
The one by the other.
Shuffling.
Scab.
f Lepers.
> According to law.
Com. Well — on to the market-place.
Cor. Whoever gave tliat counsel, to give forth
The corn o' the store-house gratis, as 'twas us'd
Sometime in Greece,
Men. Well, well, no more of that.
Cor. (Though there the people had more absolute
power,)
I say, they nourish'd disobedience, fed
The ruin of the state.
Bru. Why, shall the people give
One, that speaks thus, their voice ?
Cor. I'll give my reasons.
More worthier than their voices. They know, the
com
Was not our recompence : resting well assur'd
They ne'er did service for't : Being press'd to the war,
Even when the vitals of the state were touch'd.
They would not thread the gates : this kind of
service
Did not deserve com gratis : being i' the war,
Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they show'd
Most valour, spoke not for them : The accusation
Which they have often made against the senate.
All cause unborn, could never be the native 2
Of our so frank donation. Well, what then ?
How shall this bosom multiplied digest
The senate's courtesy ? Let deeds express
What's like to be their words : — We did request it;
We are the greater poll ^, and in true fear
They gave us our demands : — Thus we debase
The nature of our seats, and make the rabble
Call our cares, fears : which will in time break open
The locks o' the senate, and bring in the crows
To peck the eagles. —
Men. Come, enough.
Bru. Enough, with over-measure.
Cor. No, take more :
What may be sworn by, both divine and human.
Seal what I end withal ! — This double worship, —
Where one part does disdain with cause, the other
Insult without all reason ; where gentry, title, wisdom
Cannot conclude, but by the yea and no
Of general ignorance, — it must omit
Real necessities, and give way the while
To unstable slightness : purpose so barr'd, it follows.
Nothing is done to purpose : Therefore, beseech
you, —
You that will be less fearful than discreet ;
That love the fundamental part of state.
More than you doubt 4 the change oft ; that prefer
A noble life before a long, and wish
To jump 5 a body with a dangerous physick
That's sure of death without it, — at once pluck out
The multitudinous tongue, let them not lick
The sweet which is their poison : your dishonour
INI angles true judgment, and bereaves the state
Of that integrity which should become it ;
Not having the power to do the good it would
For the ill which doth control it.
Brii. He has said enough.
Sic. He has spoken like a traitor, and shall answer
As traitors do.
Cor. Thou wretch ! despite o'erwhelm thee ! —
What should the people do with these bald tribunes ?
On whom depending, their obedience fails
To the greater bench : In a rebellion.
When what's not meet, but what must be, was law,
Then were they chosen ; in a better hour,
2 Motive, no doubt, wa.s Shakspcare's word.
3 Number. ^ Fear. '' Risk.
II
Scene I.
CORIOLANUS.
661
Let wliat is meet, be said it must be meet,
And throw their power i' the dust.
liru. Manifest treason.
Sic. This a consul ? no.
liru. The aediles, ho ! — Let him be apprehended.
Sic. Go, call the people; [Exit Brutus.] in
• whose name, myself
Attach thee, as a traitorous innovator,
A foe to the publick weal : Obey, I charge thee,
And follow to thine answer.
Cor. Hence, old goat !
Sen. 4: Pat. We'll surety him.
Com. Aged sir, hands off.
Cor. Hence, rotten thing, or I shall shake thy bones
Out of thy garments.
Sic. Help, ye citizens.
Re-enter Brutus, with the ^diles, and a Rabble of
Citizens.
Men. On both sides more respect.
Sic. Here's he, that would
Take from you all your power.
Bru. Seize him, sediles.
Cit. Down with him, down with him !
\_Several speak.
2 Sen. Weapons, weapons, weapons !
{_They all bustle about Coriolanus.
Tribunes, patricians, citizens ! — what, ho !
Sicinius, Brutus, Coriolanus, citizens !
Cit. Peace, peace, peace ; stay, hold, peace !
Men. What is about to be ? — I am out of breath ;
Confusion's near : I cannot speak : — You, tribunes
To the people, — Coriolanus patience : —
Speak, good Sicinius.
Sic. Hear me, people ; — Peace.
Cit. Let's hear our tribune ; — Peace, speak, speak
speak.
Sic. You are at point to lose your liberties :
Marcius would have all from you ; Marcius,
Whom late you have nam'd for consul.
Men. Fye, fye, fye !
This is the way to kindle, not to quench.
1 Sen. To unbuild the city, and to lay all flat.
Sic. What is the city, but the people ?
at. True,
The people are the city.
Bru. By the consent of all we were established
The people's magistrates.
Cit. You so remain.
Men. And so are like to do.
Cor. That is the way to lay the city flat ;
To bring the roof to the foundation ;
And bury all, which yet distinctly ranges.
In heaps and piles of ruin.
Sic. This deserves death.
Bru. Or let us stand to our authority.
Or let us lose it : — We do here pronounce.
Upon the part o' the people, in whose power
We were elected theirs, Marcius is worthy
Of present death.
5ic. Therefore, lay hold of him :
Bear him to the rock Tarpeian ^, and from thence
Into destruction cast him.
Bru. iEdiles, seize him.
Cit. Yield, Marcius, yield.
Men. Hear me one word.
Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word.
jEdi. Peace, peace.
Men. Be that you seem, truly your country's friend,
c Whence criminaLt were thrown, and dashed to pieces.
And temperately proceed to what you would
Thus violently redress.
Bru. Sir, those cold ways,
That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous
Wljere tlie disease is violent : — Lay Ijands upon him.
And bear him to the rock.
Cor. No ; I'll die here.
[Drawing his Sword.
There's some among you have beheld me fighting ;
Come, try upon yourselves what you have seen me.
Men. Down with that sword ; — Tribunes, with-
draw a while.
Bru. Lay hands upon him.
Men. Help Marcius ! help.
You that be noble ; help him, young and old !
Cit. Down with him, down with him !
[In this Mutiny, the Tribunes, the iEdiles,
and the People, are all beat in.
Men. Go, get you to your house ; begone, away,
All will be naught else.
2 Sen. Get you gone.
Cor. Standfast;
We have as many friends as enemies.
Men. Shall it be put to that?
1 Sen. The gods forbid !
I pr'ythee, noble friend, home to thy house ;
Leave us to cure this cause.
Men. For 'tis a sore upon us,
You cannot tent yourself: Begone, 'beseech you.
Com. Come, sir, along with us.
Cor. I would they were barbarians, (as they arc^
Though in Rome litter'd,) not Romans, (as they are
not.
Though calv'd i* the porch o' the Capitol,) —
Men. Begone ;
Put not your worthy rage into your tongue ;
One time will owe another.
Cor. On fair ground,
I could beat forty of them.
Men. I could myself
Take up a brace of the best of them ; yea, the two
tribunes.
Com. But now 'tis odds beyond arithmetick ;
And manhood is call'd foolery, when it stands
Against a falling fabrick. — Will you hence.
Before the tag 7 return ? whose rage doth rend
Like interrupted waters, and o'erbear
What they are us'd to bear.
Men. Pray you, begone :
I'll try whether my old wit be in request
With those that have but little ; this must be patch'd
With cloth of any colour.
Com. Nay, come away.
[Exeunt Cob. Com. and others.
1 Pat. This man has marr'd his fortune.
Men. His nature is too noble for the world :
He would not flatter Neptune for his trident.
Or Jove for his power to tlmnder. His heart's his
mouth:
What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent ;
And, being angry, does forget that ever
He heard the name of death. [A Noije within.
Here's goodly work !
2 Pat. I would they were a-bed !
3/^71. I would they were in Tyber ! — What, the
vengeance.
Could he not speak them fair ?
Re-enter Brutus and Sicimius, u-ith the Rabble.
Sic. Where is this viper,
? The lowest of the populace, tag, rag, and bobUiL
U u 3
662
CORIOLANUS.
Act III.
That would depopulate the city, and
Be every man himself?
Men. You worthy tribunes,
Sic. He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock
"With rigorous hands ; he hath resisted law.
And therefore law shall scorn him further trial
Than the severity of the publick power.
Which he so sets at nought.
1 Cit. He shall well know,
The noble tribunes are the people's mouths,
And we their hands.
Cit. He shall, sure on't.
[Several speak together.
Men. Sir, —
Sic. Peace.
Men. Do not cry, havock, where you should but
hunt
With modest warrant.
Sic. Sir, how comes it, that you
Have holp to make this rescue?
Men. Hear me speak : —
As I do know the consul's worthiness.
So can I name his faults ;
Sic. Consul ? — What consul ?
Men. The consul Coriolanus.
Bru. He a consul !
Cit. No, no, no, no, no.
Men. If, by the tribune's leave, and yours, good
people,
I may be heard, I'd crave a word or two ;
The which shall turn you to no further harm.
Than so much loss of time.
Sic. Speak briefly then ;
For we are peremptory, to despatch
This viperous traitor : to eject him hence,
Were but one danger ; and, to keep him here.
Our certain death ; therefore it is decreed.
He dies to-night.
Men. Now the good gods forbid.
That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude
Towards her deserved 8 children is enroU'd
In Jove's own book, like an unnatural dam
Should now eat up her own !
Sic. He's a disease, that must be cut away.
Men. O, he's a limb, that has but a disease ;
Mortal, to cut it off; to cure it, easy.
What has he done to Rome, that's worthy death ?
Killing our enemies ? The blood he hath lost,
(Which, I dare vouch, is more than that he hath.
By many an ounce,) he dropp'd it for his country :
And, what is left, to lose it by his country,
Were to us all, that do't, and suffer it,
A brand to the end o' the world.
Sic. This is clean kam.9
Bru. Merely ' awry: when he did love his country.
It honour'd him.
Men. The service of the foot
Being once gangren'd, is not then respected
For what before it was ?
Bru. We'll hear no more : —
Pursue him to his house, and pluck him thence ;
Lest his infection, being of catching nature.
Spread further.
Men. One word more, one word.
This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find
The harm of unscann'd swiftness % will, too late.
Tie leaden pounds to his heels. Proceed by process ;
Lest parties (as he is belov'd) break out.
Deserving.
Absolutely.
9 Quite awry.
2 Inconsiderate haste.
And sack great Rome with Romans.
Bru. If it were so, —
Sic. What do ye talk ?
Have we not had a taste of his obedience ?
Our sediles smote ? ourselves resisted ? Come : —
Men. Consider this ; — He has been bred i' the wars
Since he could draw a sword, and is ill school'd
In boulted 3 language ; meal and bran together
He throws without distinction. Give me leave,
I'll go to him, and undertake to bring him
Where he shall answer by a lawful form,
(In peace) to his utmost peril.
1 Sen. Noble tribunes.
It is the humane way : the other course
Will prove too bloody ; and the end of it
Unknown to the begiiming.
Sic. Noble Menenius,
Be you then as the people's officer :
Masters, lay down your weapons.
Bru. Go not home.
Sic. Meet on the market-place : — We'll attend
you there :
Where, if you bring not Marcius, we'll proceed
In our first way.
Men. I'll bring him to you : —
Let me desire your company. [To the Senators.]
He must come.
Or what is worst will follow.
I Sen. Pray you, let's to him. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. — A Room in Coriolanus' House.
Enter Coriolanus, and Patricians.
Cor. Let them pull all about mine ears ; present me
Death on the wheel, or at wild horses' heels ;
Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock.
That the precipitation might down stretch
Below the beam of sight, yet will I still
Be thus to them.
Enter Volumnia.
1 Pat. You do the nobler.
Cor. I muse % my mother
Does not approve me further, who was wont
To call them wooden vassals, things created
To buy and sell with groats ; to show bare heads
In congregations, to yawn, be still, and wonder.
When one but of my ordinance ^ stood up
To speak of peace, or war. I talk of you ;
[To VoLUMNIA.
Why did you wish me milder ? Would you have me
False to my nature ? Rather say, I play
The man I am.
Vol. O, sir, sir, sir,
I would have had you put your power well on.
Before you had worn it out.
Cor. Let go.
Vol. You might have been enough the man you
are.
With striving less to be so : Lesser had been
The thwartings of your dispositions, if
You had not show'd them how you were dispos'd,
Ere they lack'd power to cross you.
Cor. Let them hang.
Vol. Ay, and burn too.
Enter Menenius, and Senators.
Men. Come, come, you have been too rough,
something too rough ;
You must return, and mend it.
3 Finely sifted. * Wonder. * Ranlc
Scene II.
CORIOLANUS.
663
1 Sen. There's no remedy ;
Unless, by not so doing, our good city
Cleave in the midst and perish.
Vol. Pray, be counsell'd :
I have a heart as little apt as yours,
But yet a brain, that leads my use of anger,
To better vantage.
Men. Well said, noble woman :
Before he should thus stoop to the herd, but that
The violent fit o' the time craves it as physick
For the whole state, I would put mine armour on.
Which I can scarcely bear.
Cor. What must I do ?
Men. Return to the tribunes.
Cor. Well,
What then ? what then ?
Men. Repent what you have spoke.
Cor. For them ? — I cannot do it to the gods ;
Must I then do't to them ?
Vol. You are too absolute ;
Though therein you can never be too noble.
But when extremities speak. I have heard you say,
Honour and policy, like unsever'd friends,
1' the war do grow together : Grant that, and tell me,
In peace, what each of them by th' other lose.
That they combine not there.
Cor. Tush, tush !
Men. A good demand.
Vol. If it be honour in your wars, to seem
The same you are not, (which, for your best ends,
You adopt your policy,) how is it less or worse,
That it shall hold companionship in peace
With honour as in war j since that to both
It stands in like request ?
Cor. Why force you this ?
Vol. Because that now it lies you on to speak
To the people ; not by your own instruction.
Nor by the matter which your heart prompts you to,
But witli such words that are but roted in
Your tongue, though but bastards, and syllables
Of no allowance, to your bosom's truth.
Now, this no more dishonours you at all.
Than to take in ^ a town with gentle words,
Which else would put you to your fortune, and
The hazard of much blood. —
I would dissemble with my nature, where
My fortunes, and my friends, at stake, requir'd
I should do so in honour : I am in this.
Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles ;
And you will rather show our general lowts 7
How you can frown, than spend a fawn upon them,
For the inheritance of their loves, and safeguard
Of what that want might ruin.
Men. Noble lady ! —
Come, go with us ; speak fair : you may salve so,
Not what is dangerous present, but the loss
Of what is past.
Vol. I pr'ythee, now, my son.
Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand ;
And thus far having stretch'd it, (here be with tliem,)
Thy knee bussing the stones, (for in such business
Action is eloquence, and the eyes of tlie ignorant
More learned than the ears,) waving tliy head,
Which often thus correcting thy stout heart.
That humble, as the ripest mulberry.
Now will not hold the handhng : Or, say to them,
Thou art their soldier, and being bred in broils.
Hast not the soft way, which, thou dost confess.
Were fit for thee to use, as tliey to claim,
« Subdue. ' Common clowru.
In asking their good loves ; but thou wilt frame
Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far
As thou hast power, and person.
Men. This but done,
Even as she speaks, why, all their hearts were yours :
For they have pardons, being ask'd, as free
As words to little purpose.
Vol. Pr'ythee now.
Go, and be rul'd : although, I know, thou hadst
rather
Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf.
Than flatter him in a bower. Here is Cominius.
Enter Cominius.
Com. I have been i' the market place
'tis fit
and, sir.
You make strong party, or defend yourself
By calmness, or by absence, all's in anger.
Men. Only fair speech.
Com. I think, 'twill serve, if he
Can thereto frame his spirit.
Y^^- He must, and will : —
Pr'ythee now, say, you will, and go about it.
Cor. Must I go show them my unbarb'd sconce ? 8
Must I,
With my base tongue, give to my noble heart
A lie, that it must bear? Well, I will do't:
Yet were there but this single plot to lose,
This mould of Marcius, they to dust should grind it.
And throw it against tlie wind. — To the market-
place :
You have put me now to such a part, which never
I shall discharge to the life.
Com. » Come, come, we'll prompt you.
Vol. I pr'ythee now, sweet son ; as thou hast said.
My praises made thee first a soldier, so,
To have my praise for this, perform a part
Thou hast not done before.
Cor. Well, I must do't :
Away, my disposition, and possess me
Some harlot's spirit! My throat of war he turn'd.
Which quired with my drum, into a voice
That babies lulls asleep ! The smiles of knaves
Tent 9 in my cheeks ; and school-boys' tears take up
The glasses of my sight ! A beggar's tongue
Make motion through my lips ; and my ann'd
knees.
Who bow'd but in my stirrup, bend like his
That hath receiv'd an alms ! — I will not do't :
Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth.
And by my body's action, teach my mind
A most inherent baseness.
Vol. At thy choice tlien ;
To beg of thee, it is my more dishonour,
Tlian thou of them. Come ail to ruin ; let
Thy mother rather feel thy pride, than fear
Thy dangerous stoutness ; for I mock at death
With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list,
Tliy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it from me;
But owe ' thy pride tliyself.
Cor. Pray, be content ;
Mother, I am going to the market-place ;
Chide me no more. I'll mountebank their loves.
Cog their hearts from tliem, and come home belov'd
Of all the trades in Rome. Look, I am going :
Commend me to my wife. I'll return consul ;
Or never trust to what my tongue can do
I'the way of flattery, further.
Vol. Do your will. [ExU.
* Unshaven head » Dwell ' Own.
Uu 4
664:
CORIOLANUS.
Act III.
Com. Away, the tribunes do attend you : arm
yourself
To answer mildly ; for they are prepar'd
With accusations, as I hear, more strong
Than are upon you yet.
Cor. The word is, mildly : — Pray you, let us go ;
Let them accuse me by invention, I
Will answer in mine honour.
Men. Ay, but mildly.
Cor. Well, mildly be it then ; mildly. [Exeunt.
SCENE III. — The Forum.
Enter Sicinius and Brutus.
Bru. In this point charge him home, that he affects
Tyrannical power : If he evade us there.
Enforce him with his envy to the people ;
And that the spoil, got on the Antiates,
Was ne'er distributed. —
Enter an ^dile.
What, will he come ?
jEd. He's coming.
£ru. How accompanied ?
jEd. With old Menenius, and those senators
That always favour'd him.
Sic. Have you a catalogue
Of all the voices that we have procur'd,
Set down by the poll ?
JEd. I have ; 'tis ready, here.
Sic. Have you collected them by tribes ?
jEd. I have.
Sic. Assemble presently the people hither :
And when they hear me say, It shall be so
I' the right and strength of the commons, be it either
For death, for fine, or banishment, then let them.
If I say, fine, cry fine ; if death, cry death:
Insisting on the old prerogative
And power i' the truth o' the cause.
JEd. I shall inform them.
Bru. And when such time they have begun to cry,
Let them not cease, but with a din confus'd
Enforce the present execution
Of what we chance to sentence.
jEd. Very well.
Sic. Make them be strong, and ready for this hint,
When we shall hap to give't them.
Bru. Go about it. —
\_ExU M6\\e.
Put him to choler straight : He hath been us'd
Ever to conquer, and to have his worth
Of contradiction : Being once chaf 'd, he cannot
Be rein'd again to temperance ; then he "speaks
What's in his heart ; and that is there, which looks
With us to break his neck.
Enter Coriolanus, Menenius, Cominius, Senators,
and Patricians.
Sic. Well, here he comes.
Men. Calmly, I do beseech you.
Cor. Ay, as an ostler, that for the poorest piece
Will bear the knave - by the volume. — The honour'd
gods
Keep Rome in safety, and the chairs of justice
Supplied with worthy men ! plant love among us !
Throng our large temples with the shows of peace.
And not our streets with war !
1 Sen. Amen, amen !
Men. A noble wish.
2 Will bear being called a knave.
Re-enter ^dile, with Citizens.
Sic. Draw near, ye people.
JEd. List to your tribunes ; audience : Peace, 1
say.
Cor. First, hear me speak.
Both Tri. Well, say. — Peace, ho.
Cor. Shall I be charg'd no furtlier than this present ?
Must all determine here ?
Sic. I do demand,
If you submit you to the people's voices,
Allow their oflBcers, and are content
To suffer lawful censure for such faults
As shall be prov'd upon you ?
Cor. I am content.
Men. Lo, citizens, he says, he is content :
The warlike service he has done, consider ;
Think on the wounds his body bears, which show
Like graves i' the holy churchyard.
Cor. Scratches with briars.
Scars to move laughter only.
Men. Consider further.
That when he speaks not like a citizen.
You find him like a soldier : Do not take
His rougher accents for malicious sounds.
But, as I say, such as become a soldier.
Rather than envy s you.
Com. Well, well, no more.
Cor. What is the matter,
That being pass'd for consul with full voice,
I am so dishonour'd, that the very hour
You take it off again ?
Sic. Answer to us.
Cor. Say then : 'tis true, I ought so.
Sic. We charge you, that you have contriv'd to take
From Rome all season'd ^ oflBce, and to wind
Yourself into a power tyrannical ;
For which, you are a traitor to the people.
Cor. How ! Traitor ?
Men. Nay ; temperately : Your promise.
Cor. The fires i' the lowest hell fold in the people !
Call me their traitor ! — Thou injurious tribune !
Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths.
In thy hands clutch'd as many millions, in
Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say.
Thou liest, unto thee, with a voice as free
As I do pray the gods.
Sic. Mark you this, people?
Cit. To the rock with him ; to the rock with him !
Sic. Peace.
We need not put new matter to his charge :
What you have seen him do, and heard him speak.
Beating your ofiicers, cursing yourselves.
Opposing laws with strokes, and here defying
Those whose great power must try him ; even this.
So criminal, and in such capital kind,
Deserves the extremest death.
Bru. But since he hath
Serv'd well for Rome,
Cor. What do you prate of service ?
Bru. I talk of that, that know it.
Cor. You ?
Men. Is tliis
The promise that you made your mother ?
Com. Know,
I pray you,
Cor. I'll know no further :
Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death.
Vagabond exile, flaying ; Pent to linger
But with a grain a day, I would not buy
3 MaUce. ■• Of long standing.
Act IV. Scene I.
CORIOLANUS.
665
Their mercy at the price of one fair word ;
Nor check my courage for what they can give,
To have't with saying, Good morrow.
Sic. For that he has
(As much as in him lies) from time to time
Envied * against the people, seeking means
To pluck away their power ; as now at last
Given hostile strokes, and that not ^ in the presence
Of dreaded justice, but on the ministers
That do distribute it ; In the name o' the people,
And in the power of us the tribunes, we.
Even from this instant, banish him our city ;
In peril of precipitation
From off the rock Tarpeian, never more
To enter our Rome's gates : 1' the people's name,
I say, it shall be so.
CU. It shall be so,
It shall be so ; let him away : he's banish'd.
And so it shall be.
Com. Hear me, my masters, and my common
friends ;
Sic. He's sentenc'd : no more hearing.
Com. Let me speak :
I have been consul, and can show from ^ Rome,
Her enemies' marks upon me. I do love
My country's good, with a respect more tender,
More holy, and profound, than mine own life.
My dear wife's estimate *•, than if I would
Speak that ——
Sic. We know your drift : Speak what ?
Bru. There's no more to be said, but he is banished.
As enemy to the people, and his country :
It shall be so.
Cit. It shall be so, it shall be so.
Cor. You common cry 9 of curs ! whose breath I
hate
As reek • o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize
As the dead carcasses of unburied men
That do corrupt my air, I banish you ;
And here remain with your uncertainty !
Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts !
Your enemies with nodding of their plumes,
Fan you into despair ! have the power still
To banish your defenders ; till, at length.
Your ignorance, (which finds not, till it fV-els,)
Making not reservation of yourselves,
(Still your own foes,) deliver you, as most
Abated ^ captives, to some nation
That won you without blows ! despising,
For you, tlie city, thus I turn my back :
There is a world elsewhere.
l^JExeunt Coriolanus, Cominius, Mekenius,
Senators, and Patricians.
jEd. The people's enemy is gone, is gone !
Cit. Our enemy's banish'd ! he is gone ! Hoo !
hoo !
[ The people shout, and throw up their Caps*
Sic. Go, see him out at gates, and follow him,
As he hath follow'd you, with all despite ;
Give him deserv'd vexation. Let a guard
Attend us through the city.
Cit. Come, come, let us see him out at gates;
come : —
The gods preserve our noble tribunes ! — Come.
\^Exeunt,
ACT IV.
SCENE L — Before a Gate of the City.
Enter Coriolanus, Volumnia, Virgilia, Mene-
Nius, CoMiNius, oTid Several young Patricians.
Cor. Come leave your tears ; a brief farewell : —
the beast
With many heads butts me away Nay, mother.
Where is your ancient courage ? you were us'd
To say, extremity was the trier of spirits ;
That common chances common men could bear ;
That, when the sea was calm, all boats alike
Show'd mastership in floating : fortune's blows.
When most struck home, being gentle wounded,
craves
A noble cunning : you were us'd to load me
With precepts, that would make invincible
The heart that conn'd them.
Vir. O heavens! O heavens!
Cor. Nay, I pr'ythee, woman, —
VoU Now the red pestilence strike all trades in
Rome,
And occupations perish !
Cor. What, what, what !
I shall be lov'd when I am lack'd ! Nay, mother.
Resume that spirit, when you were wont to say.
If you had b«'en the wife of Hercules,
Six of his labours you'd have done and sav'd
Your husband so much sweat. Cominius,
Droop not ; adieu : — Farewell, my wife ! my
mother !
» Showed hatred. « Not only. ^ For. » Value.
I'll do well yet. — Thou old and true Menenius,
Tliy tears are salter than a younger man's,
And venomous to thine eyes. — My sometime general
I have seen thee stem, and thou hast oft beheld
Heart-hard'ning spectacles ; tell these sad women,
'Tis fond 3 to wail inevitable strokes.
As 'tis to laugh at them My mother, you wot
well.
My hazards still have been your solace : and
Believe't not lightly, (though I go alone
Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen.
Makes fear'd, and talk'd of more than seen,) yoiu' son
Will, or exceed the common, or be caught
With cautelous * baits and practice.
Vol. My first 5 son.
Whither wilt thou go? Take good Cominius
With thee a while : Determine on some course.
More than a wild exposture <' to each chance
That starts i' the way before thee.
Cor. O the gods !
Com. I'll follow thee a month, devise with thee
Where thou shalt rest, that thou mayst hear of us.
And we of thee ; so if the time thrust forth
A cause for thy ref>eal, we shall not send
O'er the vast world, to seek a single man
And lose advantage, which doth ever cool
r the absence of the needer.
Cor. Fare ye well : -
Thou hast years upon thee ; and thou art toe full
9 Park. 1 Vaiwur.
* Insidious.
« Subdued.
» Noblert.
3 Foolish.
* Exposure.
666
CORIOLANUS.
Act IV.
Of the war's surfeits, to go rove with one
That's yet unbruis'd : bring me but out at gate. —
Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and
My friends of noble touch 7, when I am forth,
Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you, come.
While I remain above the ground, you shall
Hear from me still ; and never of me aught
But what is like me formerly.
Afen. That's worthily
As any ear can hear. — Come, let's not weep. —
If I could shake off but one seven years
From these old arras and legs, by the good gods,
I'd with thee every foot.
Cor. Give me thy hand ; —
Come. {Exeunt.
SCENE II. —^ Street near the Gate.
Enter Sicinius, Brutus, and an JEdile.
Sic. Bid them all home ; he's gone, and we'll no
further. —
The nobility are vex'd, who, we see, have sided
In his behalf.
Bru. Now we have shown our power,
I^et us seem humbler after it is done,
Than when it was a doing.
Sic. Bid them home :
Say, their great enemy is gone, and they
Stand in their ancient strength.
£ru. Dismiss them home.
lExit ^dile.
Enter Volumnia, Virgilia, and Menenius.
Here comes his mother.
Sic. Let's not meet her.
Bru. Why?
Sic. They say, she's mad.
Bru. They have ta'en note of us :
Keep on your way.
Vol. O, you're well met : The hoarded plague
- o' the gods
Requite your love !
Men. Peace, peace ; be not so loud.
Vol. If that I could for weeping, you should
hear, —
Nay, and you shall hear some. — Will you be gone ?
[To Brutus.
Vir. You shall stay too: [To Sicin.] I would,
I had the power
To say so to my husband.
Sic. Are you mankind ?
Vol. Ay, fool ; is that a shame? — Note but this
fool. — •
Was not a man my father ? Hadst thou foxship
To banish him that struck more blows for Rome,
Than thou hast spoken words ?
Sic. O blessed heavens !
Vol. More noble blows, than ever thou wise words ;
And for Rome's good. — I'll tell thee what ; —
Yet go : —
Nay but thou shalt stay too : — I would my son
Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him,
His good sword in his hand.
Sic. What then ?
Vir. What then ?
He'd make an end of thy posterity.
Vol. Good man, the wounds that he does bear
for Rome !
Men. Come, come, peace.
' True metal.
Sic. I would he had continu'd to his country,
As he began ; and not unknit himself
The noble knot he made.
Bru. I would he had.
Vol. I would he had? *Twas you incens'd the
rabble :
Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth
As I can of those mysteries which heaven
Will not have earth to know.
Bru. Pray, let us go.
Vol. Now, pray, sir, get you gone :
You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear this :
As far as doth the Capitol exceed
The meanest house in Rome : so far, my son,
(This lady's husband here, this, do you see,)
Whom you have banish'd, does exceed you all.
Bru. Well, well, we'll leave you.
Why stay we to be baited
With one that wants her wits ?
Vol. Take my prayers with you. —
I would the gods had nothing else to do,
[Exeunt Tribunes.
But to confirm my curses ! Could I meet them
But once a day, it would unclog my heart
Of what lies heavy to't.
Men. You have told them home.
And, by my troth, you have cause. You'll sup with
me?
Vol. Anger's my meat ; I sup upon myself.
And so shall starve with feeding Come, let's go :
Leave this faint puling, and lament as I do.
In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come.
Men. Fye, fye, fye ! \_Exeunt.
SCENE III. — A Highway between Rome and
Antium.
Enter a Roman and a Voice, meeting.
Rom. I know you well, sir, and you know me :
your name, I think, is Adrian.
Vol. It is so, sir : truly, I have forgot you.
Rom. I am a Roman ; and my services are, as
you are, against them : Know you me yet ?
Vol. Nicanor ? No.
Rom. The same, sir.
Vol. You had more beard, when I last saw you ;
but your favour 8 is well appeared by your tongue.
What's the news in Rome ? I have a note from the
Volscian state, to find you out there : You have well
saved me a day's journey.
Rom. There hath been in Rome Sfrange insur-
rection : the people against the senators, patricians,
and nobles.
Vol. Hath been ! Is it ended then ? Our state
thinks not so ; they are in a most warlike prepar-
ation, and hope to come upon them in the heat of
their division.
Rom. The main blaze of it is past, but a small
thing would make it flame again. For the nobles
receive so to heart the banishment of that worthy
Coriolanus, that they are in a ripe aptness, to take
all power from the people, and to pluck from them
their tribunes for ever. This lies glowing, I can
tell you, and is almost mature for the violent
breaking out.
Vol. Coriolanus banished ?
Rom. Banished, sir.
Vol. You will be welcome with this intelligence,
Nicanor.
" Countenance.
1
Scene V.
CORIOLANUS.
667
Rom. The day serves well for tliem now. I have
heard it said, the fittest time to con-upt a man's wife,
is when she's fallen out with her husband. Your
noble Tullus Aufidius will appear well in these
wars, his great opposer, Coriolanus, being now in
no request of his country.
Vol. He cannot choose. I am most fortunate,
thus accidentally to encounter you : You have
ended my business, and I will merrily accompany
you home.
JRom. I shall, between this and supper, tell you
most strange things from Rome ; all tending to the
good of their adversaries. Have you an army ready,
say you ?
Vol. A most royal one : the centurions, and their
charges, distinctly billeted, already in the entertain-
ment 9, and to be on foot at an hour's warning.
Rom- I am joyful to hear of their readiness, and
am the man, I think, that shall set them in present
action. So, sir, heartily well met, and most glad of
your company.
Vol. You take my part from me, sir ; I have the
most cause to be glad of yours.
Rom. Well, let us go together. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — Antium. Before Au&dius' s H<mse.
Enter Coeiolanus, in mean Apparel, disguised and
m7{ffled.
Cor. A goodly city is this Antium : City,
'Tis I that made thy widows ; many an heir
Of these fair edifices 'fore my wars
Have I heard groan, and drop : then know me not;
Lest that thy wives with spits, and boys with stones,
Enter a Citizen.
In puny battle slay me. — Save you, sir.
Cit. And you.
Cor. Direct me, if it be your will.
Where great Aufidius lies : Is he in Antium ?
Cit. He is, and feasts the nobles of the state.
At his house this night.
Cor. Which is his house, 'beseech you ?
Cit. This, here, before you.
Cor. Thank you, sir ; farewell.
[Exit Citizen.
O, world, thy slippery turns ! Friends now fast sworn,
W^hose double bosoms seem to wear one heart.
Whose hours, whose bed, whose meal, and exercise.
Are still together, who twin, as 'twere, in love
Unseparable, shall within this hour.
On a dissension of a doit ', break out
To bitterest enmity : So, fellest foes,
Whose passions and whose plots have broke their
sleep
To take the one the other, by some chance.
Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends.
And interjoin their issues. So with me : —
My birth-place hate I, and my love's upon
This enemy town. — I'll enter: if he slay me.
He does fair justice : if he give me way,
I'll do his country service. [Exit.
SCENE V. — ^ HaU in Aufidius'i House.
Mustek u'il/iin. Enter a Servant.
1 Serv. Wine, wine, wine ! What service is here !
Enier another Servant.
1 think our fellows «rc asleep.
» In pay. • A i
[Exit.
2 Serv. Where's Cotus ? my master calls for him.
Cotus 1 L^-^
Enter Coriolanus.
Cor. A goodly house : The feast smells well :
but I
Appear not like a guest.
Re-enter ths first Servant.
1 Serv. What would you have, friend? Whence
are you ? Here's no place for you : Pray, go to the
door.
Cor. I have deserved no better entertainment.
In being Coriolanus.
Re-enter second Servant.
2 Serv. Whence are you, sir ? Has the porter his
eyes in his head, that he gives entrance to such com-
panions ? Pray, get you out.
Cor. Away!
2 Serv. Away ? Get you away.
Cor. Now thou art troublesome.
1 Serv. Are you so brave ? I'll have you talked
with anon.
Enter a third Servant. The first meets him*
5 Serv. What fellow's this ?
1 Serv. A strange one as ever I looked on : 1
cannot get him out o' the house ; Pr'ythee, call my
master to him.
3 Serv. What have you to do here, fellow ? Pray
you, avoid the house.
Cor. Let me but stand; I will not hurt your
hearth.
3 Serv. What are you ?
Cor. A gentleman.
3 Serv. A marvellous poor one.
Cor. True, so I am.
3 Serv. Pray you, poor gentleman, take up some
other station ; here's no place for you ; pray you,
avoid : come.
Cor. Follow your function, go !
And batten 2 on cold bits. [Pushes him axuay.
3 Serv. What, will you not ? Pr'ythee, tell my
master what a strange guest he has here.
2 Serv. And I shall. [Exit.
3 Serv. Where dwellest thou.
Cor. Under the canopy.
3 Serv. Under the canopy ?
Car. Ay.
S Serv. Where's that?
Cor. V the city of kites and crows.
3 Serv. 1 ' the city of kites and crows ? — What an
ass it is ! — Then thou dwellest with daws too ?
Cor. No, I serve not thy master.
3 Serv. How, sir ! Do you meddle with my
master ?
Cor. Thou prat'st, and prat'st; serve with thy
trencher, hence ! [Beats him away.
Enter Aunnius, and the second Servant.
Attf. Where is this fellow ?
2 Serv- Here, sir ; I'd have beaten him like a
dog, but for disturbing the lords within.
Au/. Whence comest thou ? what wouldcst thou ?
Thy name ?
Why spcak'st not ? Speak, man : What's thy name ?
a Feed.
668
CORIOLANUS.
Act IV.
Cor. If, TuUus, [Unmiiffling.
Not yet thou know'st me, and seeing me, dost not
Think me for the man I am, necessity
Commands me name myself.
u4uf. What is thy name ?
[Servants retire.
Cor. A name unmusical to the Volscians' ears,
And harsh in sound to thine.
^iif. Say, what's thy name ?
Thou hast a grim appearance, and thy face
Bears a command in't ; though thy tackle's torn,
Thou show'st a noble vessel : What's thy name?
Cor. Prepare thy brow to frown ; Know'st thou
me yet ?
^iif. I know thee not ; — Thy name ?
Cor. My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done
To thee particularly, and to all the Voices,
Great hurt and mischief ; thereto witness may
My surname, Coriolanus : The painful service.
The extreme dangers, and the drops of blood
Shed for my thankless country, are requited
But with that surname ; a good memory 3,
And witness of the malice and displeasure
Which thou shouldst bear me : only that name
remains ;
The cruelty and envy of the people,
Permitted by our dastard nobles, who
Have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest ;
And sufFer'd me by the voice of slaves to be
Whoop'd out of Rome. Now, this extremity
Hath brought me to thy hearth ; Not out of hope.
Mistake me not, to save my life ; for if
I had fear'd death, of all the men i'the world
I would have 'voided thee : but in mere spite.
To be full quit of those my banishers,
Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast
A heart of wreak ■* in thee, that will revenge
Thine own particular wrongs, and stop those maims
Of shame seen through thy country, speed thee
straight.
And make my misery serve thy turn ; so use it.
That my revengeful services may prove
As benefits to thee ; for I will fight
Against my canker'd country with the spleen
Of all the under ^ fiends. But if so be
Thou dar'st not this, and that to prove more fortunes
Thou art tir'd, then, in a word, 1 also am
Longer to live most weary, and present
My throat to thee, and to thy ancient malice :
Which not to cut, would show thee but a fool ;
Since I have ever follow'd thee with hate.
Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breast.
And cannot live but to thy shame, unless
It be to do thee service.
^vj". O Marcius, Marcius,
Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my
heart
A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter
Should from yon cloud speak divine things, and say,
' Tis true ; I'd not believe them more than thee.
All noble Marcius. — O let me twine
Mine arms about that body, where against
My grained ash an hundred times hath broke,
And scar'd the moon with splinters ! Here I clip ^
The anvil of my sword ; and do contest
As hotly and as nobly with thy love.
As ever in ambitious strength I did
Contend against thy valour. Know thou first.
3 Memorial.
* Infernal.
■• Resentment.
6 Embrace.
I love the maid I married ; never man
Sigh'd truer breath ; but that I see thee here,
Thou noble thing ! more dances my rapt heart,
Than when I first my wedded mistress saw
Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars ! I tell thee,
We have a power on foot ; and I had purpose
Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn 7,
Or lose mine arm for't : Thou hast beat me out »
Twelve several times, and I have nightly since
Dreamt of encounters 'twixt thyself and me ;
We have been down together in my sleep.
Unbuckling helms, fisting each other's throat,
And wak'd half dead with nothing. Worthy Marci
Had we no quarrel else to Rome, but that
Thou art hence banish'd, we would muster all
From twelve to seventy ; and, pouring war
Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome,
Like a bold flood o'er-beat. O, come, go in.
And take our friendly senators by the hands ;
Who now are here, taking their leaves of me.
Who am prepar'd against your territories,
Though not for Rome itself.
Cor. You bless me, gods !
Auf. Therefore, most absolute sir, if thou wilt have
The leading of thine own revenges, take
The one half of my commission ; and set down, —
As best thou art experienc'd, since thou know'st
Thy country's strength and weakness, — thine own
ways:
Whether to knock against the gates of Rome,
Or rudely visit them in parts remote.
To fright them, ere destroy. But come in :
Let me commend thee first to those, that shall
Say, yea, to thy desires. A thousand welcomes !
And more a friend than e'er an enemy :
Yet, Marcius, that was much. Your hand ! Most
welcome !
\^Exeunt Coriolanus and Aufidius.
1 SerV' [Advancing. ] Here's a strange alteration !
2 Serv. By my hand, I had thought to have
strucken him with a cudgel ; and yet my mind gave
me, his clothes made a false report of him.
1 Serv. What an arm he has ! He turned me
about with his finger and his thumb, as one would
set up a top.
2 Serv. Nay, I knew by his face that there was
something in him : He had, sir, a kind of face, me-
thought, -^ I cannot tell how to term it.
1 SerV' He had so : looking, as it were, — 'Would
I were hanged, but I thought there was more in him
than I could think.
2 Serv. So did I, I'll be sworn : He is simply
the rarest man i' the world.
1 Serv. I think, he is : but a greater soldier than
he, you wot 9 one.
2 Serv. Who ? my master ?
1 Serv. Nay, it's no matter for that.
2 Serv. Worth six of him.
1 Serv. Nay, not so neither ; but I take him to
be the greater soldier.
2 Serv. 'Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to
say that : for the defence of a town, our general is
excellent.
1 Serv. Ay, and for an assault too.
Re-enter third Servant.
3 Serv. O, slaves, I can tell you news ; news, you
rascals.
1, 2 SerV' What, what, what? let's partake.
7 Arm. 8 FulL » Know.
8
I
Scene VI.
CORIOLANUS.
669
3 Set-v. I would not be a Roman, of all nations;
I had as lieve be a condemned man.
1, 2 Serv. Wlierefore ? wherefore ?
S Serv. Why, here's he that was wont to thwack
our general, — Caius Marcius.
1 Serv. Why do you say, thwack our general ?
3 Serv. I do not say, thwack our general ; but he
was always good enough for him.
2 Serv. Come, we are fellows and friends : he
was ever too hard for him ; I have heard him say
so himself.
1 Serv. He was too hard for him directly, to say
the truth on't : before Corioli, he scotched him and
notched him like a carbonado. '
2 Serv. An he had been cannibally given, he might
have broiled and eaten him too.
1 Serv. But, more of thy news?
3 Serv. Why, he is so made on here within, as
if he were son and heir to Mars : set at upper end
o' the table : no question asked him by any of the
senators, but they stand bald before him : Our
general himself makes a mistress of him ; sanctifies
himself with's hand, and turns up the white o' the
eye to his discourse. But the bottom of the news
is, our general is cut i' the middle, and but one half
of what he was yesterday ; for the other has half, by
the entreaty and grant of the whole table. He'll
go, he says, and sowle - the porter of Rome gates by
the ears : He will mow down all before him, and
leave his passage polled. 3
2 Serv. And he's as like to do't, as any man I can
imagine.
3 Serv. Do't ? he will do't : For, look you, sir,
he has as many friends as enemies : which friends,
sir, (as it were,) durst not (look you, sir,) show them-
selves (as we term it) his friends, whilst he's in
di rectitude.
1 Serv. Directitude ! what's that ?
3 Serv. But when they shall see, sir, his crest up
again, and the man in blood, tliey will out of their
burrows, like rabbits after rain, and revel all with him.
1 Serv. But when goes this forward ?
3 Serv. To-morrow j to-day ; presently. You shall
have the drum struck up tliis afternoon : 'tis, as it
were, a parcel of their feast, and to be executed ere
they wipe their lips.
2 Serv. Why then we shall have a stirring world
again. This peace is nothing, but to rust iron, in-
crease tailors, and breed ballad-makers.
1 Serv. Let me have war, say I ; it exceeds peace,
as far as day does night ; its sprightly, waking, audi-
ble, and full of vent."* Peace is a very apoplexy,
lethargy ; mulled % deaf, sleepy, insensible.
2 Serv. 'Tis so.
1 Serv. Ay, and it makes men hate one another.
3 Serv. Reason; because they then less need one
another. The wars, for my money. I hope to see
Romans as cheap as Volscians. They are rising, they
are rising.
^U. In, in, in, in. [Exeunt.
SCENE VI. — Rome. A publkk Place.
Enter Sicinius and Brutus.
Sic. W^e hear not of him, neither need we fear him :
His remedies are tame i' the present peace
And quietness o' the people, which before
Were in wild hurry. Here do we make his friends
' Meat cut across to he broiled.
3 Cut clear. * Kuinour.
»PulL
» Softened.
Blush, that the world goes well ; who rather had,
Though they themselves did suffer by't, behold
Dissentious numbers pestering streets, than see
Our tradesmen singing in their shops, and going
About their functions friendly.
Enter Menenius.
Bru. We stood to't in good time. Is this Me-
nenius ?
Sic. *Tis he, 'tis he : O, he is grown most kind
Of late. — Hail, sir !
Men. Hail to you both !
Sic. Your Coriolanus, sir, is not much miss'd,
But with his friends: the commonwealth doth stand;
And so would do, were he more angry at it.
Men. All's well ; and might have been much
better, if
He could have temporiz'd.
Sic. Where is he, hear you ?
Men. Nay, I hear nothing; his mother and his wife
Hear nothing from him.
Enter three or four Citizens.
Cit. The gods preserve you both !
Sic. Good e'en, our neighbours.
Bru. Good e'en to you all, good e'en to you all.
1 Cit. Ourselves, our wives, and children, on our
knees,
Are bound to pray for you both.
Sic. Live and thrive !
Bru. Farewell, kind neighbours : we wish'd Co-
riolanus
Had lov'd you as we did.
Cit. Now the gods keep yoxi.
Both Tri. Farewell, farewell. \^Exeunt Citizens.
Sic. This is a happier and more comely time,
Than when these fellows ran about the streets.
Crying, Confusion.
Bru. Caius Marcius was
A worthy officer i' the war ; but insolent,
O'ercome with pride, ambitious past all thinking.
Self-loving, — —
Sic. And affecting one sole throne.
Without assistance. 6
Men. I think not so.
Sic. We should by this, to all our lamentation.
If he had gone forth consul, found it so.
Bru. The gods have well prevented it, and Rome
Sits safe and still without him.
Enter iEdile.
^d. Worthy tribunes.
There is a slave, whom we have put in prison.
Reports, — the Voices with two several powers
Are enter'd in the Roman territories ;
And with the deepest malice of the m ar
Destroy what lies before them.
Meiu 'Tis Aufidius,
Who, hearing of our Marcius' banishment.
Thrusts forth his horns again into the world :
Which were inshell'd, when Marcius stowl fur Rome,
And durst not once peep out.
Sic. Come, what talk you
Of Marcius?
Bru. Go see this rumourer whipp'd. — It cannot
be.
The Voices dare break with us.
Men. Cannot be '.
We have record, that very well it can ;
(SuflVage;
670
CORIOLANUS.
Act IV.
And three examples of the like have been
Witliin my age. But reason with the fellow,
Before you punish him, where he heard this :
Lest you should chance to whip your information.
And beat the messenger who bids beware
Of what is to be dreaded.
Sic. Tell not me :
I know this cannot be.
J3ru. Not possible.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. The nobles, in great earnestness, are going
All to the senate house : some news is come.
That turns their countenances.
Sic. 'Tis this slave ; —
Go whip him 'fore the people's eyes : — his raising !
Nothing but his report !
Mess. Yes, worthy sir,
The slave's report is seconded ; and more,
More fearful i^ deliver'd.
Sic. What more fearful ?
Mess. It is spoke freely out of many mouths,
(How probable, I do not know,) that Marcius,
Join'd with Aufidius, leads a power 'gainst Rome ;
And vows revenge as spacious, as between
The young'st and oldest thing.
Sic. This is most likely !
Bru. Rais'd only, that the weaker sort may wish
Good Marcius home again.
Sic. The very trick on't.
Men. This is unlikely :
He and Aufidius can no more atone?,
Than violentest contrariety.
Enter another Messenger.
Mess. You are sent for to the senate :
A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius,
Associated with Aufidius, rages
Upon our territories ; and have already,
O'erborne their way, consum'd with fire, and took
What lay before them.
Enter Cominius.
Com. O, you have made good work !
Men. What news ? what news ?
Com. You have holp to ravish your own daughters,
and
To melt the city leads upon your pates ;
To see your wives dishonour'd to your noses ;
Men. What's the news ? what's the news ?
Com. Your temples burn'd in their cement ; and
Your franchises, whereon you stood, confin'd
Into an augre's bore.
Men. Pray now, your news ? —
You have made fair work, I fear me : — Pray, your
news?
If Marcius should be join'd with Volscians,
Com. If !
He is their god ; he leads them like a thing
Made by some other deity than nature,
That shapes man better : and they follow him,
Against us brats, with no less confidence.
Than boys pursuing summer butterflies.
Or butchers killing flies.
Men. You have made good work,
You, and your apron men ; you that stood so much
Upon the voice of occupation 8, and
The breath of garlick-eaters !
Com. He will shake
Your Rome about your ears.
^ Unite. 8 Mechanicks.
Men. As Hercules
Did shake down mellow fruit : You have made fair
work !
Bru. But is this true, sir?
Com. Ay ; and you'll look pale
Before you find it other. All the regions
Do smilingly revolt ; and, who resist.
Are only mock'd for valiant ignorance,
And perish constant fools. Who is't can blame him ?
Your enemies, and his, find something in him.
Men. We are all undone, unless
The noble man have mercy.
Com. Who shall ask it?
The tribunes cannot do't for shame : the people
Deserve such pity of him, as the wolf
Does of the shepherds : for his best friends, if they
Should say. Be good to Rome, they charg'd him even
As those should do that had deserv'd his hate,
And therein show'd like enemies.
Men. 'Tis true :
If he were putting to my house the brand
That should consume it, I have not the face
To say, 'Beseech you cease. — You have made fair
hands.
You and your crafts ! you have crafted fair !
Com. You have brought
A trembling upon Rome, such as was never
So incapable of help.
Tri. Say not, we brought it.
Men. How ! Was it we? We lov'd him j but, like
beasts.
And cowardly nobles, gave way to your clusters.
Who did hoot him out o' the city.
Covi. But, I fear
They'll roar him in again. TuUus Aufidius
The second name of men, obeys his points
As if he were his oflScer : — Desperation
Is all the policy, strength, and defence,
That Rome can make against them.
Enter a Troop of Citizens.
Men. Here come the cluster. —
And is Aufidius with him ? — You are they
That made the air unwholesome, when you cast
Your old and greasy caps, in hooting at
Coriolanus' exile. Now he's coming ;
And not a hair upon a soldier's head.
Which will not prove a whip ; as many coxcombs.
As you threw caps up, will he tumble down.
And pay you for your voices. 'Tis no matter ;
If he could burn us all into one coal.
We have deserv'd it.
Cit. 'Faith, we hear fearful news.
1 Cit. For mine own part,
When I said, banish him, I said, 'twas pity.
2 Cit. And so did I.
3 Cit. And so did I ; and, to say the truth, so
did very many of us : That we did, we did for the
best : and though we willingly consented to his
banishment, yet it was against our will.
Com. You are goodly things, you voices !
Men. You have made
Good work, you and your cry! 9 — Shall us to the
Capitol ?
Com. O, ay ; what .else? {Exeunt Com. and Men.
Sic. Go, masters, get you home, be not dismay'd;
These are a side, that would be glad to have
This true, which they so seem to fear. Go home,
And show no sign of fear.
9 Pack ; alluding to a pack of hounds.
I
I
il
Act V. Scene I.
COR lOL ANUS.
f)Tl
1 Cit. Tlie gods be good to us ! Come, masters,
let's home. I ever said, we were i' the wrong,
when we banished him.
2 Cit. So did we all. But come, let's home.
[^Exeunt Citizens.
J?ru. I do not like tliis news.
Sic. Nor I.
£ru. Let's to tlie Capitol : — Would half my
wealth
Would buy this for a lie.
Sic. Pray, let us go. [Exeunt.
SCENE Vir. — ^ Camp; at a small distance
from Home.
Enter Aufidius, and his Lieutenant.
jiuf. Do they still fly to tlie Roman ?
I.ieu. 1 do not know what witchcraft's in him; but
Your soldiers use him as the grace 'fore meat,
Tlieir talk at table, and their thank,s at end ;
And you are darken'd in this action, sir,
Even by your own.
Auf. I cannot help it now ;
Unless, by using means, I lame the foot
Of our design. He bears himself more proudlier
Even to my person, than I thought he would,
When first 1 did embrace him : Yet his nature
In that's no cliangeling ; and I must excuse
What cannot be amended.
Lieu. Yet I wish, sir,
( I mean for your particular,) you had not
Join'd in commission with him : but either
Had borne the action of yourself, or else
To him had left it solely.
Auf. I understand thee well ; and be thou sure.
When he shall come to his account, he knows not
What I can urge against him. Although it seems,
And so he thinks, and is no less apparent
To the vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly,
And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state ;
Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon
As draw his sword : yet he hath left undone
That, which shall break his neck, or hazard mine,
Whene'er we come to our account.
Liezi. Sir, I beseech you, think you he'll carry
Rome?
-Auf. All places yield to him ere he sits down ;
And the nobility of Rome are his :
The senators, and patricians, love him too.
The tribunes are no soldiers ; and their people
Will be as rash in the repeal, as hasty
To expel him thence. I think, he'll be to Rome,
As is the osprey ^ to the fish, who takes it
By sovereignty of nature. First he was
A noble servant to them ; but he could not
Carry his honours even ; whether 'twas pride.
Which out of daily fortune ever taints
The happy man ; whether defect of judgment.
To fail in the disposing of those chances
Which he was lord of; or whether nature.
Not to be other than one thing, not moving
From the casque^ to the cushion*, but commanding
peace
Even with the same austerity and garb
As he controll'd the war ; but, one of these,
(As he hath spices of them all, not all *,
For 1 dare so far free him,) made him fear'd,
So hated, and so banish'd : But he has a merit.
To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues
Lie in the interpretation of the time ;
And power, unto itself most commendable.
Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair
To extol what it hath done.
One fire drives out one fire ; one nail, one nail ;
Rights by rights fouler, strengths by strengths do
fail.
Come, let's away. When, Caius, Rome is thine.
Thou art poor'st of all j then shortly art thou mine.
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I. — Rome. J publick Place.
Enter Menekius, Cominius, Sicinius, Brutus,
and ot/iers.
Men. No, I'll not go : you hear, what he hath
said.
Which was sometime his general ; who lov'd him
In a most dear particular. He call'd me father :
But what o' that ? Go, you that banish'd him,
A mile before his tent fall down, and kneel
The way unto his mercy : Nay, if he coy'd '
To hear Cominius speak, I'll keep at home.
Com. He would not seem to know me.
Men. Do you hear ?
Com. Yet one time he did call me by my name :
I urg'd our old acquaintance, and the drops
That we have bled togetlier. Coriolanus
He would not answer to : forbad all names ;
He was a kind of nothing, titleless.
Till he had forg'd himself a name i' tlie fire
Of burning Rome.
> Condescended unwillingly.
Men. Why, so ; you have made good work :
A pair of tribunes that have rack'd for Rome,
To make coals cheap" : A noble memory !
Com. I minded him, how royal 'twas to pardon
When it was less expected : He replied.
It was a bare petition of a state
To one whom they had punish'd.
Men. Very well :
Could he say less ?
Com. I oflfer'd to awaken his regard
For his private friends : His answer to me was.
He could not stay to pick them in a pile
Of noisome, musty chaflT: He said, 'twas folly.
For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt.
And still to nose the oflTence.
Men. For one poor grain
Or two? I am one of those ; his mother, wife,
His child, and this brave fellow too, we are the
grains :
'An eagle that preys on fi»h. ' Helmet.
* The chair of civil authority. » Not all in their full extent
• I. e. Have managed «o weU for Rome as to get the town
bttmt to Mve the expense of coals.
G72
CORIOLANUS.
Act V.
You are tlie musty chaff; and you are smelt
Above the moon : We must be burnt for you.
Sic. Nay, pray, be patient : If you refuse your aid
In this so never-heeded help, yet do not
Upbraid us with our distress. But, sure, if you
Would be your country's pleader, your good tongue
More than the instant army we can make,
Might stop our countryman.
Men. No ; I'll not meddle.
Sic. I pray you, go to him.
Me7i. What should I do?
Bru. Only make trial what your love can do
For Rome towards Marcius.
Men. Well, and say that Marcius
Return me, as Cominius is return'd,
Unheard ; what then ?
But as a discontented friend, grief-shot
With his unkindness ? Say't be so ?
Sic. Yet your good will
Must have that thanks from Rome, after the measure
As you intended well.
Men. I'll undertake it:
I think, he'll hear me. Yet to bite his lip.
And hum at good Cominius, much unhearts me.
He was not taken well ; he had not din'd :
The veins unfiU'd, our blood is cold, and then
We pout upon the morning, are unapt
To give or to forgive ; but when we have stuff 'd
These pipes and these conveyances of our blood
With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls
Than in our priest-like fasts : therefore I'll watch him
Till he be dieted to my request,
And then I'll set upon him.
Bru, You know the very road into his kindness,
And cannot lose your vway.
Men. Good faith, I'll prove him.
Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledge
Of my success. \_Exii.
Com. He'll never hear him.
Sic. Not ?
Com. I tell you, he does sit in gold, his eye
Red as 'twould burn Rome : and his injury
The gaoler to his pity. I kneel'd before him ;
'Twas very faintly he said. Rise ; dismiss'd me
Tims, with his speechless hand : What he would do,
He sent in writing after me ; what he would not.
Bound with an oath, to yield to his conditions :
So, that all hope is vain.
Unless his noble mother, and his wife ;
Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him
For mercy to his country. Therefore let's hence,
And with our fair entreaties haste them on.
\^Exeimt.
SCENE II. — An advanced Post of the Volscian
Camp before Rome. The Guard at their Stations.
Enter to them Menenius.
1 G. Stay : Whence are you ?
2 G. Stand, and go back.
Men. You guard like men ; 'tis well : But, by
your leave,
I am an officer of state, and come
To speak with Coriolanus.
1 G. From whence ?
Men. From Rome.
1 G. You may not pass, you must return : our
general
Will no more hear from thence.
2 G. You'll see your Rome embrac'd with fire,before
You'll speak with Coriolanus.
Men. Good my fiiends,
If you have heard your general talk of Rome,
And of his friends there, it is lots 7 to blanks.
My name hath touch'd your ears : it is Menenius.
1 G. Be it so ; go back : the virtue of your name
Is not here passable.
Men. I tell thee, fellow,
Thy general is my lover 8 : I have been
The book of his good acts, whence men have read
His fame unparallel'd, haply, amplified ;
For I have ever verified my friends,
(Of whom he's chief,) with all the size that verity
Would without lapsing suffer : nay, sometimes.
Like to a bowl upon a subtle 9 ground,
I have tumbled past the throw ; and in his praise
Have almost stamp'd the leasing ' : Therefore,
fellow,
I must have leave to pass.
1 G. Sir, if you had told as many lies in his
behalf, as you have uttered words in your own,
you should not pass here : no, though it were as
virtuous to lie, as to live chastely. Therefore, go
back.
Men. Pr'ythee, fellow, remember my name is
Menenius, always factionary on the party of your
general.
2 G. Howsoever you have been his liar, (as you
say, you have,) I am one that, telling true under
him, must say, you cannot pass. Therefore, go
back.
Men. Has he dined, can'st thou tell ? for I would
not speak with him till after dinner.
1 G. You are a Roman, are you ?
Men. I am as thy general is.
1 G. Then you should hate Rome, as he does.
Can you, when you have pushed out your gates the
very defender of them, and, in a violent popular
ignorance, given your enemy your shield, think to
front his revenges with the easy groans of old
women, the virginal palms of your daughters, or
with the palsied intercession of such a decayed
dotant '^ as you seem to be ? Can you think to blow
out the intended fire your city is ready to flame in,
with such weak breath as this? No, you are de-
ceived ; therefore, back to Rome, and prepare for
your execution : you are condemned, our general
has sworn you out of reprieve and pardon.
Men. Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here,
he would use me with estimation.
2 G. Come, my captain knows you not.
Men. I mean, thy general.
1 G. My general cares not for you. Back, I say;
go, lest I let forth your half pint of blood: —
back, — that's the utmost of your having : — back.
Men. Nay, but fellow, fellow.
Enter Coriolanus and Aufidius.
Cor. What's the matter ?
Men. Now, you companion 3, I'll say an errand
for you ; you shall know now that I am in esti-
mation ; you shall perceive that a Jack ^ guardant
cannot office me from my son Coriolanus : guess,
but by my entertainment with him, if thou stand'st
not i' the state of hanging, or of some death more
long in spectatorship, and crueller in suffering ;
behold now presently, and swoon for what's to
come upon thee. — The glorious gods sit in hourly
synod about thy particular prosperity, and love thee
I
I
Prizes.
Lie.
Friend.
3 Fellow.
9 Deceitful
4 Jack in office.
Scene III.
CORIOLANUS.
673
I
no worse than thy old father Menenius does ! O,
my son ! my son ! thou art preparing fire for us ;
look thee, here's water to quench it. I was hardly
moved to come to thee; but being assured, none
but myself could move thee, I have been blown
out of your gates with sighs ; and conjure thee to
pardon Rome, and thy petitionary countrymen.
The good gods assuage tliy wrath, and turn the
dregs of it upon this varlet here ; this, who, like a
block, hath denied my access to the
Cor. Away !
Men. How ! away ?
Cor. Wife, mother, child, I know not. My affairs
Are servantcd to others : Though I owe
My revenge properly, my remission lies
In Volscian breasts. That we have been familiar,
Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison, rather
Than pity note how much. — Therefore, begone.
Mine cars against your suits are stronger, than
Your gates against my force. Yet, for ^ I lov'd thee.
Take this along ; I writ it for thy sake,
\_Gives a Letter.
And would have sent it. Another word, Menenius,
1 will not hear thee speak. — This man, Aufidius,
Was my beloved in Rome : yet thou behold'st — —
^uf. You keep a constant temper.
{^Exeunt Coriol. and Aunn.
1 G. Now, sir, is your name Menenius.
2 G. 'Tis a spell, you see, of much power: You
know the way home again.
1 G. Do you hear how we are shent ^ for keeping
your greatness back ?
2 G. What cause, do you think, I have to swoon ?
Men. I neither care for the world, nor your
general : for such things as you, I can scarce think
there is any, you are so slight. He that hath a will
to die by himself, fears it not from another. Let
your general do his worst. For you, be tliat you
are, long ; and your misery increase with your age !
I say to you, as I was said to, Away ! \_ExU.
1 G. A noble fellow, I warrant him.
2 G. The worthy fellow is our general : He is tlie
rock, the oak not to be wind-shaken. [Exeunt.
SCENE III. — The Tent of Coriolanus.
Enter Coriolanus, Aufidius, and others.
Cor. We will before the walls of Rome to-morrow
Sep down our host My partner in this action.
You must report to the Volscian lords, how plainly 7
I have borne in this business.
Auf. Only their ends
You have respected ; stopp'd your ears against
The general suit of Rome ; never admitted
A private whisper, no, not with such friends
That thought them sure of you.
Cor. This last old man.
Whom with a crack'd heart I have sent to Rome,
Loved me above the measure of a father ;
Nay, godded me, indeed. Their latest refuge
Was to send him : for whose old love, I have
(Though I show'd sourly to him,) once more
offer'd
Tlie first conditions, which they did refuse,
And cannot now accept, to grace him only.
That thought he could do more ; a very little
I have yielded too : Fresh embassies, and suits.
* Because.
7 Oi>cnly.
« Reprimanded.
Nor from the state, nor private friends, hereafter
Will I lend ear to. — Ha ! what shout is this ?
[Shout within.
Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow
In the same time 'tis made ? I will not. —
Enter in mourning Habits, Virgilia, Volumnia,
leading young Marcius, Valeria, and At-
tendants.
My wife comes foremost ; then the honour'd mould
Wherein this trunk was fram'd, and in her hand
The grandchild to her blood. But, out, affection !
All bond and privilege of nature, break !
Let it be virtuous, to be obstinate. —
What is that curt'sy wortli ? or those doves' eyes,
Which can make gods forsworn? — I melt, and am
not
Of stronger earth than others. — My mother bows;
As if Olympus to a molehill should
In supplication nod: and my young boy
Hath an aspect of intercession, which
Great nature cries, Deny not, — Let the Voices
Plough Rome, and harrow Italy ; I'll never
Be such a gosling to obey instinct ; but stand,
As if a man were author of himself,
And knew no other kin.
Vir. My lord and husband !
Cor. These eyes are not the same I wore in
Rome.
Vir. The sorrow that delivers us thus chang'd,
Makes you think so.
Cor. Like a dull actor now,
I have forgot my part, and I am out.
Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh,
Forgive my tyranny ; but do not say.
For that. Forgive our Romans. — O, a kiss
Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge !
Now by the jealous queen 8 of heaven, that kiss
I carried from thee ; and my true lip
Hath virgin'd it e'er since. — You gods ! I prate
And the most noble mother of the world
Leave unsaluted : Sink, my knee i' the earth ;
[Kneels.
Of thy deep duty more impression show
Than th^t of common sons.
Vol. O, stand up bless'd!
Whilst with no softer cushion than the flint,
I kneel before thee ; and unproperly
Show duty, as mistaken all the while
Between the child and parent. [Kneels.
Cor. What is this ?
Your knees to me ? to your corrected son ?
Then let the the pebbles on the hungry beach
Fillip the stars ; then let the mutinous winds
Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun j
Murd'ring impossibility, to make
What cannot be, slight work.
Vol. Thou art my warrior ;
I holp to frame thee. Do you know tins lady ?
Cor. The noble sister of Publicola,
The moon of Rome ; chaste as the icicle,
That's curded by the frost from purest snow.
And hangs on Dian's temple : Dear Valeria !
Vol. This is a poor epitome of yours.
Which by the interpretation of full time
May show like all yourself.
Cor. The god of soldiers.
With the consent of supreme Jove, inform
Thy thoughts with nobleness; that tliou may'st prove
■ Juna
X X
674.
CORIOLANUS.
Act V.
To shame unvulnerable, and stick i' the wars
Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw 9,
And saving those that eye thee !
Vol. Your knee, sirrah.
Cor. That's my brave boy.
Vol. Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself.
Are suitors to you.
Cor. I beseech you, peace :
Or, if you'd ask, remember this before ;
TJ)e things, I have forsworn to grant, may never
Be held by you denials. Do not bid me
Dismisss my soldiers, or capitulate
Again witli Rome's mechanicks : — Tell me not
Wherein I seem unnatural : Desire not
To allay my rages and revenges, with
Your colder reasons.
Vol. O, no more, no more !
You have said, you will not grant us any thing ;
For we have nothing else to ask, but that
Which you deny already : Yet we will ask ;
That, if you fail in our request, the blame
May hang upon your hardness : therefore hear us.
Cor. Aufidius, and you Voices, mark; for we'll
Hear nought from Rome in private Your request?
Vol. Should we be silent and not speak, our
raiment,
And state of bodies would bewray ' what life
We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself,
How more unfortunate than all living women
Are we come hither: since that thy sight, which
should
Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with
comforts,
Constrains them weep, and shake with fear and
sorrow ;
Making the mother, wife, and child, to see
The son, the husband, and the father, tearing
His country's bowels out. And to poor we,
Thine enmity's most capital : thou barr'st us
Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort
That all but we enjoy : For how can we,
Alas ! how can we for our country pray,
Whereto we are bound; together with thy victory.
Whereto we are bound? Alack ! or we must lose
The country, our dear nurse : or else thy person.
Our comfort in the country. We must find
An evident calamity, though we had
Our wish, which side should win : for either thou
Must, as a foreign recreant, be led
With manacles thorough our streets, or else
Tiiumphantly tread on thy country's ruin ;
And bear the palm, for having bravely shed
Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son,
I purpose not to wait on fortune, till
These wars determine : if I cannot persuade thee
Rather to show a noble grace to both parts,
Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner
March to assault thy country, than to tread,
(Trust to't thou shalt not,) on thy mother's womb.
That brought thee to this world.
Vir. Ay, and on mine,
That brought you forth this boy, to keep your name
Living to time.
Boi/. He shall not tread on me ;
I'll run away, till I am bigger, but then I'll fight.
Cor. Not of a woman's tenderness to be.
Requires nor child nor woman's face to see.
I have sat too long. [Rising.
Vol. Nay, go not from us thus.
9 Gust, storm. i Betray.
If it were so, that our request did tend
To save the Romans, thereby to destroy
The Voices whom you serve, you might condemn us,
As poisonous of your lionour : No ; our suit
Is, that you reconcile them : while the Voices
May say. This mercy we have showed ; the Romans,
This we received ,- and each in either side
Give the all-hail to thee, and cry. Be blessed
For making up this peace I Thou know'st, great son,
The end of war's uncertain ; but this certain.
That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit
Which thou shalt thereby reap, is such a name,
Whose repetition will be dogg'd with curses ;
Whose chronicle thus writ, — The man was noble,
But with his last attempt, he wip'd it out ;
Destroy d his country ,- and his name remains
To the ensuing age, abhorrd. Speak to me, son :
Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour,
To imitate the graces of the gods ;
To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' the air,
And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt
That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak ?
Think'st thou it honourable for a noble man
Still to remember wrongs ? — Daughter, speak you :
He cares not for your weeping Speak thou, boy :
Perhaps, thy childishness will move him more
Than can our reasons. — There is no man in the
world
More bound to his mother ; yet here he lets me prate
Like one i' the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life
Show'd thy dear mother any couitesy ;
When she (poor hen ! ) fond of no second brood.
Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home,
Loaden with honour. Say, my request's unjust,
And spurn me back : But, if it be not so.
Thou art not honest ; and the gods will plague thee.
That thou restrain'st from me the duty, which
To a mother's part belongs. — He turns away :
Down, ladies ; let us shame him with our knees.
To his surname Coriolanus 'longs more pride.
Than pity to our prayers. Down ; an end :
This is the last ; — So we will home to Rome
And die among our neighbours. — Nay, behold us :
This boy, that cannot tell what he would have.
But kneels, and holds up hands, for fellowship.
Does reason our petition with more strength
Than thou hast to deny't. — Come, let us go :
This fellow had a Volscian to his mother ;
His wife is in Corioli, and his child
Like him by chance ; — Yet give us our despatch :
I am hush'd until our city be afire.
And then I'll speak a little.
Cor. O mother, mother !
[Holding VoLUMNiA by the hands, silent.
What have you done ? Behold, the heavens do ope,
The gods look down, and this unnatural scene
They laugh at. O my mother, mother ! O !
You have won a happy victoiy to Rome :
But, for your son, — Believe it, O, believe it.
Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd.
If not most mortal to him. But, let it come :
Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars,
I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius,
Were you in my stead, say, would you have heard
A mother less? or granted less, Aufidius?
Auf. I was mov'd withal.
Cor. I dare be sworn, you were :
And, sir, it is no little thing, to make
Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir,
What peace you'll make, advise me : For my part.
Scene IV.
CORIOLANUS.
675
I'll not to Rome, I'll back with you; and pray you,
Stand to me in this cause. — O mother ! wife !
Auf. I am glad thou hast set thy mercy and thy
honour
At diflerence in thee : out of that I'll work
Myself a former fortune. [Aside,
\_Tlie Ladies make signs to Coriolanus.
Cor. Ay, by and by ;
[To VOLUMNIA, VlllGILIA, ^C.
But we will drink together ; and you shall bear
A better witness back than words, which we.
On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd.
Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve
To have a temple built you : all the swords
In Italy, and her confederate arms,
Could not have made this peace. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — Rome. A publick Place.
Enter Menenius and Sicinius.
Men. See you yond' coign « o' the Capitol : yond'
corner stone ?
Sic. Why, what of that ?
Men. If it be possible for you to displace it with
your little finger, tliere is some hope the ladies of
Rome, especially his mother, may prevail with him.
But I say, there is no hope in't ; our throats are sen-
tenced, and stay upon execution.
Sic. Is't possible, tliat so short a time can alter
the condition of a man ?
Men. There is difFerency between a grub, and a
butterfly ; yet your butterfly was a grub. This
Marcius is grown from man to dragon : he has
wings ; he's more than a creeping thing.
Sic. He loved his mother dearly.
Men. So did he me : and he no more remembers
his moUier now, than an eight year old horse. The
tartness of his face sours ripe grapes. When he
walks, he moves like an engine, and tlie ground
shrinks before his treading. He is able to pierce a
corslet with his eye ; talks like a knell, and his hum
is a battery. He sits in his state 3, as a thing made
for^ Alexander. What he bids be done, is finished
with his bidding. He wants nothing of a god but
eternity, and a heaven to throne in.
Sic. Yes, mercy, if you report him truly.
Men. I paint him in the character. Mark what
mercy his mother shall bring from him : There is no
more mercy in him, than there is milk in a male
tiger ; that shall our poor city find : and all this is
'long of you.
Sic. The gods be good unto us !
Men. No, in such a case the gods will not be
good unto us. When we banished him, we re-
spected not them : and, he returning to break our
necks, they respect not us.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Sir, if you'd save your life, fly to your house;
The plebeians have got your fellow-tribune.
And hale him up and down ; all swearing, if
The Roman ladies bring not comfort home.
They'll give him death by inches.
Enter another Messenger.
Sic. What's the news?
Mess. Good news, good news ; — The ladies have
prevail 'd.
The Voices are dislodg'd, and Marcius gone :
» Angle. ' Chair of sUte. •♦ To resemble.
A merrier day did never yet greet Rome,
No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins.
Sic. Friend,
Art thou certain this is true ? is it most certain ?
Mess. As certain as I know the sun is fire :
Where have you lurk'd, that you make doubt of it?
Ne'er through an arch so hurried the blown tide.
As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark
you ;
[Trumpets and Hautboys sounded, and Drums
beaten, all together. Shoutuig also within.
The trumpets, hautboys, psalteries, and fifes.
Tabors, and cymbals, and the shouting Romans,
Make the sun dance. Hark you ! [Shouting again.
Men. This is good news ;
I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia
Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians,
A city full ; of tribunes, such as you,
A sea and land full : You have prayed well to-day ;
This morning, for ten thousand of your throats
I'd not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy !
[Shouting and Musick.
Sic. First, the gods bless you for their tidings ;
next.
Accept my thankfulness.
Mess. Sir, we have all
Great cause to give great thanks.
Sic. They are near the city ?
Mess. Almost at point to enter.
Sic. We will meet them.
And help the joy. [ Going.
Enter the Ladies, accompanied by Senators, Patri-
cians, and People. They pass over the Stage.
1 Sen. Behold our patroness, the life of Rome :
Call all your tribes together, praise the gods,
And make triumphant fires ; strew flowers before
them :
Unshout the noise that banish 'd Marcius,
Repeal * him with the welcome of his mother ;
Cry, — Welcome, ladies, welcome ! —
All. Welcome, ladies !
Welcome ! [A Flourish with Drums and Trumpets.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V. — Antium. A publick Place.
Enter Tullus Aufidius, with Attendants.
Auf. Go tell the lords of the city, I am here :
Deliver them this paper : having read it.
Bid them repair to the market-place ; where I,
Even in theirs and in the commons' ears,
Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse,
The city ports 6 by this hath enter'd, and
Intends to appear before the people, hoping
To purge himself with words : Despatch.
[Exeunt Attendants.
Enter three or four Conspirators of Aufidius'
Faction.
Most welcome !
1 Con. How is it with our general ?
■^uf. Even so,
As with a man by his own alms empoison'd,
And with his charity slain.
2 Con. Most noble sir,
If you do hold the same intent wherein
You wish'd us parties, we'll deliver you
Of your great danger.
Auf. Sir, I cannot tell ;
We must proceed, as we do find the people.
* Recall 6 Gatefc
Xx 2
676
CORIOLANUS.
Act V.
3 CoU' The people will remain uncertain, whilst
'Twixt you there's difference ; but the fall of either
Makes the survivor heir of all.
Auf. I kriow it ;
And my pretext to strike at him admits
A good construction. I rais'd him, and I pawn'd
Mine honour for his truth : Who being so heighten'd,
He water'd his new plants with dews of flattery,
Seducing so my friends : and, to this end,
He bow'd his nature, never known before
But to be rough, unswayable, and free.
3 Con. Sir, his stoutness,
When he did stand for consul, which he lost
By lack of stooping,
Juf. That I would have spoke of:
Being banish'd for't, he came unto my hearth ;
Presented to my knife his throat : I took him ;
Made him joint servant with me ; gave him way
In all his own desires ; nay, let him choose
Out, of my files, his projects to accomplish,
My best and freshest men ; serv'd his desigmnents
In mine own person ; holp to reap the fame,
Which he did end all his ; and took some pride
To do myself this wrong : till, at the last,
I seem'd his follower, not partner ; and
He wag'd me with his countenance ', as if
I had been mercenary.
1 Con. So he did, my lord :
The army marvell'd at it. And, in the last.
When he had carried Rome ; and that we look'd
For no less spoil, than glory,
Auf. There was it ; —
For which my sinews shall be stretch'd upon him.
At a few drops of women's rheum », which are
As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour
Of our great action ; Therefore shall he die.
And I'll renew me in his fall. But, hark !
[Drums and Trumpets sound, with great
Shouts of the People.
1 Con. Your native town you entei'd like a post,
And had no welcomes home ; but he returns,
Splitting the air with noise.
2 Con. And patient fools.
Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear.
With giving him glory.
3 Con. Therefore, at your 'vantage,
Ere he express himself, or move the people
With what he would say, let him feel your sword,
Which we will second. When he lies along,
After your way his tale pronounc'd shall bury
His reasons with his body.
Auf. Say no more ;
Here come the lords.
Enter the Lords of the City.
Lords. You are most welcome home.
Avf. I have not deserv'd it,
But, worthy lords, have you with heed perus'd
What I have written to you ?
Lords. We have.
1 Lord. And grieve to hear it.
What faults he made before the last, I think.
Might have found easy fines : but there to end,
W^here he was to begin : and give away
The benefit of our levies, answering us
With our own charge 9 ; making a treaty, where
There was a yielding ; This admits no excuse.
Auf. He approaches, you shall hear him.
7 Thought me rewarded with good looks. ^ Tears.
' Rewarding us with our own expenses.
Enter Couioi.anus, with Drums and Colours; a
Crowd of Citizens ivith him.
Cor. Hail, lords ! I am return'd your soldier ;
No more infected with my country's love.
Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting
Under your great command. You are to know.
That prosperously I have attempted, and
With bloody passage, led your wars, even to
The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought
home,
Do more than counterpoise, a full third part,
The charges of the action. We have made peace,
With no less honour to the Antiates,
Than shame to the Romans : And we here deliver,
Subscrib'd by the consuls and patricians.
Together with the seal o' the senate, what
We have compounded on.
Auf. Read it not, noble lords ;
But tell the traitor, in the highest degree
He hath abus'd your powers.
Cor. Traitor ! — How now ?
Aif. Ay, traitor Marcius.
Cor. Marcius !
Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius; Dost thou
think
I'll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol'n name
Coriolanus in Corioli ? —
You lords and heads of the state, perfidiously
He has betray'd your business, and given up,
For certain drops of salt, your city Rome,
(I say, your city,) to his wife and mother :
Breaking his oath and resolution, like
A twist of rotten silk ; never admitting
Counsel o' the war ; but at his nurse's tears
He whin'd and roar'd away your victory ;
That pages blush'd at him, and men of heart
Look'd wondering each at other.
Cor. Hear'st thou. Mars ?
Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of tears, —
Cor. Ha !
Aiif. No more.
Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart
Too great for what contains it. Boy ! O slave ! —
Pardon me, lords, 'tis the first time that ever
I was forc'd to scold. Your judgments, my grave
lords.
Must give this cur the lie : and his own notion
( Wlx) wears my stripes impress'd on him ; that must
bear
My beating to his grave ;) shall join to thrust
The lie unto him.
1 Lord. Peace, both, and hear me speak.
Cor. Cut me to pieces. Voices ; men and lads.
Stain all your edges on me. — Boy ! False hound !
If you have writ your annals true, 'tis there.
That like an eagle in a dove-cote, I
Flutter'd your Voices in Corioli :
Alone I did it. — Boy !
Auf. Why, noble lords.
Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune.
Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart,
' Fore your own eyes and ears ?
Con. Let him die for't. [Several speak at once.
Cit. [Speaking promiscuousli/.'] Tear him to
pieces, do it presently. He killed my son ; — my
daughter ; — He killed my cousin Marcus ; — He
killed my father. —
2 Lord. Peace, ho ; — no outrage ; — peace.
The man is noble, and his fame folds in
This orb o' the earth. His last offence to us
I
Scene V.
CORIOLANUS.
677
Shall have judicious ' hearing. — Stand, Aufidius,
And trouble not the peace.
Cor. O, that I had him,
With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe,
To use my lawful sword !
Auf. Insolent villain !
Con. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him.
[Aufidius aivl the Conspirators draw^ ami kill
CoKioLANus, who/alls, and Aunwus stands
on him.
Lords. Hold, hold, hold, hold.
Auf. My noble masters, hear me speak.
1 Lord. O Tullus, —
2 Lord. Thou hast done a deed whereat valour
will weep.
3 Lord. Tread not upon him. — Masters all, be
quiet ;
Put up your swords.
Auf. My lords, when you shall know (as in this
rage,
Provok'd by him, you cannot,) the great danger
1 Judicial.
Which tliis man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice
That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours
To call me to your senate, I'll deliver
Myself your loyal servant, or endure
Your heaviest censure.
1 Lord. Bear from hence his body.
And mourn you for him : let him be regarded
As the most noble cofse that ever herald
Did follow to his urn.
2 Lord. His own impatience
Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame.
Let's make the best of it.
Atif. My rage is gone.
And I am struck with sorrow. — Take him up :
Help, three o' the chiefest soldiers : I'll be one. —
Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully :
Trail your steel pikes. — Though in this city he
Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one,
Which to this hour bewail the injury.
Yet he shall have a noble memory. —
Assist. [ExeiiJit, bearing the hodu of Cokiolanus.
A dead March sounded.
I
X I 3
V.
c
i
c^
n '
JULIUS CiESAR.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
JuMUS C^SAB,
octavius c^sar,
Marcus Antonius, > , ,. ^.^ .^
-- „ - ' f Julius Caesar.
M. /Emil. Lepious, J
CicEKo, PiTBLius, Popiuus Lena ; tenators.
Marcus Brutus,
C A SSI us,
Casca,
Trebonius,
LiGARIUS,
Decius Brutus,
Metei-lus Cimber
CiNNA,
Fi.Avius und MARULr.us, Tribunes.
I Trill nivirsaflerlhe Death »/
Conspirators against Julius
Csesar.
Artemidorus, a Sophist r*/* Cnidos.
A Soothsayer.
CiNNA, a Poet.
Another Poet.
LuriLius, TiTiNius, Messala, young Cato, and
VoLUMNius ; Friends to Brutus and Ciussiiis.
Varro, Clitus, Claudius, Strato, Lucius, Dab-
DANius; Servants to Brutus.
Pindarus, Servant to Cassius.
Calphurnia, Wife to Caesar.
Portia, Wife to Brutus.
Senators, Citizens, Guards, Atteiidanti, ^c
SCENEf during a great Part of the Play, at Rome : afterwards at Sardis ; and mur Pliilippi.
I Hon ART
ihat evef
OF TOE NOBLEST Mi
THE IIIJE OF TIMES
JULIUS C^SAR,
ACT I.
SCENE I. — Rome. A Street.
Enter Fr.Avius, Marullus, awrfa Rabble o/* Citizens.
Flav. Hence ; home, you idle creatures, get you
home ;
Is this a holiday ? What ! know you not,
Being mechanical, you ought not walk.
Upon a labouring day, without the sign
Of your profession ? — Speak, what trade art thou ?
1 Cit. Why, sir, a carpenter.
Mar. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule ?
What dost thou with thy best apparel on ? —
You, sir ; what trade are you ?
2 Cit. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I
am but, as you would say, a cobbler.
Mar. But what trade art thou ? Answer me
directly.
2 Cit. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with
a safe conscience ; which is, indeed, sir, a mender
of bad soies.
Mar. What trade, thou knave ; thou naughty
knave, what trade ?
2 Cit. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out wiih
me : yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you.
Mar. What meanest thou by that ? Mend mp,
thou saucy fgUow !
2 Cit. Why, sir, cobble you.
Fiav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou ?
9 Cit. Truly, sir, all that I live by is, with the awl :
I meddle with no tradesman's matters, but with awl.
1 am, indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes ; when
they are in great danger, I recover them. As pro-
per men as ever trod upon neat's leather, have gone
upon my handy-work.
Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day ?
Why dost thou lead these men about the streets ?
2 Cit. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get
myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make
holiday, to see Caesar, and to rejoice in his triumph.
Mar. Wherefore rejoice ? What conquest brings
he home ?
What tributaries follow him to Rome,
To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels ?
You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless^;
things !
O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,
Knew you not Pompey ? Many a time and oft
Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements.
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops,
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat
The live-long day, with patient expectation,
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome :
a\ nd when you saw his chariot but appear
Have you not made an universal shout,
That Tyber trembled underneath her banks,
To hear the replication of your sounds.
Made in her concave shores ?
And do you now put on your best attire?
I
Act I. Scene II.
JULIUS CiESAR.
679
And do you now cull out a holiday ?
And do you now strew flowers in his way,
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood ?
Begone ;
Run to your houses, fall upon your knees.
Pray to the gods to intermit the plague
That needs must light on this ingratitude.
FlaV' Go, go, good countrymen, and for this fault,
Assemble all the poor men of your sort ' ;
Draw them to Tyber banks, and weep your tears
Into the channel, till the lowest stream
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all.
[Exeunt Citizens.
See, whe'r their basest metal be not mov'd ;
They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.
Go you down that way towards the Capitol ;
This way will I : Disrobe the images,
If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies.
Mu7'. May we do so ?
You know, it is the feast of Lupercal.
Flav. It is no matter ; let no images
Be hung with Caesar's trophies. I'll about,
And drive away the vulgar from the streets :
So do you too, where you perceive them thick.
These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's wing,
Will make him fly an ordinary pitch ;
Who else would soar above the view of men,
And keep us all in servile fearfulness. [JExeunt.
SCENE U. — A publick Place.
Enter, in Procession, with Musick, Cjesar ; Antont,
for the Course: Calphurnia, Portia, Decius,
Cicero, Brutus, Cassius, and Casca ; a great
Crowd fgllouing, among them a Soothsayer.
Cces. Calphurnia, —
Casca. Peace, ho ! Caesar speaks,
[Musick ceases.
Cas. Calphurnia, —
Cal. Here, my lord.
C^s. Stand you directly in Antonius' way,
WJien he doth run his course. ^ — Antonius.
yint. Caesar, my lord.
Cces. Forget not, in your speed, Antonius,
To touch Calphurnia : for our elders say,
The barren, touched in this holy chase,
Shake off their sterile curse.
j^tit. I shall remember :
When Caesar says. Do this, it is perforra'd.
Cees. Set on ; and leave no ceremony out. [Musick.
Sooth. Caesar.
Cees. Ha ! who calls ?
Casca. Bid every noise be still ; — Peace yet again.
[Musick ceases.
Cees. Who is it in the press ', that calls on me ?
I hear a tongue, shriller than all the musick.
Cry, Ca;sar : Speak ; Caesar is turn'd to hear.
Sooth, Beware the ides of March.
Cees. What man is that?
Brtt. A soothsayer, bids you beware the ides of
Msu-ch.
CeBS. Set him before me, let me see his face.
Cas. Fellow, come from the throng: Look upon
Ca?sar.
Cees. What say'st thou to mc now ? Speak once
again.
Sooth. Beware the ides of March.
Cees. He is a dreamer ; let us leave him ; — pass.
[Sennet. * Exeunt all but Bru. and Cas.
• Rank. ' A ceremony observed at the feast of l.uprrcalia.
3 Crowd. * I-1ourub of instruments.
Cas. Will you go see the order of the course?
Jiru. Not I.
Cas. I pray you do.
Bru. I am not gamesome : I do lack some part
Of that quick spirit that is in Antony.
Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires :
I'll leave you,
Cas. Brutus, I do observe you now of late :
I have not from your eyes that gentleness.
And show of love, as I was wont to have :
You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand
Over your friend that loves you.
Bru. Cassius,
Be not deceiv'd : if I have veil'd my look,
I turn the trouble of my countenance
Merely upon myself. Vexed I am.
Of late, with passions of some difference.
Conceptions only proper to myself.
Which give some soil, perhajjs, to my behaviours :
But let not therefore my good friends be grieved ;
(Among which number, Cassius, be you one ;)
Nor construe any further my neglect.
Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war,
Forgets the shows of love to other men.
Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your
passion ^,
By means whereof, this breast of mine hath buried
Thouglits of great value, worthy cogitations.
Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face ?
Bru. No, Cassius : for the eye sees not itself,
But by reflection, by some other things.
Cas. 'Tisjust:
And it is very much lamented, Brutus,
That you have no such mirrors, as will turn
Your hidden worthiness into your eye.
That you might see your shadow. I have heard.
Where many of the best respect in Rome,
(Except immortal Caesar,) speaking of Brutus,
And groaning underneath this age's yoke,
Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes.
Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me,
Cassius,
That you would have me seek into myself
For that which is not in me?
Cas. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to hear :
And since you know you cannot see yourself
So well as by reflection, I, your glass.
Will modestly discover to yourself
That of yourself which you yet know not of.
And be not jealous of me, gentle Brutus:
Were I a common laugher, or did use
To stale ^ with ordinary oaths my love
To every new protester ; if you know
That I do fawn on men, and hug them hard.
And after scandal them ; or if you know
That I profess myself in banqueting
To all the rout, then hold me dangerous.
[Flotirish, and Shout.
Bru. What means this shouting? I do fear, tlie
people
Choose Czesar for their king.
Cfts. Ay, do you fear it ?
Then must I think you would not have it so.
Bru. I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well: —
But wherefore do you hold me here so long?
What is it that you would impart to me?
If it be aught toward the general good,
Set honour in one eye, and death i'thc other.
And I will look on both indittercntly :
> The nature of your feelings. < Make common-
Xx 4
680
JULIUS C^SAR.
Act I.
For, let the gods so speed me, as I love
The name of honour more than I fear death.
Cas. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,
As well as I do know your outward favour.
Well, honour is the subject of my story. —
I cannot tell, what you and other men
Think of this life ; but, for my single self,
I had as lief not be, as live to be
In awe of such a thing as 1 myself.
I was born free as Csesar; so were you:
We both have fed as well : and we can both
Endure the winter's cold, as well as he.
For once, upon a raw and gusty day,
The troubled Tyber chafing with her shores,
Caesar said to me, Dar'st thou, Cassius, now,
Leap in with me into this angry jlood,
And sioini to yonder point ? Upon the word,
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in,
And bade him follow : so, indeed, he did.
The torrent roar'd ; and we did buffet it
With lusty sinews ; throwing it aside
And stemming it with hearts of controversy.
But ere we could arrive the point propos'd,
Caesar cry'd, Help me, Cassius, or I sink.
I, as ^neas, our great ancestor.
Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder
The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tyber
Did I the tired Caesar : And this man
Is now become a god ; and Cassius is
A wretched creature, and must bend his body,
If Caesar carelessly but nod on him.
He had a fever when he was in Spain,
And, when the fit was on him, I did mark
How he did shake : 'tis true, this god did shake :
His coward lips did from their colour fly ;
And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world.
Did lose his lustre : I did hear him groan :
Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans
Mark him, and write his speeches in their books,
Alas ! it cried. Give me some drink, Titinius,
As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me,
A man of such a feeble temper 7 should
So get the start of the majestick world.
And bear the palm alone. [^Shout. Flourish.
Bru. Another general shout !
I do believe, that these applauses are
For some new honours that are heap'd on Caesar.
Cas. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world.
Like a Colossus ; and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs, and peep about
To find ourselves dishonourable graves.
Men at some time are masters of their fates ;
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
Brutus and Caesar: What should be in that Ceesar?
Why should that name be sounded more than yours ?
Write them together, yours is as fair a name ;
Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well ;
Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with them,
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cassar. \^Shout.
Now in the names of all the gods at once,
Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed,
That he is grown so great ? Age, thou art sham'd :
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods !
When went there by an age, since the great flood.
But it was fam'd with more than with one man?
When could they say, till now, that talk'd of Rome,
That her wide walks encompass'd but one man ?
Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough,
7 Temperament, constitution.
When there is in it but one only man.
O ! you and I have heard our fathers say,
Tliere was a Brutus once, that would have brook'd
The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome,
As easily as a king.
Bru. That you do love me, I am nothing jealous ;
What you would work me to, I have some aim » ;
How I have thought of this, and of these times,
I shall recount hereafter ; for this present,
I would not, so with love I might entreat you,
Be any further mov'd. What you have said,
I will consider ; what you have to say,
I will with patience hear : and find a time
Both meet to hear, and answer, such high things.
Till then, my noble friend, chew 9 upon this j
Brutus had rather be a villager,
Than to repute himself a son of Rome
Under these hard conditions as this time
Is like to lay upon us.
Cas. I am glad that my weak words
Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus.
Re-enter C^sar, and his Train.
Bru. The games are done, and Caesar is returning.
Cas. As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve ;
And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you
What hath proceeded, worthy note, to-day.
Bru. I will do so : — But look you, Cassius,
The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow.
And all the rest look like a chidden train :
Calphurnia's cheek is pale ; and Cicero
Looks with such ferret ' and such fiery eyes,
As we have seen him in the Capitol,
Being cross'd in conference by some senators.
Cas. Casca will tell us what the matter is.
Cces. Antonius.
Ant. Caesar.
C(Es. Let me have men about me that are fat ;
Sleek-headed men, and ouch as sleep o' nights :
Yond' Cassius has a lean and hungry look ;
He thinks too much : such men are dangerous.
A7it. Fear him not, Caesar, he's not dangerous ;
He is a noble Roman, and well given.
Cces. ' Would he were fatter : — But I fear him not :
Yet if my name were liable to fear,
I do not know the man I should avoid
So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much ;
He is a great observer, and he looks
Quite through the deeds of men: he loves no plays.
As thou dost, Antony; he hears no musick :
Seldom he smiles ; and smiles in such a sort.
As if he mock'd himself, and scorn'd his spirit
That could be mov'd to smile at any thing.
Such men as he be never at heart's ease.
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves ;
And therefore are they very dangerous.
I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd.
Than what I fear, for always I am Caesar.
Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf.
And tell me truly what thou think'st of him.
[Exeunt Cjsesar and his Train. Casca
stays behind.
Casca. You pull'd me by the cloak ; would you
speak with me?
Bru. Ay, Casca; tell us what hath chanc'd to-day.
That Caesar looks so sad.
Casca. Why, you were with him, were you not ?
Bru. I should not then ask Casca what hath
chanc'd.
8 Guess. 9 Ruminate. ' A ferret has red eyes.
I
Scene II.
JULIUS CiESAR.
681
Casca. Why, there was a crown oflTer'd him : and
being offer'd him, he put it by with tlie back of his
hand, thus; and then the people fell a shouting.
Bru. What was the second noise for?
Casca. Why, for that too.
Cas. They shouted thrice ; What was the last
cry for?
Casca, Why, for that too.
Bru. Was the crown offered him thrice ?
Casca. Ay, marry, was't, and he put it by thrice,
every time gentler than other ; and at every putting
by, mine honest neighbours shouted.
Cos. Who offer'd him the crown ?
Casca. Why, Antony.
Bru. Tell us tlie manner of it, gentle Casca.
Casca. I can as well be hanged as tell the man-
ner of it : it was mere foolery. I did not mark it.
I saw Mark Antony offer him a crown ; — yet 'twas
not a crown neither, 'twas one of these coronets ;
— and, as I told you, he put it by once ; but, for all
that, to my thinking, he would fain have had it.
Then he offered it to him again ; then he put it by
again : but, to my thinking, he was very loath to
lay his fingers off it. And then he offered it the
third time ; he put it the third time by : and still as
he refused it, the rabblement hooted, and clapped
their chopped hands, and threw up their night-caps,
and uttered such a deal of foul breath because
Caesar refused the crown, that it had almost choked
Caesar ; for he swooned, and fell down at it : And
for mine own part, I durst not laugh, for fear of
opening my lips, and receiving the bad air.
Cas. But soft, I pray you : What ? did Cajsar
swoon ?
Casca. He fell down in the market-place, and
foamed at mouth, and was speechless.
Bru. 'Tis very like : he hath the falling-sickness.
Cas. No, Caisar hath it not ; but you, and I,
And honest Casca, we have the falling-sickness.
Casca. I know not what you mean by that ; but,
I am sure, Ca;sar fell down. If the tag-rag people
did not clap him, and hiss him, according as he
pleased, and displeased them, as they used to do the
players in the theatre, I am no true man.
Bru. What said he, when he came unto himself?
Casca. IMarry, before he fell down, when he per-
ceived the common herd was glad he refused the
crown, he plucked me ope his doublet, and offered
them his throat to cut. — An I had been a man of
any occupation, if I would not have taken him at a
word, I would I might go to hell among the rogues ;
— and so he fell. When he came to himself again,
he said, If he had done, or said any thing amiss, he
desired their worships to think it was his infirmity.
Three or four wenches, where I stood, cried, Alas,
good soul / — and forgave him with all their hearts :
But there's no heed to be taken of them ; if Ca;sar
had stabbed their mothers, they would have done
no less.
Bru. And after that, he came, thus sad, away?
Casca. Ay.
Cas. Did Cicero say any thing?
Casca. Ay, he spoke Greek.
Cas. To what effect?
Casca. Nay, an I tell you that, I'll ne'er look you
i' the face again : But those that understood him,
smiled at one another, and shook their heads ; but,
lor mine own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell
you more news too ; Marullus and Flavius, for
pulling scarfs off Caesar's images, arc put to silence.
Fare you well. There was more foolery yet, if I
could remember it.
Cas. Will you sup with me to-night, Casca?
Casca. No, I am promised forth.
Cas. Will you dine with me to-morrow ?
Casca. Ay, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and
your dinner worth the eating.
Cas. Good ; I will expect you.
Casca. Do so: Farewell, both. [Exit Cahca.
Bru. What a blunt fellow this is grown to be;
He was quick mettle, when he went to school.
Cas. So is he now, in execution
Of any bold or noble enterprize,
However he puts on this tardy form.
This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit,
Which gives men stomach to digest his words
With better appetite.
Bru. And so it is. For this time I will leave you :
To-morrow, if you please to speak with me,
I will come home to you ; or, if you will.
Come home to me, and I will wait for you.
Cas. I will do so : — till then, think of the world.
[Exit Brutus.
Well, Brutus, thou art noble ; yet, I see,
Thy honourable metal may be wrought
From that it is dispos'd ^ : Therefore 'tis meet
That noble minds keep ever with their likes :
For who so firm, that cannot be seduc'd ?
Csesar doth bear me hard ; but he loves Brutus :
If I were Brutus now, and he were Cassius,
He should not humour ' me. I will this night.
In several hands, in at his windows throw.
As if they came from several citizens.
Writings all tending to the great opinion
That Rome holds of his name ; wherein obscurely
Caesar's ambition shall be glanced at :
And, after this, let Caesar seat him sure ;
For we will shake him, or worse days endure.
[Exit.
SCENE III. ^ A Street.
Thunder and Lightning. Enter, from ojyposite sides,
Casca, uith his Sword drawn, and Cicero.
Cic. Good even, Casca: Brought you Caesar home?
Why are you breathless ? and why stare you so ?
Casca. Are not you mov'd, when all the sway of
earth
Shakes, like a thing unfirm ? O Cicero,
I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds
Have riv'd the knotty oaks ; and I have seen
The ambitious ocean swell, and rage, and foam,
To be exalted with the threat'ning clouds :
But never till to-night, never till now.
Did I go through a tempest dropping fire.
Either there is a civil strife in heaven ;
Or else the world, too saucy with the gods.
Incenses them to send destruction.
Cic Why, saw you any tiling more wonderful ?
Casca. A common slave (you know him well by
sight)
Held up his left hand, which did flame, and bum
Like twenty torches join'd ; and yet his hand,
Not sensible of fire, remain'd unscorch'd.
Besides (I have not since put up my sword),
Against the Capitol I met a lion,
Who glar'd upon me, and went surly by.
Without annoying me : And there were drawn
Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women.
Transformed with their fear ; who swore, they saw
i Disposed to. ' Cajolfc
682
JULIUS CiESAR.
Act I,
Men, all on fire, walk up and down the streets.
And, yesterday, the bird of night did sit,
Even at noon-day, upon the market-place,
Hooting, and shrieking. When these prodigies
Do so conjointly meet, let not men say.
These are their reasons, — They are natural ;
For, I believe they are portentous things
Unto the climate that they point upon.
Cic. Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time:
But men may construe things after their fashion,
Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.
Comes Caesar to the Capitol to-morrow ?
Casca. He doth ; for he did bid Antonius
Send word to you, he would be there to-morrow,
Cic. Good night then, Casca : this disturbed sky
Is not to walk in.
Casca. Farewell, Cicero.
Enter Cassius.
Cas. Who's there ?
Casca. A Roman.
Cas. Casca, by your voice.
Casca. Your ear is good. Cassius, what night is
this?
Cas. A very pleasing night to honest men.
Casca. Who ever knew the heavens menace so ?
Cas. Those, that have known the earth so full of
faults.
For my part, 1 have walk'd about the streets,
Submitting me unto the perilous night ;
And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see,
Have bar'd my bosom to the thunder-storm :
And, when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open
The breast of heaven, I did present myself
Even in the aim and very flash of it.
Casca. But wherefore did you so much tempt the
heavens ?
It is the part of men to fear and tremble.
When the most mighty gods, by tokens, send
Such dreadful heralds to astonish us.
Cas. You are dull, Casca ; and those sparks of life
That should be in a Roman, you do want.
Or else you use not : You look pale and gaze.
And put on fear, and cast yourself in wonder,
To see the strange impatience of the heavens :
But if you would consider the true cause.
Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts.
Why birds and beasts, from quality and kind •* ;
Why old men, fools, and children calculate ;
Wliy all these things change, from their ordinance.
Their natures and pre-formed faculties,
To monstrous quality ; why, you shall find.
That heaven hath infus'd them with these spirits.
To make them instruments of fear, and warning.
Unto some monstrous state. Now could I, Casca,
Name to thee a man most like this dreadful night j
That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars
As doth the lion in the Capitol :
A man no mightier than thyself, or me.
In personal action ; yet prodigious grown.
And fearful, as these strange eruptions are.
Casca. 'Tis Caesar that you mean : Is it not,
Cassius ?
Cas. Let it be who it is : for Romans now
Have thewes & and limbs like to their ancestors ;
But woe the while ! our fathers' minds are dead.
And we are govern'd with our mothers' spirits ;
Our yoke and sufferings show us womanish.
Casca. Indeed, they say, the senators to-morrow
♦ Why they deviate from quality and nature. » Muscles.
Mean to establish Caesar as a king :
And he shall wear his crown by sea and land.
In every place, save here in Italy.
Cas. I know where 1 will wear this dagger then:
Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius :
Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong ;
Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat :
Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass,
Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron,
Can be retentive to the strength of spirit ;
But life, being weary of these worldly bars,
Never lacks power to dismiss itself.
If I know this, know all the world besides,
That part of tyranny, that I do bear,
I can shake off at pleasure.
Casca. So can I :
So every bondman in his own hand bears
The power to cancel his captivity.
Cas, And why should Caesar be a tyrant then :
Poor man ! I know, he would not be a wolf.
But that he sees the Romans are but sheep :
He were no lion, were not Romans hinds. 6
Those that with haste will make a mighty fire.
Begin it with weak straws : What trash is Rome,
What rubbish, and what offal, when it serves
For the base matter to illuminate
f?o vile a thing as Caesar ? But, O grief !
Where hast thou led me ? I, perhaps, speak this
Before a willing bondman : then I know
My answer must be made : But I am arm'd,
And dangers are to me indifferent.
Casca. You speak to Casca ; and to such a man,
That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold my hand :
Be factious for redress of all these griefs j
And I will set this foot of mine as far.
As who goes farthest.
Cas. There's a bargain made.
Now know you, Casca, I have mov'd already
Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans,
To undergo, with me, an enterprize
Of honourable-dangerous consequence ;
And I do know, by this, they stay for me
In Pompey's porch : for now, this fearful night.
There is no stir, or walking in the streets ;
And the complexion of the element
Is favour'd 7, like the work we have in hand,
Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible.
Enter Cinna.
Casca. Stand close awhile, for here comes one in
haste.
Cas. 'Tis Cinna, I do know him by his gait;
He is a friend. — Cinna, where haste you so ?
Cin. To find out you : Who's that ? Metellus
Cimber ?
Cas. No, it is Casca ; one incorporate
To our attempts. Am I not staid for, Cinna ?
Cin. I am glad on't. What a fearful night is this?
There's two or three of us have seen strange sights.
Cas. Am I not staid for, Cinna ? Tell me.
Cin. Yes
You are. O, Cassius, if you could but win
The noble Brutus to our party
Cas. Be you content ; good Cinna, take this paper,
And look you lay it in the praetor's chair.
Where Brutus may but find it ; and throw this
In at his window : set this up with wax
Upon old Brutus' statue : all this done.
Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall find us.
Is Decius Brutus, and Trebonius, there ?
6 Deer, 7 Appears.
Act II. Scene I.
JULIUS CiESAR.
683
Cin. All but Metellus Cimber ; and he's gone
To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie,
And so bestow these papers as you bade me.
Cas. That done, repair to Pompey's theatre.
{Exit ClKNA.
Come, Casca, you and I will yet, ere day,
See Brutus at his house : three parts of him
Is ours already ; and the man entire.
Upon the next encounter, yields him ours.
Cascn. O, he sits high, in all the people's hearts :
And that, which would appear offence in us,
His countenance, like richest alchymy.
Will change to virtue, and to worthiness.
Cas. Him, and his worth, and our great need of
him,
You have right well conceited. Let us go,
For it is after midnight ; and ere day,
We will awake him, and be sure of him. [Exeunt,
ACT II.
SCENE I. — Brutus'5 Orchard.
Enter Brutus.
Bru. What, Lucius ! ho ! —
I cannot, by the progress of the stars,
Give guess how near to-day. — Lucius, I say !
I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly.
When, Lucius, when ? Awake, I say : What, Lucius !
Enter Lucius.
Luc. Call'd you, my lord ?
Bru. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius :
When it is lighted, come and call me here.
iwc. I will, my lord. [Exit.
Bru. It must be by his death : and, for my part,
I know no personal cause to spurn at him.
But for the general. He would be crown'd : —
How that might change his nature, there's the
question.
It is the bright day that brings forth the adder ;
And that craves wary walking. Crown him? —
That ; —
And then, I grant, we put a sting in him.
That at his will he may do danger with.
The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins
Remorse 8 from power : And, to speak truth of
Caesar,
I have not known when his affections swav'd
More than his reason. But 'tis a common proofs
That lowliness is young ambition's ladder,
Whereto the climber upward turns his face :
But when he once attains the upmost round.
He then unto the ladder turns his back.
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees '
By which he did ascend : So Ca;sar may ;
Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel
M'ill bear no colour for the thing he is.
Fashion it thus ; that what he is, augmented.
Would run to these, and these extremities :
And therefore think him as a serpent's egg.
Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mis-
chievous ;
And kill him in the shell.
Re-enter Lucius.
Luc. The taper bumeth in your closet, sir.
Searching the window for a flint, I found
This paper, thus scal'd up ; and, I am sure,
It did not lie there when I went to bed.
Bru. Get you to bed again, it is not day.
Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March ?
Luc. I know not, sir.
Bru. Look in the calendar, and bring me word.
" Pity, tenderness. » Experience. • Low stci*
Luc. I will, sir.
Bru. The exhalations, whizzing in the air.
Give so much light, that I may read by them.
[Opens the Letter, and reads.
Brutus, thou sleep'st ,- awake, and see thyself.
Shall Rome, ^c Speak, strike, redress 1
Brutus, thou deepest ; awake
Such instigations have been often dropp'd
Where I have took them up.
ShaU Rome, ^c. Thus, must I piece it out ;
Shall Rome stand under one man's awe ? What !
Rome?
My ancestors did from the streets of Rome
The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king.
Speak, strike, redress ! — Am I entreated then
To speak, and strike? O Rome! I make thee
promise.
If the redress will follow, thou receives!
Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus.
Re-enter Lucius.
Luc. Sir, March has wasted fourteen days.
[£hock within.
Bru. 'Tis good. Go to the gate ; somebody
knocks. [Exit Lucius.
Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar,
I have not slept.
Between the acting of a dreadful thing
And the first motion, all the interim is
Like a phantasma '-, or a hideous dream :
The genius, and the mortal instruments.
Are then in council ; and the state of man.
Like to a little kingdom, suffers then
The nature of an insurrection.
Re-enter Lucius.
Luc Sir, 'tis your brother Cassius at the door,
Who doth desire to see you.
Bru. Is he alone ?
Luc. No, sir, there are more with him.
Bru. Do you know them ?
Luc. No, sir ; their hats are pluck 'd about their
ears.
And half their faces buried in their cloaks.
That by no means I may discover them
By any mark of favour. 3
Bru. Let them enter.
[Exit Lucius.
They are the faction. O conspiracy !
Sham'st thou to show thy dangerous brow by night.
When evils are most free ? O, then, by day.
Where wilt tliou find a cavern dark enough
To mask thy monstrous visage ? Seek none, con-
spiracy ;
« Vision. 3 Countenance;
684
JULIUS CESAR.
Act II.
Hide it in smiles, and affability :
For if thou path, thy native semblance on ■»,
Not Erebus * itself were dim enough
To hide thee from prevention.
Enter Cassius, Casca, Decius, Cinna, Metellu;
CiMBER, and Trebonius.
Cas. I think we are too bold upon your rest :
Good morrow, Brutus ; Do we trouble you ?
Bru. I have been up this hour ; awake all night
Know I these men, that come along with you ?
Cas. Yes, every man of them ; and no man here.
But honours you : and every one doth wish.
You had but that opinion of yourself.
Which every noble Roman bears of you.
This is Trebonius.
Sru. He is welcome hither.
Cas. This, Decius Brutus.
-^^"' He is welcome too.
Cas. This, Casca; this, Cinna;
And this Metellus Cimber.
^rU' They are all welcome.
What watchful cares do interpose themselves
Betwixt your eyes and night ?
Cas. Shall I entreat a word ? [They whisper.
Dec. Here lies the east : Doth not the day break
here ?
Casca. No.
Cin. O, pardon, sir, it doth ; and yon grey lines.
That fret the clouds, are messengers of day.
Casca. You shall confess,that you are both deceiv'd.
Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises ;
Which is a great way growing on the south,
Weighing the youthful season of the year.
Some two months hence, up higher toward the north
He first presents his fire ; and the high east
Stands, as the Capitol, directly here.
£ru. Give me your hands all over, one by ons.
Cas. And let us swear our resolution.
Bru. No, not an oath : If not the face 6 of men.
The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse, —
If these be motives weak, break off betimes,
And every man hence to his idle bed ;
So let high-sighted tyranny range on,
Till each man drop by lottery. But if these,
As I am sure they do, bear fire enough
To kindle cowards, and to steel with valour
The melting spirits of women ; then, countrymen,
What need we any spur, but our own cause,
To prick us to redress ? what other bond,
Than secret Romans, that have spoke the word.
And will not palter? 7 and what other oath,
Than honesty to honesty engag'd,
That this shall be, or we will fall for it ?
Swear priests, and cowards, and men cautelous %
Old feeble carrions, and such suffering souls
That welcome wrongs ; unto bad causes swear
Such creatures as men doubt ; but do not stain
The even virtue of our enterprize.
Nor the insuppressive mettle of our spirits.
To think, that, or our cause, or our performance.
Did need an oath ; when every drop of blood.
That every Roman bears, and nobly bears,
Is guilty of a several bastardy,
If he do break the smallest particle
Of any promise that hath pass'd from him.
Cas. But what of Cicero ? Shall we sound him ?
I think, he will stand very strong with us.
5 HelL
Walk in thy true form.
Perhaps Shakspeare wrote faith.
Prevaricate.
8 Cautious.
Casca. Let us not leave him out.
^*"' No, by no means.
Met. O, let us have him ; for his silver hairs
Will purchase us a good opinion,
And buy men's voices to commend our deeds ;
It shall be said, his judgment rul'd our hands':
Our youths, and wildness, shall no whit appear.
But all be buried in his gravity.
Bru. O, name him not ; let us not break with him 9 j
For he will never follow any thing
That other men begin.
^^S' Then leave him out.
Casca. Indeed, he is not fit.
Dec. Shall no man else be touch'd but only
Ceesar ?
Cas. Decius, well urg'd ; — I think it is not meet,
Mark Antony, so well belov'd of Caesar,
Should outlive Caesar. We shall find of him
A shrewd contriver ; and, you know, his means,
If he improves them, may well stretch so far.
As to annoy us all : which to prevent.
Let Antony, and Caesar, fall together.
Bru. Our course will seem too bloody, Caius
Cassius,
To cut the head off, and then hack the limbs ;
Like wrath in death, and envy • afterwards :
For Antony is but a limb of Caesar.
Let us be sacrificers, but no butchers, Caius.
We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar ;
And in the spirit of men there is no blood :
O, that we then could come by Caesar's spirit,
And not dismember Caesar ! I3ut, alas,
Caesar must bleed for it ! And, gentle friends.
Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfuUy ;
Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods.
Not hew him as a carcase fit for hounds :
And let our hearts, as subtle masters do.
Stir up their servants to an act of rage,
And after seem to chide them. This shall make
Our purpose necessary, and not envious :
Which so appearing to the common eyes,
We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers.
And for Mark Antony, think not of him ;
For he can do no more than Caesar's arm.
When Ca'sar's head is off.
Cos. Yet I do fear him :
For in the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar :
Bru. Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him :
If he love Caesar, all that he can do
Is to himself; take thought, and die for Csesar:
And that were much he should ; for he is given
To sports, to wildness, and much company.
Treb. There is no fear in him, let him not die ;
For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter.
[Clock strikes.
Bru. Peace, count the clock. ^M ,
Cos. The clock hath stricken three. ^H
Treb. 'Tis time to part.
Cas. But it is doubtful yet,
Whe'r Caesar will come forth to-day, or no ;
For he is superstitious grown of late ;
Quite from the main opinion he held once
Of fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies ;
It may be, these apparent prodigies.
The unaccustom'd terror of this night,
A nd the persuasion of his augurers.
May hold him from the Capitol to-day.
Dec. Never fear that : If he be so resolv'd,
I can o'ersway him ; for he loves to hear,
9 Let us not break the matter to him. i Malice.
Scene I.
JULIUS C^SAR.
685
I
Tliat unicorns may be betray'd with trees,
And bears with glasses, elephants with holes,
Lions with toils, and men with flatterers.
But, when I tell him, he hates flatterers,
He says, he does ; being then most flattered.
Let me work :
For I can give his humour the true bent ;
And I will bring him to the Capitol.
Cos. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him.
Jiru. By the eighth hour : Is tliat the uttermost?
Cin. Be that the uttermost, and fail not then.
Met. Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard,
Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey ;
I wonder, none of you have thought of him.
Brn. Now, good Metellus, go along by him * :
He loves me well, and I have given him reasons j
Rend him but hither, and I'll fashion him.
Cos. The morning comes upon us : We'll leave
you, Brutus : —
And, friends, disperse yourselves : but all remember
What you have said, and show yourselves true
Romans.
Bru. Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily ;
Let not our looks put on our purposes ;
But bear it as our Roman actors do,
With untir'd spirits, and formal constancy :
And so, good morrow to you every one.
[Exeunt nil but Brutus.
Boy ! Lucius ! — Fast asleep ? It is no matter ;
Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber :
Tliou hast no figures -^ nor no fantasies,
Wliich busy care draws in the brains of men j
Therefore thou slecp'st so sound.
Enter Poktlk.
For. Brutus, my lord ?
Bru. Portia, what mean you? Wherefore rise
you now ?
It is not for your health thus to commit
Your weak condition to the raw-cold morning.
For. Nor for yours neitlier. You have urgently,
Brutus,
Stole from my bed : And yesternight, at supper.
You suddenly arose, and walk'd about,
Musing, and sighing, with your arms across :
And when I ask'd you what the matter was,
You star'd upon me with ungentle looks :
I urg'd you further ; then you scratch'd your head,
And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot :
Yet I insisted, yet you answer'd not ;
But with an angry wafture of your hand,
Gave sign for me to leave you : So I did ;
Fearing to strengthen that impatience,
Which seem'd too much enkindled ; and, withal.
Hoping it was but an effect of humour,
Which sometime hath liis hour with every man.
It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep ;
And, could it work so much upon your shape
As it hath much prevail'd on your condition \
I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord.
Make me acquainted with your cause of grief.
Bru. I am not well in health, and that is all.
Por. Brutus is wise, and were he not in health,
He would embrace the means to come by it,
Bni. Why, so I do : — good Portia, go to bed.
Por. Is Brutus sick ? and is it piiysical
To walk unbraced, and suck up tlie humours
Of the dank * morning ? What, is Brutus sick ;
' By his house.
* Temper.
3 Shapes created by imagination
* Damp.
And will he steal out of his wholesome bed.
To dare the vile contagion of the night?
And tempt the rheumy 6 and unpurged air
To add unto his sickness ? No, my Brutus ;
You have some sick offence within your mind,
Which, by the right and virtue of my place,
I ought to know of : And, upon my knees,
I charm you, by my once commended beauty,
By all your vows of love, and that great vow
Which did incorporate and make us one.
That you unfold to me, yourself, your half,
Why you are heavy ; and what men to-night
Have had resort to you : for here have been
Some six or seven, who did hide their faces
Even from darkness.
Bru. Kneel not, gentle Portia,
Por. I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus.
Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus,
Is it excepted, I should know no secrets
That appertain to you ? Am I yourself.
But, as it were, in sort, or limitation ;
To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed.
And talk to you sometimes ? Dwell I but in the
suburbs
Of your good pleasure ? If it be no more,
Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife.
Bru. You are my true and honourable wife ;
As dear to me, as are the ruddy diops
That visit my sad heart.
Por. If this were true, then should I know tliis
secret.
I grant, I am a woman, but, withal,
A woman that lord Brutus took to wife :
I grant, I am a woman ; but, withal,
A woman well reputed ; Cato's daughter.
Think you, I am no stronger than my sex,
Being so father'd, and so husbanded ?
Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose them :
I have made strong proof of my constancy.
Giving myself a voluntary wound
Here, in the thigh : Can I bear that with patience,
And not my husband's secrets ?
Bru. O ye gods,
Render me worthy of this noble wife !
[iTnocking mthin.
Hark, hark ! one knocks : Portia, go in a while ;
And by and by thy bosom shall partake
The secrets of my heart.
All my engagements I will construe to thee,
All the charactery of my sad brows: —
Leave me with haste. [Exit Poutia.
Enter Lucius a7id Ligarius.
Lucius, who is that, knocks ?
Luc. Here is a sick man, that would speak with you.
Bru. Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of. —
Boy, stand aside. — Caius Ligarius ! how ?
Lig. Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue.
Bru. O, what a time have you chose out, brave
Caius,
To wear a kerchief? 'Would you were not sick !
Lig. I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand
Any exploit worthy the name of honour.
Bru. Such an exploit liave I in hand, Ligarius,
Had you a healthful ear to hear of it.
Lig. By all the gods that Romans bow before,
I here discard my sickness. Soul of Rome !
Brave son, deriv'd from honourable loins !
Tlu)ii. like an exorcist, liast conjur'd up
*> Moiit
686
JULIUS CESAR.
Act II.
My mortified spirit. Now bid me run,
And I will strive with things impossible;
Yea, get the better of them. What's to do ?
Bru. A piece of work, that will make sick men
whole.
Lig. But are not some whole, that we must make
sick?
Bru. That must we also. What it is, my Caius,
I shall unfold to thee, as we are going ;
To whom it must be done.
Lig. Set on your foot ;
And, with a heart new fir'd, I follow you,
To do I know not what : but it sufficeth,
That Brutus leads me on.
Bru. Follow me then.
\_Exeunt.
SCENE II.— A Room in Caesar's Palace.
Thunder and Lightning. Enter C^sar, in his
Night-gown.
CcBS. Nor heaven, nor earth, have been at peace
to-night :
Thrice hath Calphurnia in her sleep cried out.
Help, ho ! they murder Ccesar ! Who's within ?
Enter a Servant.
Sen). My lord?
C<ss- Go bid the priests do present sacrifice.
And bring me their opinions of success.
Serv. I will, my lord. {Exii.
Enter Calphurnia.
Cal. What mean you, Caesar? Think you to
walk forth?
You shall not stir out of your house to-day.
Cees. Cajsar shall forth : The things that threaten'd
me.
Ne'er look'd but on my back ; when they shall see
The face of Caesar, they are vanished.
Cal. Caesar, I never stood on ceremonies 7,
Yet now they fright me. There is one within.
Besides the things that we have heard and seen.
Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch.
A lioness hath whelped in the streets ;
And graves have yawn'd, and yielded up their dead:
Fierce fiery warriors fight upon the clouds,
In ranks, and squadrons, and right form of war,
Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol :
llie noise of battle hurtled 8 in the air.
Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan ;
And ghosts did shriek, and squeal about the streets.
O Cagsar ! these things are beyond all use.
And I do fear them.
Cces. What can be avoided,
Whose end is purpos'd by the mighty gods ?
Yet Caesar shall go forth : for these predictions
Are to the world in general, as to Caesar.
Cal. When beggars die, there are no comets seen ;
The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of
princes.
Cees. Cowards die many times before their deaths ;
The valiant never taste of death but once.
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,
It seems to me most strange that men should fear ;
Seeing that death, a necessary end.
Will come, when it will come.
Re-enter a Servant.
What say the augurers ?
Serv. They would not have you to stir forth to-day.
7 Never paid regard to prodigies or omens. 8 Encountered.
Plucking the entrails of an offering forth.
They could not find a heart within the beast.
Cees. The gods do this in shame of cowardice :
Caesar sliould be a beast without a heart,
If he should stay at home to-day for fear.
No, Caesar shall not : Danger knows full well,
That Caesar is more dangerous than he.
We were two lions litter'd in one day.
And I the elder and more terrible ;
And Caesar shall go forth.
Cal. Alas, my lord,
Your wisdom is consum'd in confidence.
Do not go forth to-day : Call it my fear.
That keeps you in the house, and not your own.
We'll send Mark Antony to the senate-house j
And he shall say, you are not well to-day :
Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this.
Cces. Mark Antony shall say, I am not well ;
And, for thy humour, I will stay at home.
Enter Decius.
Here's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so.
Dec. Caesar, all hail! Good morrow, worthy Caesar;
I come to fetch you to the senate-house.
Cces. And you are come in very happy time.
To bear my greeting to the senators.
And tell them, that I will not come to-day :
Cannot, is false; and that I dare not, falser; •
I will not come to-day : Tell them so, Decius.
Cal. Say, he is sick.
Cces. Shall Caesar send a lie?
Have I in conquest stretch'd mine arm so far,
To be afeard to tell grey-beards the truth ?
Decius, go tell them, Caesar will not come.
Dec. Most mighty Caesar, let me know some cause,
Lest I be laugh 'd at, when I tell them so.
Cces. The cause is in my will, I will not come j
That is enough to satisfy the senate.
But, for your private satisfaction.
Because I love you, I will let you know.
Calphurnia here, my wife, stays me at home :
She dreamt to-night she saw my statua.
Which like a fountain with a hundred spouts.
Did run pure blood ; and many lusty Romans
Came smiling, and did bathe their hands in it.
And these does she apply for warnings, portents.
And evils imminent ; and on her knee
Hath begg'd, that I will stay at home to-day.
Dec. This dream is all amiss interpreted ;
It was a vision, fair and fortunate :
Your statue spouting blood in many pipes.
In which so many smiling Romans bath'd.
Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck
Reviving blood ; and that great men shall press
For tinctures, stains, relicks, and cognizance.
This by Calphurnia's dream is signified.
CcBs. And this way have you well expounded it.
Dec. I have, when you have heard what I can say :
And know it now ; The senate have concluded
To give, this day, a crown to mighty Caesar.
If you shall send them word, you will not come,
Their minds may change. Besides, it were a mock
Apt to be rendered, for some one to say.
Break up the senate till another time.
When Ccesar's wife shall meet with better dreams.
If Caesar hide himself, shall they not whisper,
Lo, Ccesar is afraid ?
Pardon me, Caesar ; for my dear, dear love
To your proceeding bids me tell you this ;
And reason to my love is liable. 9
9 Subordinate.
Scene III.
JULIUS CiESAR.
687
Cas. How foolish do your fears seem now, Cal-
phumia ?
I am ashamed I did yield to them. —
Give me my robe, for I will go : —
Enter Publicjs, Brutus, Ligarius, Metellus,
Casca, Trebonius, and Cinna.
And look where Publius is come to fetch me.
Pub. Good morrow, Caesar.
Ctes. Welcome, Publius. —
What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too ? —
Good morrow, Casca. — Caius Ligarius,
Cjesar was ne'er so much your enemy.
As that same ajrue which hath made you lean. —
Wliat is't o'clock ?
Sru. Caesar, 'tis strucken eight.
Cces. I thank you for your pains and courtesy.
Enter Antoky.
See ! Antony, that revels long o' nights.
Is notwithstanding up : —
Good morrow, Antony.
■^'^t' So to most noble Caesar.
Cces. Bid them prepare within : —
I am to blame to be thus waited for. —
Now, Cinna : — Now Metellus : — What Trebo-
nius !
I have an hour's talk in store for you ;
Remember that you call on me to-day :
Be near me, that I may remember you.
Treb. Caesar, I will : — and so near will I be,
[^ Aside.
That your best friends shall wish I had been further.
Cces. Good friends, go in, and taste some wine
with me ;
And we, like friends, will straightway go together.
Bru. That every like is not the same, O Caesar,
Tlie heart of Brutus yearns ' to think upon !
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. — ^ Street near the Capitol.
Enter Artemidorus, reading a Paper.
Art. Caesar, beware of Brutus ; take heed of Cas-
sius ; come not near Casca ; have an eye to Cinna ;
trust not Trebonius; mark well Metellus Cimber;
Dec! us Brutus loves thee not ; thou hast wronged
Caius Ligarius. There is but one mind in all these
men, and it is betit against Caesar. If thou be'st not
immortal, look about you : Security gives way to con-
spiracy^ The mighty gods defend thee ! Thy lover,
Artemidorus.
Here will I stand, till Caesar pass along
And as a suitor will I give him this.
My heart laments, that virtue cannot live
Out of the teeth of emulation.*
If thou read this, O Ca?sar, thou mayst live ;
If not, the fates with traitors do contrive. [Exit.
' Grieves. - Envy.
SCENE IV Another Part of the same Street,
before the House of Brutus.
E7iter Portia a7id Lucius
Por. 1 pr'ythee, boy, run to the senate-house ;
Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone :
Why dost thou stay ?
Luc. To know my errand, madam.
Por. I would have had thee there, and here again.
Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there.
0 constancy, be strong upon my side !
Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue !
1 have a man's mind, but a woman's might.
How hard it is for women to keep counsel !
Art thou here yet ?
■Luc. Madam, what should I do ?
Run to the Capitol, and nothing else ?
And so return to you, and nothing else ?
Por. Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well,
For he went sickly forth : And take good note,
What Cajsar doth, what suitors press to him.
Hark, boy ! what noise is that ?
Luc. I hear none, madam.
Por. Pr'ythee, listen well ;
I heard a bustling rumour, like a fray.
And the wind brings it from the Capitol.
Luc. Sooth 3, madam, I hear nothing.
Enter Soothsayer.
Por. Come hither, fellow :
Which way hast thou been ?
Sooth. At mine own house, good lady.
Por. What is't o'clock ?
Sooth. About the ninth hour, lady,
Por. Is Caesar yet gone to the Capitol ?
Sooth. Madam, not yet ; I go to take my stand.
To see him pass on to the Capitol ?
Por. Thou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou not?
Sooth. That I have, lady : if it will please Cicsar
To be so good to Caesar, as to hear me,
I shall beseech him to befriend himself.
Por. Why, know'st thou any harm's intended
towards him ?
Sooth. None that I know will be, much that I fear
may chance.
Good-morrow to you. Here the street is narrow :
The throng that follows Caesar at the heels.
Of senators, of prtetors, common suitors.
Will crowd a feeble man almost to death :
I'll get me to a place more void, and there
Speak to great Caesar as he comes along. [Exit.
Por. I must go in. — Ah me ! how weak a thing
The heart of woman is ! O Brutus !
The heaven speed thee in thy enterprize !
Sure, the boy heard me : — Brutus hath a suit.
That Caesar will not grant. — O, I grow faint : —
Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord ;
Say, I am merry : come to m© again.
And bring me word what he doth say to thee.
[Ei^nt
» In truth.
688
JULIUS CiESAR.
Act III.
ACT IIL
SCENE I. — The CapUol ; the Se/iate sitting.
A Crowd of People in the Street leading to the Ca-
pitol : among tliem Artemidorus and the Sooth-
sayer. Flourish. Enter C^sar, Brutus, Cas-
sius, Casca, Decius, Metellcs, Trebonius,
CiNNA, Antony, Lepidus, Popilius, Publius,
and others.
Cccs. The ides of March are come.
Sooth. Ay, Caesar ; but not gone.
Art. Hail, Cajsar ! Read this schedule.
Dec. Trebonius doth desire you to o'er-read,
At your best leisure, this his humble suit.
Art. O Caesar, read mine first ; for mine's a suit
That touches Caesar nearer : Read it, great Csesar.
Cees. What touches us ourself, shall be last serv'd.
Art. Delay not, Caesar ; read it instantly.
CcEs. What, is the fellow mad ?
Pub. Sirrah, give place.
Cas. What, urge you your petitions in the street?
Come to the Capitol.
C^SAR enters the Capitol, the rest following.
All the Senators rise.
Pop. I wish your enterprize to-day may thrive.
Cas. What enterprize, Popilius ?
Pop. Fare you well.
[Advances to C^sar.
Bru. What said Popilius Lena ?
Cas. He wish'd to-day our enterprize might thrive.
I fear, our purpose is discover'd.
JBru. Look, how he makes to Caesar : Mark him.
Cas. Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention. —
Brutus, what shall be done ? If this be known,
Cassius or Caesar never shall turn back,
For I will slay myself.
Bru. Cassius, be constant :
Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes ;
For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change.
Cas. Trebonius knows his time ; for look you,
Brutus,
He draws Mark Antony out of the way.
[Exeunt Antony and Trebonius. Cjesar
and the Senators take their Seats.
Dec. Where is Metellus Cimber ? Let him go.
And presently prefer his suit to Cassar.
Bru. He isaddress'd^: press near, and second him.
Cin. Casca, you are the first that rears your hand.
Cces. Are we all ready ? what is now amiss,
That Caesar, and his senate must redress?
Met. Most high, most mighty, and most puissant
Caesar,
Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat
An humble heart : — [Kneeling.
CeBs. I must prevent thee, Cimber.
These couchings, and these lowly courtesies.
Might fire the blood of ordinary men,
And turn pre-ordinance, and first decree,
Into the law of children. Be not fond,
To think that Cassar bears such rebel blood.
That will be thaw'd from the true quality
With that which melteth fools ; I mean, sweet words.
Low-crooked court'sies, and base spaniel fawning.
Thy brother by decree is banished ;
If thou dost bend, and pray, and fawn for liim,
* Ready.
I spurn thee like a cur out of my way.
Know, Caesar doth not wrong ; nor without cause
Will he be satisfied.
Met. Is there no voice more worthy than my own.
To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear,
For the repealing of my banish'd brother ?
Bru. I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Caesar ;
Desiring thee, that Publius Cimber may
Have an immediate freedom of repeal.
Cces. What, Brutus?
Cas. Pardon, Caesar; Caesar, pardon
As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall,
To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber.
Cces. I could be well raov'd, if I were as you ;
If I could pray to move, prayers would move me :
But 1 am constant as the northern star.
Of whose true fix'd and resting quality.
There is no fellow in the firmament.
The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks,
They are all fire, and every one doth shine ;
But there's but one in all doth hold his place :
So, in the world ; 'tis furnish'd well with men,
And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive*-.
Yet, in the number, I do know but one
That unassailable holds on his rank,
Unshak'd of motion ^ : and, that I am he :
Let me a little show it, even in this ;
That I was constant, Cimber should be banish'd.
And constant do remain to keep him so.
Cin. O Caesar,
CcBs. Hence ! Wilt thou lift up Olympua ?
Dec. Great Caesar,
Cces. Doth not Brutus bootless 7 kneel ?
Casca. Speak, hands, for me.
[Casca stabs C-^esar in the neck. C^-sar
catches hold of his arm. He is then slabbed
by several other Conspirators, and at last
by Marcus Brutus.
Caes. Et tu. Brute F ^ — Then, fall, Caesar.
[Dies. The Senators and People retire in
confusion.
Cin. Liberty ! Freedom ! Tyranny is dead ! —
Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets.
Cas. Some to the common pulpits, and cry out,
Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement !
Bru. People, and senators ! be not affrighted j
Fly not ; stand still : — ambition's debt is paid.
Casca. Go to the pulpit, Brutus.
Dec. And Cassius too
Bru. Where's Publius?
Cin. Here, quite confounded with this mutiny.
Met. Stand fast together, lest some friend of
Caesar's
Should chance
Bru. Talk not of standing; — Publius, good cheery
There is no harm intended to your person,
Nor to no Roman else ; so tell them, Publius.
Cas. And leave us, Publius, lest that the people.
Rushing on us, should do your age some mischief.
Bru. Do so ; — and let no man abide this deed,
But we the doers.
Re-enter Trebonius.
Cas. Where's Antony?
-' Intelligent " Solicitation.
7 TTnsuccessfuUy.
8 And thou, Brutua
Scene I.
JULIUS CiESAR.
689
L
Tre. Fled to his house amaz'd :
Men, wives, and children, stare, cry out, and run,
As it were doomsday.
Brxu Fates ! we will know your pleasures : —
That we shall die, we know ; 'tis but the time,
And drawing days out, that men stand upon.
Cas. Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life.
Cuts off so many years of fearing death.
Brxi. Grant that, and then is death a benefit :
So are we Cajsar's friends, that have abridg'd
His time of fearing death Stoop, Romans, stoop,
And let us bathe our hands in Csesar's blood
Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords :
Then walk we Ibrth , even to the market-place :
And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads.
Let's all cry, Peace ! Freedom ! and Liberty !
Cas. Stoop, then, and wash. How many ages
hence.
Shall this our lofty scene be acted over,
In states unborn, and accents yet unknown !
Bru. How many times shall CjBsar bleed in sport,
That now on Pompey's basis lies along,
No worthier tlian the dust !
Cas. So oft as that shall be,
So often shall the knot of us be call'd
TJie men that gave our country liberty.
Dec. What, shall we forth ?
Cas. Ay, every man away :
Brutus shall lead ; and we will grace his heels
With the most boldest and Ijest hearts of Rome.
Enter a Servant.
Bru. Soft, who comes here? A friend of An-
tony's.
Serv. Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel ;
Tims did Mark Antony bid me fall down :
And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say,
Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest ;
Caesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving :
Say, I love Brutus, and I honour him ;
Say, I fear'd Caesar, honour'd him, and lov'd him ;
If Brutus will vouchsafe, that Antony
May safely come to him, and be resolv'd
How Caesar hath deserv'd to lie in death,
Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead
So well as Brutus living ; but will follow
Tlie fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus
Thorough the hazards of this untrod state.
With all true faith. So says my master Antony.
Bru. Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman ;
I never thought him worse.
Tell him, so please him come unto this place,
He shall be satisfied; and, by my honour,
Depart untouch'd.
Scrv. I'll fetch him presently.
\F.Tit.
Bru. I know tJiat we shall have him well to friend.
Cas. I wish we may ; but yet have I a mind,
Tliat fears him much ; and my misgiving still
Falls shrewdly to the purpose.
Re-enter Axtony.
Bru. But here comes Antony. — Welcome, Mark
Antony.
Ant. O mighty Caesar ! Dost thou lie so low ?
Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils,
Shrunk to this little measure ? — Fare thee well. —
I know not, gentlemen, what you intend.
Who else must be let blood, who else is rank 9 .
* Grown too high for the publtck ufety.
If I myself, there is no hour so fit
As Ca2sar's death's hour ; nor no instrument
Of half that worth, as those your swords, made rich
With the most noble blood of all this world.
I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard.
Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke,
Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years,
I shall not find myself so apt to die :
No place will please me so, no mean of death.
As here by Caesar, and by you cut off.
The choice and master spirits of this age.
Bru. O Antony ! beg not your death of us.
Though now we must appear bloody and cruel.
As, by our liands, and this our present act.
You see we do ; yet see you but our hands,
And this the bleeding business they have done :
Our hearts you see not, they are pitiful ;
And pity to the general wrong of Rome
(As fire drives out fire, so pity, pity,)
Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part.
To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony :
Our arms, in strength of malice, and our hearts.
Of brother's temper, do receive you in
With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence.
Cas. Your voice shall be as strong as any man's.
In the disposing of new dignities.
Bru. Only be patient, till we have appeas'd
The multitude, beside themselves with fear.
And then we will deliver you the cause,
Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him,
Have thus proceeded.
Ant. I doubt not of your wisdom.
Let each man render me his bloody hand :
First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you : —
Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand ;
Now, Decius Brutus, yours ; — now yours, Me-
tellus;
Yours, Cinna ; — and, my valiant Casca, yours ; —
Though last, not least in love, yours, good Trebo-
nius.
Gentlemen all, — alas! what shall I say?
My credit now stands on such slippery ground,
That one of two bad ways you must conceit me.
Either a coward, or a flatterer. —
That I did love thee, Caesar, O, 'tis true :
If then thy spirit look upon us now.
Shall it not grieve thge, dearer than thy death,
To see thy Antony making his peace,
Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes.
Most noble ! in the presence of thy corse ?
Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds.
Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood.
It would become me better, than to close
In terms of friendship with thine enemies.
Pardon me, Julius ! — Here wast thou bay'd, brave
hart;
Here didst thou fall ; and here thy hunters stand,
Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson 'd in thy lethe.
O world ! thou wast the forest to this hart ;
And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee. —
How like a deer, stricken by many princes.
Dost thou here lie !
Cas. Mark Antony,
Ant. Pardon me, Caius Cassius:
The enemies of Caesar shall say this ;
Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty.
Cas. I blame you not for praising Caesar so;
But what compact mean you to have with us ?
Will you be prick'd in number of our friends ;
Or shall we on, and not depend on you ?
Yy
690
JULIUS C^SAR.
Act III
^nt. Therefore I took your liantls ; but was, indeed,
Svvay'd from the point, by looking down on Ca;sar.
Friends am I with you all, and love you all ;
Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons,
Why, and wherein, Caesar was dangerous.
liru. Or else were this a savage spectacle :
Our reasons are so full of good regard,
That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar,
You should be satisfied.
^nt. That's all I seek :
And am moreover suitor, that I may
Produce his body to the market-place ;
And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend,
Speak in the order of his funeral.
JBru. You shall, Mark Antony.
Cas. Brutus, a word with you. —
You know not what you do ; Do not consent,
[Aside.
That Antony speak in his funeral :
Know you how much the people may be mov'd —
By that which he will utter ?
Bru. By your pardon ;
I will myself into the pulpit first,
And show the reason of our Cassar's death :
What Antony shall speak, I will protest
He speaks by leave and by permission ;
And that we are contented, Caesar shall
Have all true rites, and lawful ceremonies.
It shall advantage more, than do us wrong.
Cas. I know not what may fall ; I like it not.
Brv,. Mark Antony, here, take you Caesar's body.
You shall not in your funeral speech blame us,
But speak all good you can devise of Csesar ;
And say, you do't by our permission ;
Else shall you not have any hand at all
About his funeral : And you shall speak
In the same pulpit whereto I am going.
After my speech is ended.
Ant. Be it so ;
I do desire no more.
Bru. Prepare the body then, and follow us.
{Exeunt all but Antony.
Ant. O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth.
That I am meek and gentle with these butchers !
Thou art the ruins of the noblest man,
That ever lived in the tide of times.
Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood J
Over thy wounds now do I prophesy ■—
Which like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips.
To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue ; —
A curse shall light upon the limbs of men ;
Domestick fury, and fierce civil strife.
Shall cumber all the parts of Italy :
Blood and destruction shall be so in use.
And dreadful objects so familiar.
That mothers shall but smile, when they behold
Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war j
All pity chok'd with custom of fell deeds :
And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge.
With At^ by his side, come hot from hell.
Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice.
Cry, Havock ! ' and let slip the dogs of war ;
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth.
With carrion men groaning for burial.
Enter a Servant.
You serve Octavius Caesar, do you not ?
Serv. I do, Mark Antony.
Ant. Caesar did write for him to come to Rome.
1 The signal for giving no quarter.
Serv. He did receive his letters, and is coming :
And bid me say to you by word of mouth,
O Caesar ! [Seeing the Body.
Ant. Thy heart is big, get thee apart and weep.
Passion, I see, is catching ; for mine eyes
Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine,
Began to water. Is thy master coming ?
Serv. He lies to-night within seven leagues of
Rome.
Ant. Post back with speed, and tell him what hath
chanc'd :
Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome,
No Rome of safety for Octavius yet ;
Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet, s'tay a while ;
Thou shalt not back, till I have borne this corse
Into the market-place : there shall I try.
In my oration, how the people take
The cruel issue of these bloody men ;
According to the which, thou shalt discourse
To young Octavius of the state of things.
Lend me your hand. [Exeunt, with Cesar's Body.
SCENE II. — The Forum.
Enter Brutus and Cassius, and a Throng of
Citizens.
Cit. We will be satisfied; let us be satisfied.
Bru. Then follow me, and give me audience,
friends. —
Cassius, go you into the other street.
And part the numbers. —
Those that will hear me speak, let them stay here j
Those that will follow Cassius, go with him ;
And publick reasons shall be rendered
Of Caesar's death.
1 Cii. I will hear Brutus speak.
2 Cit. I will hear Cassius, and compare their
reasons.
When severally we hear them rendered.
[Exit Cassius, with some of the Citizens.
Brutus goes into the Rostrum.
3 Cit. The noble Brutus is ascended : Silence !
Bru. Be patient till the last.
Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! ^ hear me for my
cause ; and be silent that ye may hear ; believe me
for mine honour ; and have respect to mine honour,
that you may believe : censure me in your wisdom ;
and awake your senses that you may the better
judge. If there be any in this assembly, any dear
friend of Caesar's, to him I say, that Brutus' love
to Caesar was no less than his. If then that friend
demand, why Brutus rose against Csesar, this is my
answer, — Not that I loved Csesar less, but that I
loved Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were
living, and die all slaves ; than that Caesar were
dead, to live all free men ? As Caesar loved me, I
weep for him ; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it ;
as he was valiant, I honour him : but, as he was
ambitious, I slew him : There is tears, for his love ;
joy, for his fortune; honour, for his valour; and
death, for his ambition. Who is here so base, that
would be a bondman ? If any, speak ; for him
have I offended. Who is here so rude, that would
not be a Roman ? If any, speak ; for him have I
offended. Who is here so vile, that will not love his
country ? If any, speak ; for him have I offended.
I pause for a reply.
Cit. None, Brutus, none.
[Several speaking at once.
2 Friends.
Scene II.
JULIUS CiESAR.
691
Bru. Then none have I offended. I have done no
more to Caesar, than you should do to Brutus. Tlie
question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol : his
glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy ; nor
his offences enforced, for which he suffered death.
Ejiter Antony and others, with Cesar's Body.
Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony :
Who, though he had no hand in his death, shall
receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the
commonwealth ; As which of you shall not ? With
this I depart ; That as I slew my best lover for the
good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself,
when it shall please my country to need my death.
CU. Live, Brutus, live ! live !
1 CU. Bring him with triumph home unto his
house.
2 Cit. Give him a statue with his ancestors.
3 CU. Let him be Cajsar.
4 CU. Caesar's better parts
Shall now be crown'd in Brutus.
1 CU. We'll bring him to his house with shouts
and clamours.
Bru. My countrymen, —
2 CU. Peace j silence ! Brutus speaks.
1 CU. Peace, ho !
Bru. Good countrymen, let me depart alone,
And, for my sake, stay here with Antony :
Do grace to Caesar's corpse, and grace his speech
Tending to Caesar's glories ; which Mark Antony,
By our pennission, is allow'd to make.
I do entreat you not a man depart,
Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. [ExU.
1 CU. Stay, ho ! and let us hear Mark Antony.
3 CU. Let him go up into the publick chair ;
We'll hear him : — Noble Antony, go up.
Ant. For Brutus' sake, I am beholden to you.
4 CU. What does he say of Brutus ?
3 CU. He says for Brutus' sake,
He finds himself beholden to us all.
4 CU. 'Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus here.
1 CU. This Caesar was a tyrant.
3 CU. Nay, that's certain :
We are bless'd that Rome is rid of him.
2 CU. Peace ; let us hear what Antony can say.
Ant. You gentle Romans,
CU. Peace, ho ! let us hear him.
Ant. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me
your ears j
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise liim.
The evil, that men do, lives after them ;
The good is oft interred with their bones ;
So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus
Hath told you, Caesar was ambitious ;
If it were so, it was a grievous fault ;
And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it.
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest,
(For Brutus is an honourable man ;
So are they all, all honourable men ;)
Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me :
But Brutus says, he was ambitious ;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill :
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ?
Wlien that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept :
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
You all did see, that on the Lupercal,
I thrice presented him a kingly crown.
Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?
Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ;
And, sure, he is an honourable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause ;
What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ?
0 judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason ! — Bear with me ;
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.
1 CU. Methinks there is much reason in his
sayings.
2 CU. If thou consider rightly of the matter,
Cajsar has had great vtrrongs.
3 CU. Has he, masters ?
1 fear, there will a worse come in his place.
4 CU. Mark'd ye his words ? He would not take
the crown ;
Therefore, 'tis certain, he was not ambitious.
1 CU. If it be found so, some will dear abide it.
2 CU. Poor soul ! his eyes are red as fire with
weeping.
3 CU, There's not a nobler man in Rome, than
Antony.
4 CU. Now mark him, he begins again to speak.
Ant. But yesterday, the word of Cassar might
Have stood against the world : now lies he tliere.
And none so poor to do him reverence.
0 masters ! if I were dispos'd to stir
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,
1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,
Who, you all know, are honourable men :
I will not do them wrong ; I rather choose
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you,
Than I will wrong such honourable men.
But here's a parchment, with the seal of Caesar,
I found it in his closet, 'tis his will :
Let but the commons hear this testament,
(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,)
And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds,
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood j
Yea, beg a hair of him for memory.
And, dying, mention it within their wills,
Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy,
Unto their issue.
4 CU. We'll hear the will : Read it, Mark Antony.
CU. The will, the will ; we will hear Caesar's will.
Ant. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not
read it ;
It is not meet you know how Caesar lov'd you.
You are not wood, you are not stones, but men ;
And being men, hearing the will of Caesar,
It will inflame you, it will make you mad :
'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs ;
For if you should, O, what would come of it !
4 CU. Read the will ; we will hear it, Antony ;
You shall read us the will ; Caesar's will.
Ant. Will you be patient ? Will you stay awhile ?
I have o'ershot myself, to tell you of it.
I fear, I wrong the honourable men.
Whose daggers have stabb'd Ctcsar : I do fear it.
4 CU. They were traitors : Honourable men !
CU. The will ! the testament !
2 CU. They were villains, murderers : The will !
read the will !
Ant. You will compel me then to read the will?
Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar,
Yy 2
692
JULIUS CiESAR.
Act III.
And let me show you him that made the will.
Sliall I descend ? And will you give me leave ?
Cit. Come down.
2 Cit. Descend. \He comes downjrom the Pulpit.
3 Cit. You shall have leave.
4 Cit. A ring ; stand round.
1 Cit. Stand from the hearse, stand from the body.
2 Cit. Room for Antony ; — most noble Antony.
Ant. Nay, press not so upon me ; stand far off.
Cit. Stand back ! room ! bear back !
Ant» If you have tears, prepare to shed them
now.
You all do know this mantle : I remember
The first time ever Caesar put it on ;
"Twas on a summer's evening in his tent;
That day he overcame the Nervii : —
Look ! in this place, ran Cassius' dagger through :
See, what a rent the envious Casca made :
Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd ;
And, as he pluck'd his cursed steel away,
Mark how the blood of Csesar follow'd it ;
As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd
If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no ;
For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel :
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar lov'd him !
This was the most unkindest cut of all :
For when the noble Caesar saw him stab,
Ingratitude, more strong than traitor's arms,
Quite vanquish'd him : then burst his mighty heart;
And, in his mantle muffling up his face,
Even at the base of Pompey's statua 3,
Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell.
O, what a fall was there, my countrymen !
Then I, and you, and all of us fell down.
Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us.
O, now you weep ; and, I perceive, you feel
The dint 4 of pity : these are gracious drops.
Kind souls, what, weep you, when you but behold
Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here.
Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors.
1 Cit. O piteous spectacle !
2 Cit. O noble Caesar !
3 Cit. O woful day !
4 Cit. O traitors, villains !
1 Cit. O most bloody sight !
2 CU. We will be revenged: revenge; about,
seek, — burn, — fire, — kill, — slay ! — let not a
traitor live.
Ant. Stay, countrymen.
1 CU. Peace there : — Hear the noble Antony.
2 Cit. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll die
with him.
Ant. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir
you up
To such a sudden flood of mutiny.
They, that have done this deed, are honourable ;
What private griefs * they have, alas, I know not.
That made them do it ; they are wise and honourable,
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you.
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts ;
I am no orator, as Brutus is :
But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man.
That love my friend ; and that they know full well
That gave me public leave to speak of him.
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth.
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech.
To stir men's blood : I only speak right on ;
I tell you that, which you yourselves do know ;
3 Statua for statue, is common among the old writers.
* Impression. ' Grievances.
Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb
mouths.
And bid them speak for me : But were I Brutus,
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Caesar, that should move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.
Cit. We'll mutiny.
1 CU. We'll bum the house of Brutus.
3 Cit. Away then, come, seek the conspirators.
Ant. Yet hear me, countrymen; yet hear me speak.
CU. Peace, ho! Hear Antony, most noble Antony.
Ant. Why, friends, you go to do you know not
what :
Wherein hath Caesar thus deserv'd your loves ?
Alas, you know not : — I must tell you then: —
You have forgot the will I told you of.
Cit. Most true ; — the will j — let's stay, and hear
the will.
Ant. Here is the will, and under Caesar's seal.
To every Roman citizen he gives.
To every several man, seventy-five drachmas. ^
2 CU. Most noble Caesar! — we'll revenge his
death.
3 Cit. O royal Caesar !
Ant. Hear me with patience.
CU. Peace, ho !
Ant. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks.
His private arbours, and new-planted orchards,
On this side Tyber ; he hath left them you.
And to your heirs for ever ; common pleasures,
To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves.
Here was a Caesar : When comes such another?
1 Cit. Never, never : — Come, away, away :
We'll burn his body in the holy place.
And with the brands fire the traitors' houses.
Take up the body.
2 CU. Go, fetch fire.
3 CU. Pluck down benches.
4 CU. Pluck down forms, windows, any thing.
\^Exeunt Citizens, wUh the Body.
Ant. Now let it work : Mischief, thou art afoot,
Take thou what course thou wilt ! — How now,
fellow ?
Enter a Servant.
Serv. Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome.
Ant. Where is he ? ^
Serv. He and Lepidus are at Caesar's house.
Ant. And thither will I straight to visit him :
He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry.
And in this mood will give us any thing.
Serv. I heard him say, Brutus and Cassius
Are rid like madmen through the gates of Rome.
Ant. Belike, they had some notice of the people.
How I had mov'd them. Bring me to Octavius.
[^Exeunt.
SCENE 111.— A Street.
Enter Cinna, the Poet.
Cin. I dreamt to-night that I did feast with Caesar
And things unluckily charge my fantasy :
I have no will to wander forth of doors,
Yet something leads me forth.
Enter Citizens.
1 CU. What is your name ?
2 Cit. Whither are you going?
6 Near fifty shillings.
Act IV. Scene I.
JULIUS Ci^SAR.
693
3 Cit. Where do you dwell ?
4 Cit. Are you a married man, or a bachelor ?
2 Cit. Answer every man directly.
1 Cit. Ay, and briefly.
4 Cit. Ay, and wisely.
3 Cit. Ay, and truly, you were best.
Cin. Wliat is my name ? Whither am I going ?
Where do I dwell ? Am I a married man, or a
bachelor ? Then to answer every man directly
and briefly, wisely, and truly. Wisely I say, I am
a bachelor.
2 Cit. That's as much as to say they are fools that
marry — You'll bear me a bang for that, I fear.
Proceed; directly.
Cin. Directly, I am going to Ca;sar*s funeral.
1 Cit. As a friend, or an enemy ?
Cin. As a friend.
2 Cit. That matter is answered directly.
4 Cit. For your dwelling, — briefly.
Cin. Briefly, I dwell by the Capitol.
4 Cit. Your name, sir, truly.
Cin. Truly, my name is Cinna.
1 Cit. Tear him to pieces, he's a conspirator.
Ciru I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet.
4 Cit' Tear him for his bad verses, tear him for
his bad verses.
Cin. I am not Cinna the conspirator.
2 Cit. It is no matter, his name's Cinna ; pluck
but his name out of his heart, and turn him going.
3 Cit. Tear him, tear him. Come, brands, ho !
firebrands. To Brutus', to Cassius' ; burn all.
Some to Decius' house, and some to Casca's : some
to Ligarius': away; go. \_Exeunt.
ACT IV.
SCENE I. — ^ Room in Antony's House.
Antony, Octavios, and Lepidus, seated at a Table.
Ant. These many then shall die ; their names are
prick'd.
Oct. Your brother too must die ; Consent you,
Lepidus ?
Lep. I do consent.
Oct. Prick 7 him down, Antony.
Lep. Upon condition Publius shall not live,
Who is your sister's son, Mark Antony.
Ant. He shall not live; look, with a spot I damn ^
him.
But, Lepidus, go you to Csesar's house ;
Fetch the will hither, and we will determine
How to cut ofif some charge in legacies.
Leiu What, shall I find you here ?
Oct. Or here, or at
The Capitol. {Exit Lepidus.
Ant. Tliis is a slight unmeritable man,
Meet to be sent on errands : Is it fit,
The three-fold world divided, he should stand
One of the three to share it ?
Oct. So you thought him ;
And took his voice who should be prick'd to die,
In our black sentence and proscription.
Ant. Octavius, I have seen more days than you ;
And though we lay these honours on this man.
To ease ourselves of divers slanderous loads.
He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold,
To groan and sweat under the business.
Either led or driven, as we point the way ;
And having brought our treasure where we will.
Then take we down this load, and turn him off,
Like to the empty ass, to shake his ears.
And graze in commons.
Oct. You may do your will ;
But he's a tried and valiant soldier.
Ant. So is my horse, Octavius ; and, for that,
I do appoint him store of provender.
It is a creature tliat I teach to fight.
To wind, to stop, to run directly on ;
His corporal motion govern'd by my spirit.
And, in some taste, is Lepidus but so;
He must be taught, and train'd, and bid go forth :
7 Set, in.irk. " Condemn.
A barren-spirited fellow ; one that feeds
On objects, arts, and imitations ;
Which, out of use, and stal'd by other men,
Begin his fashion : Do not talk of him.
But as a property. And now, Octavius,
Listen great things. — Brutus and Cassius,
Are levying powers : we must straight make head.
Therefore, let our alliance be combin'd.
Our best friends made, and our best means stretch 'd
out;
And let us presently go sit in council.
How covert matters may be best disclos'd.
And open perils surest answered.
Oct. Let us do so ; for we are at the stake,
And bay'd 9 about with many enemies ;
And some, that smile, have in their hearts, I fear.
Millions of mischief. \^Exeunt.
SCENE II Before Brutus' Tent, in the Camp
near Sardis.
Drum. Enter Brutus, Lucimus, Lucius, and
Soldiers : Titinius and Pindarus meeting them.
Pru. Stand here.
Luc. Give the word, ho ! and stand.
Bru. What now, Lucilius ? is Cassius near ?
Luc. He is at hand ; and Pindarus is come
To do you salutation from his master.
[Pindarus gives a Letter to Brutus.
Bru. He greets me well. — Your master, Pin-
darus,
In his own charge, or by ill oflRces,
Hath given me some worthy cause to wish
Things done, undone : but, if he be at hand,
I shall be satisfied.
Pin. I do no doubt.
But tliat my noble master will appear
JSuch as he is, full of regard, and honour.
Bru. He is not doubted. — A word, Lucilius :
How he receiv'd you, let me be resolv'd.
Luc. With courtesy, and with respect enough ;
But not with such familiar instances.
Nor with such free and friendly conference.
As he hath used of old.
Bru. Thou hast describ'd
A hot friend cooling : Ever note, Lucilius,
• Surrounded, baited.
Yy 3
69*
JULIUS CiESAR.
Act IV.
When love begins to sicken and decay,
It useth an enforced ceremony.
There are no tricks in plain and simple faith :
But hollow men, like horses hot at hand,
Make gallant show and promise of their mettle :
But when they should endure the bloody spur,
They fall their crests, and, like deceitful jades,
Sink in the trial. Comes his army on?
Liic. They mean this night in Sardis to be quar-
ter'd ;
The greater part, the horse in general,
Are come with Cassius. {March within.
Bru. Hark, he is arriv'd : —
March gently on to meet him.
Eyiter Cassius and Soldiers.
Cas. Stand, ho !
Bru. Stand, ho ! Speak the word along.
[mthin.] Stand.
[JVWiin.] Stand.
[Within.] Stand.
Cas. Most noble brother, you have done me wrong.
Bru. Judge me, you gods ! Wrong I mine ene-
mies ?
And, if not so, how should I wrong a brother ?
Cas. Brutus, this sober form of yours hides
wrongs ;
And when you do them ■
Bru. Cassius, be content,
Speak your griefs softly, — I do know you well : —
Before the eyes of both our armies here.
Which should perceive nothing but love from us,
Let us not wrangle : Bid them move away ;
Then in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs.
And I will give you audience.
Cas. Pindarus,
Bid our commanders lead their charges off
A little from this ground.
Bru. Lucilius, do the like ; and let no man
Come to our tent, till we have done our conference.
Let Lucius and Titinius guard our door. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.— Within the Tent of Brutus.
Lucius and Titinius at some distance from it.
Enter Brutus and Cassius.
Cas. That you have wrong'd me doth appear in
this:
You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella,
For taking bribes here of the Sardians ;
Wherein my letters, praying on his side.
Because I knew the man, were slighted off.
Bru. You wrong'd yourself, to write in such a case.
Cas. In such a time as this, it is not meet
That every nice ' offence should bear his comment.
Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself
Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm ;
To sell and mart your offices for gold,
To undeservers.
Cas. I an itching palm ?
You know that you are Brutus that speak this,
Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last.
Bru. The name of Cassius honours this corruption.
And chastisement doth therefore hide his head.
Cas. Chastisement !
Bru. Remember March, the ides of March re-
member !
Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake ?
' Trifling.
What villain touch'd his body, that did stab.
And not for justice ? What, shall one of us,
That struck the foremost man of all this world,
But for supporting robbers ; shall we now
Contaminate our fingers with base bribes ?
And sell the mighty space of our large honours.
For so much trash, as may be grasped thus ? —
I had rather be a dog, and bay the mogn.
Than such a Roman.
Cas. Brutus, bay not me ;
I'll not endure it ; you forget yourself
To hedge me in ; I am a soldier, I,
Older in practice, abler than yourself
To make conditions.
Bru. Go to ; you're not, Cassius.
Cas. I am.
Bru. I say, you are not.
Cas. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself;
Have mind upon your health, tempt me no further.
Bru. Away, slight man !
Cas. Is't possible ?
Bru. Hear me, for I will speak.
Must I give way and room to your rash choler ?
Shall I be frighted, when a madman stares ?
Cas. O ye gods ! ye gods ! Must I endure all this ?
Bru. All this ? ay, more : Fret, till your proud
heart break ;
Go show your slaves how cholerick you are.
And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge ?
Must I observe you ? Must I stand and crouch
Under your testy humour ? By the gods,
You shall digest the venom of your spleen.
Though it do split you : for, from this day forth,
I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter.
When you are waspish.
Cas. Is it come to this ?
Bru. You say, you are a better soldier :
Let it appear so ; make your vaunting true.
And it shall please me well : For mine own part,
I shall be glad to learn of noble men.
Cas. You wrong me every way ; you wrong me,
Brutus :
I said, an elder soldier, not a better :
Did I say, better?
Bru. If you did, I care not.
Cas. When Ceesar lived, he durst not thus have
mov'd me.
Bru. Peace, peace; you durst not so have tempted
him.
Cas. I durst not ?
Bru. No.
Cas. What ? durst not tempt him ?
Bru. For your life you durst not.
Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love,
I may do that I shall be sorry for.
Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for.
There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats :
For I am arm'd so strong in honesty,
That they pass by me, as the idle wind,
Which I respect not. I did send to you
For certain sums of gold, which you denied me ; —
For I can raise no money by vile means :
By heaven, I had rather coin my heart,
And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring
From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash
By any indirection. I did send
To you for gold to pay my legions.
Which you denied me : Was that done like Cassius
Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so ?
When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,
Scene III.
JULIUS C^SAR.
695
To lock such rascal counters from his friends,
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts.
Dash him to pieces !
Cas. I denied you not.
Bni. You did.
Cas. I did not : — he was but a fool,
That brought my answer back. — Brutus hath riv'd «
my heart :
A friend should bear his friend's infirmities,
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.
liru. I do not, till you practise them on me.
Cas. You love me not.
Bru. I do not like your faults.
Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults.
Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do
appear
As huge as high Olympus.
Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come.
Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius,
For Cassius is aweary of the world :
Hated by one he loves ; brav'd by his brother ;
Check'd like a bondman ; all his faults observ'd.
Set in a note-book, learn'd, and conn'd by rote.
To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep
My spirit from mine eyes ! — There is my dagger,
And here my naked breast ; within, a heart
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold :
If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth ;
I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart :
Strike, as thou didst at Caesar ; for, I know,
When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov'dst him
better
Than ever thou lov'dst Cassius.
Bru. Sheathe your dagger :
Be angry when you will, it shall have scope ;
Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.
O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb
That carries anger, as the flint bears fire ;
Who much enforced, shows a hasty spark.
And straight is cold again.
Cas. Hath Cassius liv'd
To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,
When grief, and blood ill-temper'd, vexeth him ?
Bru. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too.
Cas. Do you confess so much ? Give me your
hand.
Bru. And my heart too.
Cas. O Brutus !
Bru. What's the matter?
Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me,
When that rash humour, which my mother gave me,
Makes me forgetful ?
Bru. Yes, Cassius ; and henceforth.
When you are over-earnest with your Brutus,
He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.
[Noise within.
Poet. [ Within.'] Let me go in to see the generals :
There is some grudge between them, 'tis not meet
They be alone.
Luc. {Withiju'] You shall not come to them.
Poet. \^WUhin.'] Nothing but death shall stay me.
Enter Poet,
Cas. How now ? Wliat's the matter ?
Poet. For shame, you generals : What do you
mean?
I^ovc, and be friends, as two such men should be j
For I have seen more years, I am sure, than ye.
Cas. Ha, ha ; how vilely doth this cynick rhyme !
< SpUt
Bru. Get you hence, sirrah ; saucy fellow, hence.
Cos. Bear with him, Brutus ; 'tis his fasiiion.
Bru. I'll know his humour, when he knows his
time:
What should the wars do with these jigging fools?
Companion 3, hence.
C7(M. Away, away, begone.
{Exit Poet.
Ent^r LuciLius and Titinius.
Bru. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders
Prepare to lodge their companies to-night.
Cas. And come yourselves, and bring Messala
with you.
Immediately to us. {Exeunt Lucilios and Titinius.
Bru. Lucius, a bowl of wine.
Cas. I did not think, you could have been so angry.
Bru. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs.
Cas. Of your philosophy you make no use.
If you give place to accidental evils.
Bru. No man bears sorrow better : — Portia is
dead.
Cas. Ha! Portia?
Bru. She is dead.
Cas. How scap'd I killing, when I cross'd you
so? —
0 insupportable and touching loss ! —
Upon what sickness ?
Bru. Impatient of my absence ;
And grief, that young Octavius with Mark Antony
Have made themselves so strong ; — for with her
death
That tidings came ; — With this she fell distract,
And, her attendants absent, swallow 'd file.
Cas. And died so ?
Bru. Even so.
Cas, O ye immortal gods I
Enter Lucius, with Wine and Tapers.
Bru. Speak no more of her. — Give me a bowl
of wine : —
In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. {Drinks.
Cas. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge : —
Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup ;
1 cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. {Drinks.
Re-enter Titinius, with Messala.
Bru. Come in, Titinius : — Welcome, good Mes-
sala. —
Now sit we close about this taper here,
And call in question our necessities.
Cas. Portia, art thou gone ?
Bru. No more, I pray you. —
Messala, I have here received letters.
That young Octavius, and Mark Antony,
Come down upon us with a mighty power.
Bending their expedition toward Phiiippi.
Mes. Myself have letters of the self-same tenoiir.
Bru. With what addition ?
Mes. Tliat by proscription, and bills of outlawry,
Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus,
Have put to death an hundred senators.
Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree ;
Mine speak of seventy senators, that died
By their proscriptions, Cicero being one.
Cas. Cicero one ?
Mes. Ay, Cicero is dead,
And by tliat order of proscription. —
Had you your letters from your wife, my lord ?
3 Fellow.
Yy 4
696
JULIUS Ci^SAll.
Act IV.
Bru. No, Messala.
Mes. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her ?
JBni. Nothing, Messala.
Mes. That, methinks, is strange.
Bi-u. Why ask you ? Hear you aught of her in
yours?
Mes. No, my lord.
Bru. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true.
Mes. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell ;
For certain she is dead, and by strange manner.
Bru. Why, farewell, Portia. — We must die,
Messala :
With meditating that she must die once,
I have tlie patience to endure it now.
Mes. Even so great men great losses should endure.
Cas. I have as much of this in art ^ as you.
But yet my nature could not bear it so.
Bru. Well, to our work alive. What do you think.
Of marching to Philippi presently ?
Cas. I do not think it good.
Bru. Your reason ?
Cas. This it is :
*Tis better, that the enemy seek us :
So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers,
Doing himself offence ; whilst we, lying still.
Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness.
Bru. Good reasons must, of force, give place to
better.
The people, 'twixt Philippi and this ground.
Do stand but in a forc'd affection ;
For they have grudg'd us contribution :
The enemy, marching along by them,
By them shall make a fuller number up.
Come on refresh'd, new-added, and encourag'd ;
From which advantage shall we cut him off.
If at Philippi we do face him there.
These people at our back.
Cas. Hear me, good brother.
Bru. Under your pardon You must note be-
side.
That we have try'd the utmost of our friends.
Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe :
The enemy increaseth every day,
We, at the height, are ready to decline.
There is a tide in the affairs of men.
Which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune ;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows, and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat ;
And we must take the current when it serves.
Or lose our ventures.
Cas. Then, with your will, go on ;
We'll on ourselves, and meet him at Philippi.
Bru. The deep of night is crept upon our talk,
And nature must obey necessity ;
Which we will niggard with a little rest.
There is no more to say ?
Cas. No more. Good night ;
Early to-morrow will we rise, and hence.
Brti. Lucius, my gown. \^Exit Lucius.] Fare-
well, good Messala : —
Good night, Titiiiius : — Noble, noble Cassius,
Good night, and good repose.
Cccs. O my dear brother !
This was an ill beginning of the night:
Never come such division 'tween our souls !
Let it not, Brutus.
Bru. Every thing is well.
Cas. Good night, my lord.
4 Theory.
Bru. Good night, good brother.
Tit. Mes. Good night, lord Brutus.
Bru. Farewell, every one.
[Exeunt Cas. Tit. and Mes.
Re-enter Lucius, with the Gown.
Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument ?
Luc. Here in the tent.
Bru. What, thou speak'st drowsily ?
Poor knave, I blame thee not; thou art o'er-watch'd.
Call Claudius, and some other of my men ;
I'll have them sleep on cushions in my tent.
Luc. Varro, and Claudius !
Enter Varro and Claudius.
Var. Calls my lord ?
Bru. I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent, and sleep ;
It may be, I shall raise you by and by
On business to my brother Cassius.
Var. So please you, we will stand, and watch your
pleasure.
Bru. I will not have it so : lie down, good sirs ;
It may be, I shall otherwise bethink me.
Look, Lucius, here's the book I sought for so ;
I put it in the pocket of my gown.
[Servants lie down.
Luc. I was sure your lordship did not give it me.
Bru. Bear with me, good boy, I am much for-
getful.
Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile,
And touch thy instrument a strain or two.
Luc. Ay, my lord, an it please you.
Bru. It does, my boy ;
I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing.
Luc. It is my duty, sir.
Bru. I sliould not urge thy duty past thy might ;
I know, young bloods look for a time of rest.
Luc. I have slept, my lord, already.
Bi-u. It is well done ; and thou shalt sleep again ;
I will not hold thee long : if I do live,
I will be good to thee. [Masick and a Song.
This is a sleepy tune : — O murd'rous slumber !
Lay'st thou thy leaden mace ^ upon my boy,
That plays thee musick ? — Gentle knave, good
night ;
I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee.
If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument ;
I'll take it from thee ; and, good boy, good night.
Let me see, let me see ; — Is not the leaf turn'd
down.
Where I left reading ? Here it is, I think.
[He sits down.
Enter the Ghost of CiESAR.
How ill this taper burns ! — Ha ! who comes here ?
I think it is the weakness of mine eyes.
That shapes this monstrous apparition.
It comes upon me — art thou any thing ?
Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil.
That mak'st my blood cold, and my hair to stare ?
Speak to me, what art thou.
Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus.
Bru. Why com'st thou ?
Ghost. To tell thee, thou shalt see me at Philippi.
Bru. Well;
Then I shall see thee again ?
Ghost. Ay, at Philippi.
[Ghost vanishes.
i Sceptre.
Act V. Scene I.
JULIUS CESAR.
697
Bru. Why, I will see thee at Philippi then. —
Now I have taken heart, thou vanishest .
Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with tliee. —
Boy ! Lucius ! — Varro ! Claudius ! Sirs, awake ! —
Claudius !
Luc. The strings, my lord, are false.
Bru. He thinks, he still is at his instnunent. —
Lucius, awake.
Luc My lord !
Bru. Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so
cry'dst out ?
Luc, My lord, I do not know that I did cry.
Bru. Yes, that tliou didst : Didst thou see any
thing ?
Luc. Nothing, my lord.
Bru. Sleep again, Lucius. — Sirrah, Claudius !
Fellow tliou ! awake.
Var. My lord!
Clau. My lord !
Brti. Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep ?
Var. Clau. Did we, my lord?
Bru. Ay ; Saw you any thing ?
Var, No, my lord, I saw nothing.
Clau, Nor I, my lord.
Bru, Co, and commend me to my brother Cassius ;
Bid him sot on his powers betimes before,
And we will follow.
Var. Clau. It shall be done, my lord.
\_Exeunt,
ACT V.
SCENE I. — Tlie Plains of Philippi.
Enter Octavius, Antont, and their Army,
Oct. Now, Antony, our hopes are answered :
You said the enemy would not come down.
But keep the hills and upper regions ;
It proves not so : their battles are at hand ;
They mean to warn ^ us at Philippi here,
Answering before we do demand of them.
Ant. Tut, I am in their bosoms, and I know,
Wherefore they do it : they could be content
To visit other places ; and come down
With fearful bravery, thinking, by this face.
To fasten in our thoughts that they have courage ;
But 'tis not so.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Prepare you, generals :
The enemy comes on in gallant show ;
Their bloody sign of battle is hung out,
And something's to be done immediately.
Ant. Octavius, lead your battle softly on.
Upon the left hand of the even field.
Oct. Upon tlie right hand I, keep thou the left.
Ant. Why do you cross me in this exigent ?
Oct, I do not cross you ; but I will do so.
\_March.
Drum. Enter B&utus, Cassius, and their Armt/ ;
Luciuus, TiTiNius, Messala, and others.
Bru. They stand, and would have parley.
Cas. Stand fast, Titinius: We must out and talk.
Oct. Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battle ?
Ant. No, Caesar, we will answer on the charge.
Make forth, the generals would have some words.
Oct. Stir not until the signal.
Bru, Words before blows : Is it so, countrymen ?
Oct. Not that we love words better, as you do.
Bru. Good words are better than bad strokes,
Octavius.
Ant, In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good
words :
Witness the hole you made in Caesar's heart,
Crj'ing, Long live f hail Ccesar I
Cas, Antony,
The posture of your blows are yet unknown ;
But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees,
And leave them honey less.
* Summon.
Ant, Not stingless too.
Bru. O, yes, and soundless too j
For you have stol'n their buzzing, Antony,
And, very wisely, threat before you sting.
Ant. Villains, you did not so, when your vile
daggers
Hack'd one another in the sides of Caesar :
You show'd your teeth like apes, and fawn'd like
hounds,
And bow'd like bondmen, kissing Caesar's feet.
Whilst damned Casca, like a cur behind.
Struck Caesar on the neck. O flatterers !
Cas, Flatterers ! — Now, Brutus, thank yourself:
This tongue had not offended so to-day,
If Cassius might have rul'd.
Oct. Come, come, the cause : If arguing make us
sweat.
The proof of it will turn to redder drops.
Look ;
I draw a sword against conspirators ;
When think you that the sword goes up again ? —
Never till Csesar's three and twenty wounds
Be well aveng'd ; or till another Caesar
Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors.
Bru. Caesar, thou canst not die by traitors' hands.
Unless thou bring'st them with thee.
Oct, So I hope ;
I was not born to die on Brutus' sword.
Bru, O, if thou wert the noblest of thy strain,
Young man, thou couldst not die more honourable.
Cas. A peevish school-boy, worthless of such
honour,
Join'd with a masker and a reveller.
Ant, Old Cassius still !
Oct, Come, Antony ; away. —
Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth :
If you dare fight to day, come to the field ;
If not, when you have stomachs.
[^Exeunt Octavius, Antony, and their Army,
Cas, Why now, blow, wind ; swell, billow ; and
swim, bark !
The storm is up, and all is on the hazard.
Bru, Ho!
Lucilius ; hark, a word with you.
Luc, My lord.
[Brutus and Luciuus converse apart.
Cas. Messala, —
Mes. What says my general ?
Cas. Messala,
698
JULIUS C^SAR.
Act V.
Tliis is my birth-day ; as this very day
Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala :
Be thou my witness, that, against my will,
As Pompey was, am I compell'd to set
Upon one battle all our liberties.
You know, that I held Epicurus strong,
And his opinion : now I change my mind,
And partly credit things that do presage.
Coming from Sardis, on our former ' ensign
Two mighty eagles fell, and there they perch'd,
Gorging and feeding from our soldiers' hands j
Who to Philippi here consorted " us ;
This morning are they fled away, and gone ;
And in their steads, do ravens, crows, and kites,
Fly o'er our heads, and downward look on us.
As we were sickly prey ; their shadows seem
A canopy most fatal, under which
Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost.
Mess, Believe not so.
Cas. I but believe it partly ;
For I am fresh of spirit, and resolv'd
To meet all perils very constantly.
Bru. Even so, Lucilius.
Cas. Now, most noble Brutus,
The gods to day stand friendly ; that we may.
Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age !
But, since the affairs of men rest still uncertain,
Let's reason with the worst that may befall.
If we do lose this battle, then is this
The very last time we shall speak together :
What are you then determined to do ?
Bru. Even by the rule of that philosophy.
By which I did blame Cato for the death
Which he did give himself : — I know not how,
But I do find it cowardly and vile.
For fear of what might fall, so to prevent
The time of life : arming myself with patience,
To stay the Providence of some high pov ers
That govern us below.
Cas. Then, if we lose this battle.
You are contented to be led in triumph
Thorough the streets of Rome ?
Bru. No, Cassius, no : think not, thou noble
Roman,
That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome ;
He bears too great a mind. But this same day
Must end that work the ides of March begun ;
And whether we shall meet again I know not.
Therefore our everlasting farewell take : —
For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius !
If we do meet again, why we shall smile ;
If not, why then this parting was well made.
Cas, For ever, and for ever, farewell, Brutus !
If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed :
If not, 'tis true, this parting was well made.
Bru. Why then, lead on. — O, that a man might
know
The end of this day's business, ere it come !
But it sufficeth, that the day will end.
And then the end is known. — Come, ho ! away !
[^Exeunt.
SCENE TI. — The Field of Battle.
Alarum. Enter Brutus and Messala.
Bru. Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and give these
bills 9
Unto the legions on the other side : {^Loud Alarum.
1 Foremost. 8 Accompanied.
9 Directions for the officers.
Let them set on at once ; for I perceive
But cold demeanour in Octavius' wing,
And sudden push gives them the overthrow.
Ride, ride, Messala : let them all come down.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III Another Part of the Field.
Alarum. Enter Cassius and Titinius.
Cas. O, look, Titinius, look, the villains fly :
Myself have to mine own turn'd enemy :
This ensign here of mine was turning back ;
I slew the coward, and did take it from him.
Tit. O Cassius, Brutus gave the word too early :
Who having some advantage on Octavius,
T«>ok it too eagerly : his soldiers fell to spoil,
Whilst we by Antony were all enclos'd.
Enter Pindarus.
Pin. Fly further off, my lord, fly further off;
Mark Antony is in your tents, my lord !
Fly therefore, noble Cassius, fly far off.
Cas. This hill is far enough. Look, look, Titinius ;
Are those my tents, where I perceive the fire ?
Tit. They are, my lord.
Cas. Titinius, if thou lov'st me,
Mount thou my horse, and hide thy spurs in him.
Till he have brought thee up to yonder troops.
And here again that I may rest assur'd.
Whether yond' troops are friend or enemy.
Tit. I will be here again, even with a thought.
[EjcU.
Cas. Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hill ;
My sight was ever thick ; regard Titinius,
And tell me what thou not'st about the field. —
[Exit Pinbarus.
This day I breathed first : time is come round,
And where I did begin, there I shall end ;
My life is run his compass. — Sirrah, what news?
Pin. [Above.] O my lord !
Cas. What news ?
Pin. Titinius is
Enclosed round about with horsemen, that
Make to him on the spur ; — yet he spurs on. —
Now they are almost on him ; now, Titinius ! —
Now some 'light : — O, he 'lights too — he's ta'en
— and, hark ! [Shout.
They shout for joy.
Cas. Come down, behold no more. —
O, coward that I am, to live so long.
To see my best friend ta'en before my face !
Enter Pindarus,
Come hither, sirrah :
In Partliia did I take thee prisoner ;
And then I swore thee, saving of thy life.
That whatsoever I did bid thee do.
Thou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep thine
oath !
Now be a freeman ; and, with this good sword,
That ran through Caesar's bowels, search this bosom.
Stand not to answer : Here, take thou the hilts ;
And, when my face is cover'd as 'tis now,
Guide thou the sword, — Caesar, thou art reveng'd,
Even with the sword that kill'd thee. [Dies.
Pin. So I am free, yet would not so have been.
Durst I have done my will. O Cassius !
Far from this country Pindarus shall run.
Where never Roman shall take note of him.
[Exit.
Scene III.
JULIUS CiESAR.
699
Re-enter Titinius with Messala.
Mes. It is but change, Titinius ; for Octavius
Is overthrown by noble Brutus' power,
As Cassius' legions are by Antony.
Tit. These tidings will well comfort Cassius.
Mes. Where did you leave him ?
Tit. All disconsolate,
With Pindarus his bondman, on this hill.
Mes. Is not that he, that lies upon the ground ?
Tit. He lies not like the liying. O my heart !
Mes. Is not that he ?
Tit. No, this was he, Messala,
But Cassius is no more. — O setting sun !
As in thy red rays thou dost sink to-night,
So in his red blood Cassius' day is set ;
The sun of Rome is set ! Our day is gone ;
Clouds, dews, and dangers come ; our deeds are done j
Mistrust of my success hath done this deed.
Afes. Mistrust of good success hath done this deed.
0 hateful error, melancholy's child !
Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men
The things that are not ? O error, soon conceiv'd,
Thou never com'st unto a happy birth.
But kill'st the mother that engender'd thee.
Tit. What, Pindarus? Where art thou, Pindarus?
Mes. Seek him, Titinius : whilst I go to meet
The noble Brutus, thrusting this report
Into his ears : I may say, tlirusting it ;
For piercing steel, and darts envenomed.
Shall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus,
As tidings of this sight.
7\t. Hie you, Messala,
And I will seek for Pindarus the while.
[EtU Messala.
Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius ?
Did I not meet thy friends, and did not they
Put on my brows this wreath of victory,
And bid me giv't thee ? Didst thou not hear their
shouts ?
Alas ! thou hast misconstrued every thing.
But hold thee, take this garland on thy brow ;
Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I
Will do his bidding. — Brutus, come apace.
And see how I regarded Caius Cassius. —
By your leave, gods : — This is a Roman's part :
Come, Cassius' sword, and find Titinius' heart.
[Dies.
Alarum. Re-enter Messala, unth Brutus, young
Cato, Strato, Volumnius, and Lucilius.
Bru. Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie ?
Mes. Lo, yonder ; and Titinius mourning it.
Bru. Titinius' face is upward.
Cato. He is slain.
Bru. O Julius Caesar, thou art mighty yet !
Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords
In our own proper entrails. [Low Alarums.
Cato. Brave Titinius !
Look, whe'r he have not crown'd dead Cassius !
Bru. Are yet two Romans living such as these? —
Tlic hist of all the Romans, fare thee well !
It is impossible that ever Rome
Should breed thy fellow Friends, I owe more tears
To tins dead man, than you sliall see me pay.—
1 shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time. —
Come, therefore, and to Thassos send his body ;
I lis funeral shall not be in our camp.
Lest it discomfort us. — Lucilius, come;
And come, young Cato, let U8 to the field. —
Labeo, and Flavins, set our battles on : —
''J'is three o'clock ; and, Romans, yet ere night
We shall try fortune in a second fight. \^Exeunt,
SCENE IV. ^Another Fart of the Field.
Alarum. Enter, fighting. Soldiers of both Armies ;
then Brutus, Cato, Lucilius, and others.
Bru. Yet, countrymen, O, yet hold up your heads !
Cato. What bastard doth not ? Who will go with
me?
I will proclaim my name about the field :
I am tlie son of Marcus Cato, ho !
A foe to tyrants, and my country's friend;
I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho !
[Charges the Enemy.
Bru. And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I ;
Brutus, my country's friend ; know me for Brutus.
[Exit, charging the Enemy. Cato is over-
powered, and falls.
Luc. O young and noble Cato, art thou down ?
Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius ;
And mayst be honour'd, being Cato's son.
1 Sold. Yield, or thou diest.
Luc. Only I yield to die :
There is so much that thou wilt kill me straight ;
[Offering Money,
Kill Brutus, and be honour'd in his death.
1 Sold. We must not. — A noble prisoner !
2 Sold. Room, ho ! Tell Antony, Brutus is ta'en.
1 Sold. I'll tell the news. — Here comes the
general :
Enter Antony.
Brutus is ta'en, Brutus is ta'en, my lord.
Ant. Where is he ?
Luc. Safe, Antony ; Brutus is safe enough :
I dare assure thee, that no enemy
Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus :
The gods defend him from so great a shame !
When you do find him or alive, or dead,
He will be found like Brutus, like himself.
Ant. This is not Brutus, friend ; but, I assure you,
A prize no less in worth : keep this man safe,
Give him all kindness : I had ratlier have
Such men my friends than enemies. Go on,
And see whe'r Brutus be alive, or dead :
And bring us word, unto Octavius' tent.
How every thing is chanc'd. [Exeunt.
SCENE v.— Another Fart of the Field.
Enter Brutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato, and
Volumnius.
Bru. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this
rock.
CU. Statilius show'd the torch-light; but, my lord,
He came not back ; he is or ta'en, or slain.
Bru. Sit thee down, Clitus, slaying is the word;
It is a deed in fashion. Hark tliee, Clitus. —
f Whispering.
Cli. What, I, my lord ? No, not for all the world.
Bi-u. Peace, then, mo words.
Cli. I'll rather kill myself.
Bru. Hark thee, Dardanius ! [ Whispers him.
Dar. I do such a deed ?
Cli. O, Dardanius !
Dar. O, Clitus !
Cli. What ill request did Brutus make to thee ?
Dar. To kill him, Clitus : Look, he meditates.
700
JULIUS CiESAR.
Act V,
Cli. Now is that noble vessel full of gnef.
That it runs over even at his eyes.
Bru. Come hither, good Volumnius : list a word.
Vol. What says my lord ?
Bru. Why, this, Volumnius :
The ghost of Caesar hath appear'd to me
Two several times by night : at Sardis, once ;
And, this last night, here in Philippi* fields.
I know, my hour is come.
Vol. Not so, my lord.
Bru. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius.
Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes j
Our enemies have beat us to the pit :
It is more worthy to leap in ourselves,
Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius,
Thou know'st, that we two went to school together ;
Even for that our love of old I pray thee,
Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it.
Vol. That's not an oflSce for a friend, my lord.
\_Alarum still.
Cli. Fly, fly, my lord ; there is no tarrying here.
Bru. Farewell to you ; — and you ; — and you,
Volumnius. —
Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep ;
Farewell to thee, too, Strato. — Countrymen.
My heart doth joy, that yet in all my life,
I found no man, but he was true to me.
I shall have glory by this losing day,
More than Octavius, and Mark Antony,
By this vile conquest shall attain unto.
So fare you well at once ; for Brutus' tongue
Hath almost ended his life's history :
Night hangs upon mine eyes ; my bones would rest.
That have but labour'd to attain this hour.
[Alarum. Cry within ; Fly, fly, fly.
Cli. Fly, my lord, fly.
Bru. Hence ; I will follow thee.
{^Exeunt Clitus, Dardanius, and Volumnius.
I pr'ythee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord :
Thou art a fellow of a good respect ;
Thy life hath had some sraatch of honour in it :
Hold then my sword and turn away thy face,
Wliile I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato?
Stra. Give me your hand first: Fare you well,
my lord.
Bru. Farewell, good Strato. — Caesar, now be still,
I kill'd not thee with half so good a will.
[He runs on his Sword, and dies.
Alarum. Retreat. Enter Octavius, Antony,
Messala, Lucilius, and their Army.
Oct. What man is that ?
Mes. My master's man. — Strato, where is thy
master ?
Stra. Free from the bondage you are in, Messala;
The conquerors can but make a fire of him j
For Brutus only overcame himself,
And no man else hath honour by his death.
Luc. So Brutus should be found. — I thank thee,
Brutus,
That thou hast prov'd Lucilius' saying true.
Oct. All that serv'd Brutus, I will entertain them.'
Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me ?
Stra. Ay, if Messala will prefer ^ me to you.
Oct. Do so, Messala.
Mes. How died my master, Strato'
Stra. I held the sword, and he did run on it.
Mes. Octavius, then take him to follow thee,
That did the latest service to my master.
Ant. This was the noblest Roman of them all :
All the conspirators, save only he,
Did that they did in envy of great Caesar ;
He only, in a general honest thought,
And common good to all, made one of them.
His life was gentle, and the elements
So mix'd in him, that Nature might stand up,
And say to all the world, This was a man !
Oct. According to his virtue let us use him,
With all respect and rights of burial.
Within my tent his bones to-night shall lie,
Most like a soldier, order'd honourably. —
So, call the field to rest : and let's away.
To part the glories of this happy day. [Exeunt.
» Receive into my service. ' Recommend.
-7=^
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
M. Antony,
OCTAVIUS C^SAR,
M. ^MIL LePIDI
Sextus Pompeius.
DoMiTius Enobarbus, ~
Ventidius,
Eros,
SCARUS,
Dehcetas,
Demetrius,
PuiLO,
Mecenas,
Agrippa,
Dolabella,
Proculekjs,
Thyreus,
Gallus,
Triuvivirs.
- Friends of Antony.
Friends to Caesar.
Menas, ■]
Menecrates, 1- Friends of Pompey.
Varrius, J
Taurus, Lieutenant- General to Caesar.
Canidius, Lieutenant- General to Antony.
SiLius, an Officer in Ventidius's Army.
EuPHRONius, an Ambassador from Antony to Caesar.
Alexas, Mardian, Seleucus, and Diomedes;
Attendants on Cleopatra.
A Soothsayer.
A Clown.
SCENE, dispersed;
Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt.
QcTAviA, Sister to Caesar, and Wife to Antony.
J ^ ' j- Attendants on Cleopatra.
Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants,
in several Parts of the Roman Emjnre.
WITH THY SHARP TBKTU THIB KNOT 1NTRIN810AT1
or LIFK AT ONOE DNTIK ; POOR VBNOMODS FOOt,
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA
ACT I.
SCENE I. — Alexandria. A lioom in Cleo-
patra'^ Palace.
Enter Demetrius and Philo.
Phi. Nay, but this dotage of our general's,
O'erflows the measure : Those his goodly eyes,
That o'er the files and musters of the war
Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now turn,
The office and devotion of their view
Upon a tawny front : his captain's heart,
Which in the scuffles of great fights had burst
The buckles on his breast, reneges ' all temper ;
And is become the bellows and the fan,
To cool a gipsy's will. Look, where they come !
FlourLi/i. Enter Antony and Cleopatra, with
tlieir Trains; Eunucfisf (tuning her.
Take but gootl note, and you shall see in him
The triple pillar of the world transform'd
Into a strumpet's fool : behold and see.
Cleo. If it be love indeed, tell me how much.
Ant. There's beggary in the love that can be
reckon'd.
Cleo. I'll set a bourn < how far to be bclov'd.
Ant- Then must thou needs find out new heaven,
new earth.
Rcnounco.
' Bound or liniit.
Enter an Attendant.
Att. News, my good lord, from Rome
Ant. Grates - me : — The sum ?
Cleo. Nay, hear them, Antony.
Fulvia, perchance, is angry ; Or, who knows
If the scarce-bearded Cajsar have not sent
His powerful mandate to you. Do this, or this;
Take in * that kingdom, and enfranchise that ;
Perform t, or else we damn thee.
Ant. How, my love !
Cleo. Perchance, — nay, and most like,
You must not stay here longer, your dismission
Is come from Cajsar ; therefore hear it, Antony. —
Where's Fulvia's process?* Caisar's, I would say? —
Both ? —
Call in the messengers. — As I am Egypt's queen.
Thou blushest, Antony ; and that blood of thine
Is Caesar's homager : else so thy cheek pays shame.
When shrill-tongued Fulvia scolds. — The mes-
sengers.
Ant. Let Rome in Tyber melt ! and the wide arch
Of the rang'd empire fall ! Here is my space ;
Kingdoms are clay : our dungy earth alike
Feeds Iniast as man : The nobleness of life
Is, to do thus ; when such a mutual pair
{^Embracing.
And such a twain can do't, in which, I bind,
3 Offends. '• Subdue, conquer. * Sununons.
702
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
Act 1.
On pain of punishment, the world to weet 6,
We stand up peerless.
Cleo. Excellent falsehood !
Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her ? —
I'll seem the fool I am not ; Antony
Will be himself.
Ant. But stirr'd by Cleopatra. —
Now, for the love of Love, and her soft hours,
Let's not confound? the time with conference harsh :
There's not a minute of our lives should stretch
Without some pleasure now : What sport to-night ?
CleO' Hear the ambassadors.
Ant. Fye, wrangling queen !
Whom every thing becomes, to chide, to laugh,
To weep ; whose every passion fully strives
To make itself, in thee, fair and admir'd !
No messenger ; but thine and all alone,
To-night, we'll wander through the streets, and note
The qualities of people. Come, my queen ;
Last night you did desire it : — Speak not to us.
{^Exeunt Ant. and Cleop. with their Train.
Dem. Is Caesar with Antonius priz'd so slight ?
Phi. Sir, sometimes, when he is not Antony,
He comes too short of that great property
Which still should go with Antony.
Dem. 1 am full sorry.
That he approves the common liar 8, who
Thus speaks of him at Rome : But I will hope
Of better deeds to-morrow. Rest you happy !
'iExeunt.
SCENE II. — Another Room.
Enter Charmian, Iras, Alexas, awrfa Soothsayer.
Char. Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most any thing
Alexas, almost most absolute Alexas, where's the
soothsayer that you praised so to the queen ? O, that
I knew this husband, which, you say, must change
his horns with garlands !
Alex. Soothsayer.
Sooth. Your will ?
Char. Is this the man ? — Is't you, sir, that know
things ?
Sooth. In nature's infinite book of secrecy,
A little I can read.
Alex. Show him your hand.
Enter Enobarbus.
Eno. Bring in the banquet quickly : wine enough,
Cleopatra's health to drink.
Char. Good sir, give me good fortune.
Sooth. I make not, but foresee.
Char. Pray, then, foresee me one.
Sooth. You shall be yet far fairer than you are.
Char. He means, in flesh.
Iras. No, you shall paint when you are old.
Char. Wrinkles forbid !
Alex. Vex not his prescience ; be attentive.
Char. Hush!
Sooth. You shall be more beloving, than beloved.
Char. I had rather heat my liver with drinking.
Alex. Nay, hear him.
Char. Good now, some excellent fortune ! Let
me be married to three kings in a forenoon, and
widow them all : find me to marry me with Octavius
Cajsar, and companion me with my mistress.
Sooth. You shall outlive the lady whom you serve.
Char. O excellent! I love long life better than figs.
Sooth. You have seen and proved a fairer former
fortune
Than that which is to approach.
fi Know. '' Consume. ^ Fame.
Char. Nay, come, tell Iras hers.
Alex. We'll know all our fortunes.
Eno. Mine, and most of our fortunes, to-nighl,
shall be — drunk to bed.
Char. Pr'ythee, tell her but a worky-day fortune.
Sooth. Your fortunes are alike.
Iras. But how ? but how ? give me particulars.
Sooth. I have said.
Char. Our worser thoughts heavens mend! Alex-
as, — come, his fortune, his fortune. — O, let him
marry, sweet Isis 9, I beseech thee ! And let her die,
and give him a worse ! and let worse follow worse,
till the worst of all follow him laughing to his grave.
Good Isis, hear me this prayer, though thou deny me
a matter of more weight ; good Isis, I beseech thee !
Iras. Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of
the people ! Dear Isis, keep decorum, and fortune
him accordingly !
Char. Amen.
Eno. Hush ! here comes Antony.
Char. Not he, the queen.
Enter Cleopatra.
Cleo. Saw you my lord ?
Eno. No, lady.
Cleo. Whs he not here ?
Char. No, madam.
Cleo. He was disposed to mirth ; but on a sudden
A Roman thought hath struck him. — Enobarbus.
Eno. Madam.
Cleo. Seek him and bring him hither. Where's
Alexas ?
Alex. Here, madam, at your service. — My lord
approaches.
Enter Antony, with a Messenger and Attendants.
Cleo. We will not look upon him : Go with us.
[Exeunt Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Alexas,
Iras, Charmian, Soothsayer, and Attendants.
Mess. Fulvia thy wife first came into the field.
Ant. Against my brother Lucius ?
Mess. Ay :
But soon that war had end, and the time's state
Made friends of them, jointing their force 'gainst
Caesar ;
Whose better issue in the war, from Italy,^
Upon the first encounter, drave them.
Ant. Well,
What worst ?
Mess. The nature of bad news infects the teller.
Ant. When it concerns the fool, or coward. — On :
Things, that are past, are done with me. — 'Tis thus:
Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death,
I hear him as he flatter'd.
Mess. Labienus
(This is stiff news) hath, with his Parthian force.
Extended ' Asia from Euphrates ;
His conquering banner shook, from Syria
To Lydia, and to Ionia ;
Whilst
Ant. Antony, thou wouldst say —
Mess. O, my lor3
Ant. Speak to me home, mince not the general
tongue ; j^ -
Name Cleopatra as she's call'd in Rome ; Wt I
Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase : and taunt my faults sf |
With such full licence, as both truth and malice
Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth
weeds,
9 An Egyptian goddess. ' Over-run.
dl
Scene II.
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
703
When our quick winds « lie still; and our ills told us,
Is as our earing.' Fare thee well a while.
Mess. At your noble pleasure. [Exit.
Ant. From Sicyon how the news ? Speak there.
1 Att. The man from Sicyon. — Is there sucli an
one?
2 Alt. He stays upon your will.
^nt. _ Let him appear, —
Tliese strong Egyptian fetters I must break.
Enter another Messenger.
Or lose myself in dotage. — What are you ?
2 Mess. Fulvia thy wife is dead.
Ant. Where died she ?
2 Mess. In Sicyon :
Her length of sickness, with what else more serious
Importeth thee to know, this bears. [Gives a Letter.
Ant. Forbear me. —
[Exit Messenger.
There's a great spirit gone ! Thus did I desire it :
What our contempts do often hurl from us.
We wish it ours again ; the present pleasure.
By revolution lowering, does become
The opposite of itself; she's good, being gone ;
The hand could pluck her back, that shov'd her on.
I must from this enchanting queen break off ;
Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know.
My idleness doth hatch. — How now ! Enobarbus !
Enter Enobarbus.
Eno. What's your pleasure, sir ?
Ant. I must with haste from hence.
Eno. Why then, we kill all our women : We see
how mortal an unkindness is to them ; if they suft'er
our departure, death's the word.
Ant. I must be gone.
Eno. Under compelling occasion, let women die :
It were pity to cast tliem away for nothing ; though,
between them and a great cause, they should be
esteemed nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the
least noise of this, dies instantly ; I have seen her
die twenty times upon far poorer moment.
Ant. She is cunning past man's thought.
Eno. Alack, sir, no ; her passions are made of
nothing but the finest part of pure love : We can-
not call her winds and waters, sighs and tears ; they
are greater storms and tempests than almanacks can
report : this cannot be cunning in her ; if it be, she
makes a shower of rain as well as Jove.
Ant. 'Would I had never seen her !
Eno. O, sir, you had then left unseen a wonder-
ful piece of work ; which not to have been blessed
withal, would have discredited your travcL
Ant. Fulvia is dead.
Eno. Sir?
Ant. Fulvia is dead.
Eno. Fulvia?
Ant. Dead.
Eno. Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice.
When it pleaseth their deities to take the wife of a
man from him, it shows to man the tailors of the
earth ; comforting therein, that when old robes are
worn out, there are otliers to make new. If there
were no more women but Fulvia, then had you in-
deed a cut, and the case to be lamented : this grief
is crowned with consolation ; and, indeed, the tears
live in an onion, that should water this sorrow.
'In some editions minds.
3 Tilling, ploughing ; prepares us to produce good 8e;d.
Ant. The business slie hath broached in the state,
Cannot endure my absence.
Eno. And the business you have broached here,
cannot be without you ; especially that of Cleopatra's,
which wholly depends on your abode.
Ant. No more light answers. Let our officers
Have notice what we propose, I shall break
The cause of our expedience * to the queen.
And get her love * to part. For not alone
The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches.
Do strongly speak to us : but tlie letters too
Of many our contriving friends in Rome
Petition us at home : Sextus Pompeius
Hatli given the dare to Caesar, and commands
The empire of the sea : our slippery people
( Whose love is never link'd to the deserver,
Till his deserts are past,) begin to throw
Pompey the great, and all his dignities,
Upon his son ; who, high in name and power,
Higher than both in blood and life, stands up
For the main soldier : whose quality, going on.
The sides o'tlie world may danger : Much is breeding.
Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life.
And not a serpent's poison. Say, our pleasure.
To such whose place is under us, requires
Our quick remove from hence.
Eno. I shall do't. [Exeunt.
SCENE IIL
Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas.
Cleo. Where is he ?
Char. I did not see him since.
Cleo. See where he is, who's with him, what he
does : —
I did not send you^ : — If you find him sad,
Say, I am dancing ; if in mirth, report
That I am sudden sick : Quick, and return,
[Exit Alkxas.
Char. Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly.
You do not hold the metliod to enforce
The like from him.
Cteo. What should I do, I do not?
Char. In each thing give him way, cross hi in in
nothing.
Cleo. Thou teachest like afool : the way to lose him.
Char. Tempt him not so too far : I wish, forbear ;
In time we hate that which we often fear.
Enter Antont.
But here comes Antony.
Cleo. I am sick, and sullen.
Ant. I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose. —
Cleo. Help me away, dear Charmian, I shall fall ;
It cannot be thus long, the sides of nature
Will not sustain it.
Ant. Now, my dearest queen, —
Cleo. Pray you, stand further from me.
Ant. What's the matter ?
Cleo. I know, by that same eye, there's some good
news.
What says tlie married woman ? — You may go ;
'Would, she had never given you leave to come !
Let her not say, 'tis I tliat keep you here,
I have no power upon you ; hers you are.
Ant. The gods best know, —
Cleo. O, never, was there queen,
« Expedition. * Le.n\e.
6 Look as if I did not send fou.
704
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
Act I.
So mightily betray'd ! Yet, at the first,
I saw the treasons planted.
j4nt. Cleopatra, —
C/eo. Why should I think, you can be mine, and true,
Though you in swearing shake the throned gods.
Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous madness.
To be entangled with those mouth-made vows,
Which break themselves in swearing !
jint. Most sweet queen, —
Cleo. Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your going.
But bid farewell, and go : when you sued staying,
Then was the time for words : No going then ; —
Eternity was in our lips, and eyes ;
Bliss in our brows bent 7 ; none our parts so poor.
But was a race » of heaven ; They are so still,
Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world,
Art turn'd the greatest liar.
^nt. How now, lady !
Cleo. I would, I had thy inches; thou shouldst know,
There were a heart in Egypt.
Ant. Hear me, queen :
The strong necessity of time commands
Our services awhile ; but my full heart
Remains in use with you. Our Italy
Shines o'er with civil swords : Sextus Pompeius
Makes his approaches to the port 9 of Rome :
Equality of two domestick powers
Breeds scrupulous faction : The hated, grown to
strength.
Are newly grown to love : the condemn'd Pompey,
Rich in his father's honour, creeps apace
Into the hearts of such as have not thriv'd
Upon the present'state, whose numbers threaten ;
And quietness, grown sick of rest, would purge
By any desperate change : My more particular.
And that which most with you should safe my going.
Is Fulvia's death.
Cleo. Though age from folly could not give me
freedom,
It does from childishness : — Can Fulvia die ?
Ant. She's dead, my queen :
Look here, and, at thy sovereign leisure, read
The garboils she awak'd ' ; at the last, best :
See, when, and where she died.
Cleo. O most false love !
Where be the sacred vials thou shouldst fill
With sorrowful water ? Now I see, I see.
In Fulvia's death, how mine receiv'd shall be.
Ant. Quarrel no more, but be prepar'd to know
The purposes 1 bear; which are, or cease.
As you shall give the advice : Now, by the fire,
That quickens Nilus' slime, I go from hence.
Thy soldier, servant ; making peace, or war.
As thou afFect'st.
Cleo. Cut my lace, Charmian, come ; —
But let it be. — I am quickly ill, and well :
So Antony loves.
Ant. My precious queen, forbear ;
And give true evidence to his love, which stands
A n honourable trial.
Cleo. So Fulvia told me.
I pr'ythee, turn aside, and weep for her ;
Then bid adieu to me, and say, the tears
Belong to Egypt 2 : Good now, play one scene
Of excellent dissembling ; and let it look
Like perfect honour.
Ant. ' You'll heat my blood ; no more.
^ The arch of our eye-brows. 8 Smack or flavour.
• S^^^- . 1 The commotion she occasioned.
■ To me, the queen of Egypt
Cleo. You can do better yet ; but this is meetly.
Ant. Now by my sword,
Cleo. And target, — Still he mends ;
But this is not the best : Look, pr'ythee, Charmian,
How this Herculean Roman does become
The carriage of his chafe. 3
/int. I'll leave you, lady.
Cleo. Courteous lord, one word.
Sir, you and I must part, — but that's not it :
Sir, you and I have lov'd, — but there's not it ;
That you know well : Something it is I would, —
O, my oblivion * is a very Antony,
And I am all forgotten.
Ant. But that your royalty
Holds idleness your subject, I should take you
For idleness itself.
Cleo. 'Tis sweating labour,
To bear such idleness so near the heart
As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me ;
Since my becomings kill me, when they do not
Eye well to you : Your honour calls you hence ;
Therefore be deaf to my unpitied folly.
And all the gods go with you ! upon your sword
Sit laurel'd victory ! and smooth success
Be strew'd before your feet !
Ant. Let us go. Come ;
Our separation so abides, and flies.
That thou, residing here, go'st yet with me.
And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee.
Away. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Rome. An Apartment in Cajsar'i
House.
Enter Octavius Caesar, Lepidus, and Attendants.
Cces. You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know
It is not Caesar's natural vice to hate
One great competitor : From Alexandria
This is the news ; He fishes, drinks, and wastes
The lamps of night in revel : is not more manlike
Than Cleopatra ; nor the queen Ptolemy
More womanly than he : hardly gave audience, or
Vouchsaf'd to think he had partners: You shall
find there
A man, who is the abstract of all faults
That all men follow.
Lep. I must not think, there are
Evils enough to darken all his goodness :
His faults, in him, seem as the spots of heaven.
More fiery by night's blackness ; hereditary.
Rather than purchas'd ^ ; what he cannot change,
Than what he chooses.
CcBS. You are too indulgent : Let us grant, it is
not
Amiss to press the bed of Ptolemy ;
To give a kingdom for a mirth ; to sit
And keep the turn of tippling with a slave ;
To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buflTet
With knaves unworthy : say, this becomes him,
(As his composure must be rare indeed.
Whom these things cannot blemish,) yet must Antony
No way excuse his soils, when we do bear
So great weight in his lightness. If he fiU'd
His vacancy with his voluptuousness.
Full surfeits, and the dryness of his bones.
Call on him ^ for't : but, to confound ' such time.
That drums him from his sport, and speaks as loud
3 Rage. < Oblivious memory,
* Procured by his own fault.
6 Visit him. 7 Consume.
Scene IV.
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
705
As his own state, and ours, — 'tis to be chid
As we rate boys ; who being mature in knowledge,
Pawn their experience to their present pleasure,
And so rebel to judgment.
Enter a Messenger.
Lep. Here's more news.
Jl/«5. Thy biddings have been done ; and every
hour.
Most noble Casar, shalt thou have report
How 'tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea ;
And it appears, he is belov'd of those
That only have fear'd Caesar : to the ports
The discontents 8 repair, and men's reports
Give him much wrong'd.
Ciss. I should have known no less : —
It hath been taught us from tlie primal state,
That he, which is, was wish'd, until he were ;
And the ebb'd man, ne'er lov'd, till ne'er worth love,
Comes dear'd, by being lack'd.9 This common body,
Like a vagabond flag upon the stream,
Goes to, and back, lackeying the varying tide.
To rot itself with motion.
Mess. Cajsar, I bring thee word,
Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates,
Make the sea serve them ; which they ear and wound
With keels of every kind : Many hot inroads
They make in Italy ; the borders maritime
I^ack blood ' to think on't, and flush youth revolt :
No vessel can peep forth, but 'tis as soon
I'liken as seen ; for Pompey's name strikes more,
Than could his war resisted.
Cas. Antony,
Leave thy lascivious wassels.'^ When thou once
Was beaten from Modena, where thou slew'st
Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel
Did famine follow ; whom thou fought'st against
Though daintily brought up, with patience more
Than savages could suflTer : Thou didst drink
What beasts would cough at : thy palate then did
deign
The roughest berry on the rudest hedge ;
Yoa, like the stag, when snow the pasture sheets.
The barks of trees thou browsed'st ; on the Alps,
It is reported, thou didst eat strange flesh,
Which some did die to look on : And all this
(It wounds thine honour, that I speak it now,)
Was borne so like a soldier, that thy cheek
So much as lank'd not.
Lep. It is pity of him.
Cers. Let his shames quickly
Drive him to Rome : 'Tis time we twain
Did show ourselves i' the field ; and, to that end.
Assemble we immediate council : Pompey
Thrives in our idleness.
Lep. To-morrow, Casar,
I shall be furnish'd to inform you rightly
Both, what by sea and land I can be able.
To 'front this present time.
Cces. Till which encounter,
It is my business too. Farewell.
Lep. Farewell, my lord : What you shall know
mean time
Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir,
To let me be partaker.
Ctes. Doubt not, sir ;
I knew it for my bond.' [Exmnt.
" nisrontcnted. » Endeared by being misted.
' Turn pale.
- Feaslings ; in the old copy it is vaissaUft, I e
' My boundcn duty.
SCENE V Alexandria. A Room in the Palace.
Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Mardian
Cleo. Charmian, —
Char. Madam.
Cleo. Ha, ha ! —
Give me to drink mandragora.^
Char. Why, madam ?
Cleo. That I might sleep out this great gap of
time.
My Antony is away.
Char. You think of him
Too much.
Cleo. O, treason !
Char. Madam, I trust, not so.
Cleo. O Charmian,
Where think'st thou he is now ? Stands he, or sits
he?
Or does he walk ? or is he on his horse ?
Do bravely, horse ! for wot'st thou whom thou
mov'st ?
The demi- Atlas of this earth, the arm
And burgonet * of men. — He's speaking now,
Or murmuring, Where's my serpent of old Nile ?
For so he calls me : Now I feed myself
With most delicious poison : — Think on me,
That am with Phoebus' amorous pinches black,
And wrinkled deep in time ? Broad-fronted Csesar,
When thou wast here above the ground, I was
A morsel for a monarch : and great Pompey
Would stand, and make his eyes grow in my brow ;
There would he anchor liis aspect, and die
With looking on his life.
Enter A lex as.
AUx. Sovereign of Egypt, hail !
Cleo. How much unlike art thou Mark Antony?
Yet coming from him, that great medicine hath
With his tinct gilded thee. —
How goes it with my brave Mark Antony ?
Alex. Last thing he did, dear queen.
He kiss'd, — the last of many doubled kisses, —
This orient pearl ; — His speech sticks in my heart.
Cleo. Mine ear must pluck it thence.
Alex. Good friend, quoth lie,
Say, The firm Roman to great Egypt sends
This treasure of an oyster; at whose footy
To mend the petty present, I unll piece
Her opulent throne with kingdoms ; All the easty
Say thou, shall call her mistress. So he nodded,
And soberly did mount a termagant ^ steed.
Who neigh'd so high, that what I would have spoke
Was beastly dumb'd by him.
Cleo. What, was he sad, or merry ?
Alex. Like to the time o' tlie year between the
extremes
Of hot and cold ; he was nor sad, nor merry.
Cleo. O well-divided disposition ! — Note him,
Note him, good Charmian, 'tis the man ; but note
him :
He was not sad : for he would shine on those
That make their looks by his : he was not merry ;
Which seem'd to tell them, his remembrance lay
In Egypt with his joy : but between both ;
O heavenly mingle ! — Bc'st tJjou sad or merry.
The violence of either thee becomes ;
So does it no man else. — Met'st thou my posts '
•• A sleepy potion. * A helmet * Furious
Zz
706
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
Act II.
Alex. Ay, madam, twenty several messengers :
Why do you send so thick ?
Cleo. Who's born that day
When I forget to send to Antony,
Shall die a beggar. — Ink and paper, Charmian. —
Welcome, my good Alexas. — Did I, Charmian,
Ever love Caesar so ?
Char. O that brave Caesar !
Cleo. Be chok'd with such anotlier emphasis !
Say, the brave Antony.
Char, The valiant Csesar !
Cleo. By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth,
If thou with Caesar paragon again
My man of men.
Char. By your most gracious pardon,
I sing but after you.
Cleo. My salad days ;
When 1 was green in judgment : — Cold in blood,
To say, as I said then ! — But, come, away :
Get me ink and paper : he shall have every day
A several greeting, or I'll unpeople Egypt.
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I. — Messina. A Room in Pompey's
House.
Enter Pompey, Menecrates, and Men as.
Pom. If the great gods be just, they shall assist
The deeds of justest men.
Mene. Know, worthy Pompey,
That what they do delay, they not deny.
Pom. Whiles we are suitors to their throne,
decays
The thing we sue for.
Mene. We, ignorant of ourselves.
Beg often our own arms, which the wise powers
Deny us for our good ; so find we profit,
By losing of our prayers.
Po7n. I shall do well :
The people love me, and the sea is mine ;
My power's a crescent, and my auguring hope
Says, it will come to the full. Mark Antony
In Egypt sits at dinner, and will make
No wars without doors : Caesar gets money, where
He loses hearts : Lepidus flatters both.
Of both is flatter'd ; but he neither loves.
Nor either cares for him.
Men. Caesar and Lepidus
Are in the field ; a mighty strength they carry.
Pom. Where have you this ? 'tis false.
Men. From Silvius, sir.
Pom. He dreams ; 1 know, they are in Rohie
together.
Looking for Antony : But all charms of love.
Salt Cleopatra, soften thy wan'd i lip !
Let witchcraft join with beauty !
Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts.
Keep his brain fuming ; Epicurean cooks.
Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite ;
That sleep and feeding may prorogue his honour.
Even till - a Lethe'd dulness. — How now, Varrius?
Enter Varrius.
Var. This is most certain that I shall deliver :
Mark Antony is every hour in Rome
Expected ; since he went from Egypt, 'tis
A space for further travel.
Pom. 1 could have given less matter
A better ear. — Menas, I did not think.
This amorous surfeiter would have don'd3 his helm 4
For such a petty war : his soldiership
Is twice the other twain : But let us rear
The higher our opinion, that our stirring
I Can from the lap of Egypt's widow pluck
The ne'er lust-wearied Antony.
Men. I cannot hope,
Caesar and Antony shall well greet together :
His wife, that's dead, did trespasses to Caesar ;
His brother warr'd upon him ; although, I think.
Not mov'd by Antony.
Pom. I know not, Menas,
How lesser enmities may give way to greater.
Were't not that we stand up against them all,
'Twere pregnant they should square * between
themselves ;
For they ha,ve entertained cause enough
To draw their swords : but how the fear of us
May cement their divisions, and bind up
The petty difference, we yet not know.
Be it as our gods will have it ! It only stands
Our lives upon, to use our strongest hands.
Come, Menas. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. — Rome. A Room in the House of
Lepidus.
Enter Enobarbus and Lepidus.
Lep. Good Enobarbus, 'tis a worthy deed,
And shall become you well, to entreat your captain
To soft and gentle speech..
Eno. I shall entreat him
To answer like himself : If Caesar move him,
Let Antony look over Caesar's head.
And speak as loud as Mars. By Jupiter,
Were I the wearer of Antonius' beard,
I would not shave to-day.
Lep. 'Tis not a time
For private stomaching.
Eno. Every time
Serves for the matter that is then bom in it.
Lep. But small to greater matters must give way.
Eno. Not if the small come first.
Lep. Your speech is passion :
But, pray you, stir no embers up. Here comes
The noble Antony.
- Declined, faded.
3 Done on ; i. e. put on.
2 To.
* Helmet.
Eno.
Enter Antony and Ventimus.
And yonder, Caesar.
Enter Caesar, Mec^enas, and Agrippa.
Ant. If we compose ^ well here, to Parthia :
Hark you, Ventidius.
Cees. I do not know,
Mecaenas; ask Agrippa.
5 Quarrel. ^ Agree.
Scene II.
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
'707
Lep> Noble friends,
That which combin'd us was most great, and let not
A leaner action rend us. What's amiss,
May it be gently heard : When we debate
Our trivial difference loud, we do commit
Murder in healing wounds : Then, noble partners,
(The rather, for I earnestly beseech,)
Touch you the sourest points with sweetest terms.
Nor curstness 7 grow to the matter.
Ant. 'Tis spoken well ;
Were we before our armies, and to fight,
I should do thus.
Cccs. Welcome to Rome.
Ant. Thank you.
CcEs. Sit.
Ant. Sit, sir !
Cees. Nay,
Then —
Ant. I learn, you take things ill, which are not so ;
Or, being, concern you not.
Cces. I must be laugh'd at.
If, or for nothing, or a little, I
Should say myself offended ; and witli you
Chiefly i* the world : more laugh'd at, that I should
Once name you derogately, when to sound your
name
It not concem'd me.
Ant. My being in Egypt, Caesar,
What was't to you ?
Cfss. No more than my residing here at Rome
Might be to you in Egypt : Yet, if you there
Did practise 8 on my state, your being in Egypt
Might be my question. 9
Ant. How intend you, practis'd ?
Cees. You may be pleas'd to catch at mine intent,
By what did here befall me. Your wife, and brother.
Made wars upon me ; and their contestation
Was theme for you, you were the word of war.
Ant. You do mistake your business ; my brother
never
Did urge me in his act : I did enquire it ;
And have my learning from some true reports,
That drew their swords with you. Did he not rather
Discredit my authority with yours ;
And make the wars aUke against my stomach,
Having alike your cause ? Of this, my letters
Before did satisfy you. If you'll patch a quarrel.
As matter whole you have not to make it with,
It must not be with this.
Cees. You praise yourself
By laying defects of judgment to me ; but
You patch'd up your excuses.
Ant. Not so, not so ;
I know you could not lack, I am certain on't,
Very necessity of this thought, that I,
Your partner in the cause 'gainst wliich he fought,
Could not with graceful eyes attend those wars
Which fronted • mine own peace. As for my wife,
I would you had her spirit in such another :
The third o' the world is yours ; which with a snaffle
You may pace easy, but not such a wife.
Eno. ' Woidd we had all such wives, that the men
might go to wars with the women !
Ant. So much uncurable, her garboils ', Caesar
Made out of her impatience, (which not wanted
Shrewdness of policy too,) I grieving grant.
Did you too much disquiet : for that, you must
But say, I could not help it.
7 Let not ill humour be added. " Uie bad art* or stratagems.
" Subject of conversation. > Opposed. • Coininotiuns.
Cces. I wrote to you,
When rioting in Alexandria ; you
Did pocket up my letters, and with taunts
Did gibe my missive 3 out of audience.
Ant. Sir,
He fell upon me, ere admitted ; then
Three kings I had newly feasted, and did want
Of what I was i' the morning : but, next day,
I told him of myself ; which was as much
As to have ask'd Iiim pardon : Let this fellow
Be nothing of our strife ; if we contend.
Out of our question^ wipe him.
Cces. You have broken
The article of your oath ; which you shall never
Have tongue to charge me with.
Lep. Soft, CiEsar.
Ant. No, Lepidus, let him speak ;
The honour's sacred which he talks on now,
Supposing that I lack'd it : But on, Caesar ;
The article of my oath, —
Cces. To lend me arms, and aid, when I reqtiir'd
them ;
The which you both denied.
Ant. Neglected, rather ;
And then, when poison'd hours had bound me up
From mine own knowledge. As nearly as I may,
I'll play the penitent to you : but mine lionesty
Shall not make poor my greatness, nor my power
Work without it : Truth is, that Fulvia,
To have me out of Egypt, made wars here ;
For which myself, the ignorant motive, do
So far ask pardon, as befits mine honour
To stoop in such a case.
Lep. 'Tis nobly spoken.
Mec. If it might please you, to enforce no further
The griefs 5 between ye : to forget tliem quite.
Were to remember that tlie present need
Speaks to atone *5 you.
Lep. Worthily spoke, Mecaenas.
Eno. Or, if you borrow one another's love for
the instant, you may, when you hear no more words
of Pompey, return it again : you shall have time to
wrangle in, when you have nothing else to do.
Ant. Thou art a soldier only ; speak no more.
Eno. That truth should be silent, I had almost
forgot.
Ant. You wrong this presence, therefore speak
no more.
Eno. Go to, then ; your considerate stone.
CiBS. I do not much dislike the matter, but
The manner of his speech : for it cannot be.
We shall remain in friendship, our conditions ^
So differing in their acts. Yet, if I knew
What hoop should hold us staunch, from edge to edge
O' the world I would pursue it.
Agr. Give me leave, Caesar, —
CcBs. Speak, Agrippa.
Agr. Thou nast a sister by the mother's side,
Admir'd Octavia: great Mark Antony
Is now a widower.
Cees. Say not so, Agrippa ;
If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof
Were well deserv'd of rashness.
Ant. I am not married, Caesar : let me hear
Agrippa furtlier speak.
Agr. To hold you in perpetual amity,
To make you brothers, and to knit your hearts
With an tmslipping knot, take Antony
' Meuenser. < Conversation. * Grievances
<< Reconcile. * Disposition.
Zz 2
708
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
Act II.
Octavia to his wife : whose beauty claims
No worse a husband than the best of men ;
"Whose virtue, and whose general graces, speak
That which none else can utter. By this marriage,
All little jealousies, which now seem great,
And all great fears, which now import their dangers,
Would then be nothing : truths would be but tales
Where now half tales be truths : her love to both,
Would, each to other, and all loves to both.
Draw after her. Pardon what I have spoke ;
For 'tis a studied, not a present thought,
By duty ruminated.
ylnt. Will Caesar speak ?
CcBS. Not till he hears how Antony is touch'd
With what is spoke already.
Ant. What power is in Agrippa,
If I would say, Agrippa, be it so,
To make this good ?
CcBs. The power of Caesar, and
His power unto Octavia.
Ant. May I never
To this good purpose, that so fairly shows.
Dream of impediment ! — Let me have thy hand :
Further this act of grace ; and, from this hour.
The heart of brothers govern in our loves,
And sway our great designs !
Cces. There is my hand.
A sister I bequeath you, whom no brother
Did ever love so dearly : Let her live
To join our kingdoms, and our hearts j and never
Fly off our loves again !
Lep. Happily, amen !
Ant. I did not think to draw my sword 'gainst
Pompey ;
For he hath laid strange courtesies, and great.
Of late upon me : I must thank him only.
Lest my remembrance suffer ill report j
At heel of that, defy him.
Lep. Time calls upon us :
Of us must Pompey presently be sought,
Or else he seeks out us.
Ant. And where lies he ?
Cees. About the Mount Misenum.
Ant. What's his strength
By land ?
CcBS. Great and increasing : but by sea
He is an absolute master.
Ant. So is the fame.
'Would, we had spoke together ! Haste we for it :
Yet, ere we put ourselves in arms, despatch we
The business we have talk'd of.
Cees. With most gladness ;
And do invite you to my sister's view,
Whither straight I will lead you.
Ant. Let us, Lepidus,
Not lack your company,
Lep. Noble Antony,
Not sickness should detain me.
[^Flourish. Exeunt C^sar, Antony, and
Lepidus.
Mec. Welcome from Egypt, sir.
Eno. Half the heart of Caesar, worthy Mecaenas !
— my honourable friend, Agrippa ! —
Agr. Good Enobarbus !
Mec. We have cause to be glad, that matters are
so well digested. You staid well by it in Egypt.
Eno. Ay, sir; we did sleep day out of counte-
nance, and made the night light with drinking.
Mec. Eight wild boars roasted whole at a break-
fast, and but twelve persons there; Is this true?
Eno. This was but as a fly by an eagle : we had
much more monstrous matter offcast, which worthily
deserved noting.
Mec. Slie's a most triumphant lady, if report be
square 8 to her.
Eno. When she first met Mark Antony, she
pursed up his heart upon the river of Cydnus.
Agr. There she appeared indeed ; or my reporter
devised well for her.
Eno. I vf'iW tell you :
The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne,
Burn'd on the water : the poop was beaten gold ;
Purple the sails, and so perfumed, that
The winds were love-sick with them : the oars were
silver ;
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made
The water, which they beat, to follow faster,
As amorous of their strokes. For her own person,
It beggar'd all description : she did lie
In her pavilion, (cloth of gold, of tissue,)
O'er-picturing that Venus, where we see.
The fancy out-work nature : on each side her,
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids,
With diverse-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem
To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool,
And what they undid, did.
Agr. O, rare for Antony !
Eno. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides,
So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes.
And made their bends adornings : at the helm
A seeming mermaid steers ; the silken tackles
Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands.
That yarely frame 9 the office. From the barge
A strange invisible perfume hits the sense
Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast
Her people out upon her; and Antony,
Enthron'd in the market-place, did sit alone,
Whistling to the air ; which, but for vacancy,
Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too,
And made a gap in nature.
Agr. Rare Egyptian !
Eno. Upon her landing, Antony sent to her,
Invited her to supper : she replied.
It should be better, he became her guest ;
Which she entreated : Our courteous Antony,
Whom ne'er the word of No woman heard speak,
Being barber'd ten times o'er, goes to the feast ;
And, for his ordinary, pays his heart,
For what his eyes eat only.
Agr. Royal wench !
She made great Caesar lay his sword to bed.
Eno. I saw her once
Hop forty paces through the public street :
And having lost her breath, she spoke, and panted.
That she did make defect, perfection,
And, breathless, power breathe forth.
Mec. Now Antony must leave her utterly.
Eno. Never ; he will not.
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety : Other women
Cloy th' appetites they feed ; but she makes hungry
Where most she satisfies. For vilest things
Become themselves in her.
Mec. If beauty, wisdom, modesty, can settle
The heart of Antony, Octavia is
A blessed lottery to him.
Agr. Let us go. —
Good Enobarbus, make yourself my guest.
Whilst you abide here.
8 Suit with her merits. f Readily perform
Scene III.
Eno.
ANTOMY AND CLEOPATRA.
709
(
Humbly, sir, I thank you.
\^Exeunt.
SCENE III. —A Room in Cajsar'* House.
Enter Caesar, Asttony, Octavia between them ,-
Attendants and a Soothsayer.
Ant. The world, and my great office, will some-
times
Divide me from your bosom.
Octa. All which time
Before the gods my knee shall bow in pr&yers
To them for you.
A7U. Good night, sir. — My Octavia,
Read not my blemishes in the world's report ;
I have not kept my square ; but that to come
Shall all be done by the rule. Good night, dear
lady. —
Octa. Good night, sir.
CcBs. Good night. {Exeunt C^sar and Octavia.
Ant. Now, sirrah ! you do wish yourself in Egypt?
Sooth. Would I had never come from thence, nor
you
Thither !
Ant. If you can, your reason ?
Sooth. I see't in
My motion, have it not in my tongue : But yet
Hie you again to Egypt.
Ant. Say to me,
Whose fortunes shall rise higher, CsBsar's, or mine?
Sooth. Caesar's.
Therefore, O Antony, stay not by his side :
Thy daemon, that's thy spirit which keeps thee, is
Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable,
Where Cajsar's is not ; but near him, thy angel
Becomes a Fear, as being o'erpower'd ; therefore
Make space enough between you.
Ant. Speak this no more.
Sooth. To none but thee ; no more, but when to
thee.
If thou dost play with him at any game.
Thou art sure to lose ; and, of that natural luck,
He beats thee 'gainst the odds ; thy lustre thickens.
When he shines by : I say again, thy spirit
Is all afraid to govern thee near him j
But, he away, 'tis noble.
Ant. Get thee gone :
Say to Ventidius, I would speak with him :
{Exit Soothsayer.
He shall to Parthia. — Be it art, or hap.
He hath spoken true : the very dice obey him ;
And, in our sports, my better cunning faints
Under his chance : if we draw lots, he speeds :
His cocks do win the battles still of mine,
When it is all to nought ; and his quails ' ever
Beat mine, inhoop'd'^ at odds. I will to Egypt :
And, though I make this marriage for my peace,
Enter Ventidius.
I* the east my pleasure lies : — O, come, Ventidius,
You must to Parthia ; your conmiission's ready :
Follow me, and receive it. {Exeunt.
SCENE l\.— A Street.
Enter Lefidus, Mec^nas, and Aorifpa.
Lep. Trouble yourselves no further : pray you
hasten
Your generals after.
' The ancients used to match quails as we match cocks.
' Inclosed.
Agr. Sir, Mark Antony
Will e'en but kiss Octavia, and we'll follow.
I.ep. Till I shall see you in your soldier's dress,
Wliich will become you both, farewell.
Mec. We shall.
As I conceive the journey, be at mount s
Before you, Lepidus.
Lep. Your way is bhorter,
IVIy purposes do draw me much about ;
You'll win two days upon me.
Mec. Agr. Sir, good success !
Lep. Farewell. {Exeunt.
SCENE V. — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace.
Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Alexas.
Cleo. Give me some musick ; musick ; moody * food
Of us that trade in love.
Attend. TTie musick, ho !
Enter Mardian.
Cleo. Let it alone ; let us to billiards :
Come, Charmian.
Char. My arm is sore, best play with Mardian.
Cleo. Come, you'll play with me, sir?
Mar. As well as I can, madam.
Cleo. And when good will is show'd, though it
come too short.
The actor may plead pardon. I'll none now :
Give me mine angle, — We'll to the river : there.
My musick playing far off, I will betray
Tiawny.finn'd fishes ; my bended hook shall pierce
Their slimy jaws ; and, as I draw them up,
I'll think them every one an Antony,
And say, Ah ! ha ! you're caught.
Char. 'Twas merry, when
You wager'd on your angling ; when your diver
Did hang a salt-fish on his hook, which he
With fervency drew up.
Cleo. That time ! — O times ! —
I laugh'd him out of patience ; and next mom.
Ere the ninth hour, I drunk him to his bed ;
Then put my tires ^ and mantles on him, whilst
I wore his sword Philippan. O ! from Italy ;
Enter a Messenger.
Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears.
That long time have been barren.
Mess. Madam, madam, —
Cleo. Antony's dead ? —
If thou say so, villain, thou kill'st thy mistress :
But well and free,
If thou so yield him, there is gold and here
My bluest veins to kiss ; a hand, that kings
Have lipp'd, and trembled kissing.
Mess. First, Madam, he's well.
Cleo. Why, there's more gold. But, sirrah, mark ;
We use
To say, the dead are well ; bring it to that,
The gold I give thee, will I melt, and pour
Down thy ill-uttering throat.
Mess. Good madam, hear me.
Cleo. Well, go to, I will ;
But there's no goodness in thy face : if Antony
Be free and healthful, — why so tart a favour <*
To trumpet such good tidings ? If not well.
Thou shouldst come like a fury crown'd with snakes,
Not like a formal man. ^
' Mount Miscnura. < Melancholy. » Head dresa.
6 So sour a countenance ? A man in his senses.
Z z 3
710
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
Act II.
Mess. Will't please you hear me ?
Clco. I have a mind to strike thee, ere thou speak'st:
Yet, if thou say, Antony lives, is well,
Or friends with Caesar, or not captive to him,
I'll set thee in a shower of gold, and hail
llich pearls upon thee.
Mess. Madam, he's well.
Cleo. Well said.
Mess. And friends with Caesar.
Cleo. Thou'rt an honest man.
Mess. Cassar and he are greater friends than ever.
Cleo. Make thee a fortune from me.
Mess. But yet, madam —
Cleo. I do not like but yet, it does allay
Tlie good precedence ; fye upon but yet :
But yet is as a gaoler to bring forth
Some monstrous malefactor. Pr'ythee, friend.
Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear.
The good and bad together : He's friends with
Cassar ;
In state of health, thou say'st ; and, thou say'st free.
Mess. Free, madam ! no ; I made no such report :
He's bound unto Octavia.
Cleo. I am pale, Charmian.
Mess. Madam, he's married to Octavia.
Cleo. The most infectious pestilence upon thee !
{Strikes him down.
Mess. Good madam, patience.
Cleo. What say you ? — Hence.
[Strikes him again.
Horrible villain ! or I'll spurn thine eyes
Like balls before me ; I'll unhair thy head;
[She hales him up and down.
Thou shalt be whipp'd with wire, and stew'd in brine.
Smarting in ling'ring pickle.
Mess. Gracious madam,
Ij that do bring the news, made not the match.
Cleo. Say, 'tis not so, a province I will give thee.
And make thy fortunes proud : the blow thou hadst
Shall make thy peace, for moving me to rage ;
And I will boot " thee with what gift beside
ITiy modesty can beg.
Mess. He's married, madam.
Cleo. Rogue, thou hast liv'd too long.
[Draws a Dagger.
Mess. Nay, then I'll run : —
What mean you, madam ? I have made no fault.
[Exit.
Char. Good madam, keep yourself within yourself;
The man is innocent.
Cleo. Some innocents 'scape not the thunderbolt. —
Melt Egypt into Nile ! and kindly creatures
Turn all to serpents ! — Call the slave again ;
Though I am mad, I will not bite him : — Call.
Char. He is afeard to come.
Cleo. I will not hurt him : —
These hands do lack nobility, that they strike
A meaner than myself ; since I myself
Have given myself the cause. ■ — Come hither, sir.
Re-enter Messenger.
Though it be honest, it is never good
To bring bad news : Give to a gracious message
An host of tongues ; but let ill tidings tell
Themselves, when they be felt.
Mess. I have done my duty.
Cleo. Is he married ?
I cannot hale thee worser than I do,
If thou again say, Yes.
8 Recompense.
Mess. He is married, madam.
Cleo. The gods confound thee ! dost thou hold
there still ?
Mess. Should I lie, madam ?
Cleo. O, I would, thou didst ;
So half my Egypt were submerg'd, and made
A cistern for scal'd snakes ! Go, get thee hence ;
Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me
Thou wouldst appear most ugly. He is married ?
Mess. I crave your highness' pardon.
Cleo. He is married ?
Mess. Take no offence, that I would not offend
you:
To punish me for what you make me do.
Seems much unequal : He is married to Octavia.
Cleo. O, that his fault should make a knave of thee>
That art not ! — What ? thou'rt sure oft? — Get
thee hence :
The merchandize which thou has brought from Rome
Are all too dear for me ; Lie they upon thy hand,
And be undone by 'em ! [Exit Messenger.
Char. Good your highness, patience.
Cleo. In praising Antony, I have dispraised Caesar.
Char. Many times, madam.
Cleo. I am paid for't now.
Lead me from hence,
I faint; O Iras, Charmian, — 'Tis no matter: —
Go to the fellow, good Alexas ; bid him
Report the feature of Octavia, her years,
Her inclination, let him not leave out
The colour of her hair : — bring me word quickly. —
[Exit Alexas.
Let him for ever go ; — Let him not — Charmian,
Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon,
T'other way he's a Mars : — Bid you Alexas
[To Mardian.
Bring me word, how tall she is. — Pity me, Char-
mian,
But do not speak to me. — Lead me to my chamber.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VL — iV^ear Misenum.
Enter Pompey and Men as, at one side, with Drum
and Trumpet : at another, Cmsxk, Lepidus,
Antony, Enobarbus, Mecjenas, with Soldiers
marching.
Pom. Your hostages I have, so have you mine ;
And we shall talk before we fight.
Cces. Most meet.
That first we come to words ; and therefore have we
Our written purposes before us sent ;
Which, if thou hast consider'd, let us know
If 't will tie up thy discontented sword ;
And carry back to Sicily much tall 9 youth
That else must perish here.
Pom. To you all three.
The senators alone of this great world.
Chief factors for the gods, — I do not know.
Wherefore my father should revengers want.
Having a son, and friends ; since Julius Caesar,
Who at Philippi the good Brutus ghosted ',
There saw you labouring for him. What was it,
That mov'd pale Cassius to conspire ? And what
Made the all-honour'd, honest, Roman Brutus,
With the arm'd rest, courteous of beauteous freedom,
To drench the Capitol ; but that they would
Have one man but a man ? And that is it.
Hath made me rig my navy ; at whose burden
9 Brave. ' Haunted
Scene VI.
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
711
The anger'd ocean foams ; witli which I meant
To scourge the ingratitude that despiteful Rome
Cast on my noble father.
Cces. Take your time.
Ant. Thou canst not fear^ us, Pompey, with thy
sails,
We'll speak with thee at sea : at land, thou know'st
How much we do o'er-count thee.
Pom. At land, indeed.
Thou dost o'er-count me of my father's house :
But, since the cuckoo builds not for himself.
Remain in't as thou mayst.
Lep. Be pleas'd to tell us,
(For this is from the present 3,) how you take
The ofl'ers we have sent you.
Cees. There's the point.
Ant. Which do not be entreated to, but weigh
What it is worth embrac'd.
C<es. And what may follow,
To try a larger fortune.
Pom. You have made me offer
Of Sicily, Sardinia ; and I must
Rid all the sea of pirates ; then, to send
Measures of wheat to Rome : This 'greed upon,
To part with unhack'd edges, and bear back
Our targe •♦ undinted.
Cces. Ant. Lep. That's our offer.
Pom. Know then,
I came before you, here, a man prepar'd
To take this offer : But Mark Antony
Put me to some impatience : — Though I lose
Tlie praise of it by telling, You must know.
When Caesar and your brothers were at blows,
Your mother came to Sicily, and did find
Her welcome friendly.
Ant. I have heard it, Pompey ;
And am well studied for a liberal thanks.
Which I do owe you.
Pom. Let me have your hand :
I did not think, sir, to have met you here.
Ant. The beds i' the east are soft ; and thanks to
you,
That call'd me, timelier than my purpose, hither.
For I have gain'd by it.
Cees. Since I saw you last.
There is a change upon you.
Pom. Well, I know not
What counts * liarsh fortune casts upon my face ;
But in my bosom shall she never come,
To make my heart her vassal.
Lep. Well met here.
Pom. I hope so, Lepidus. — Thus we are agreed:
1 crave our composition may be written,
And seal'd between us.
Cces. That's the next to do.
Pom. We'll feast each other, ere we part ; and
let us
Draw lots who shall begin.
Ant. That will I, Pompey.
Pom. No, Antony, take the lot : but, first.
Or last, your fine Egyptian cookery
Shall have the fame. I have heard, that Julius Caesar
Grew fat with feasting there.
Ant. You have heard much.
Pom. I have fair meanings, sir.
Ant. And fair words to them.
P&m. Then so much have I heard :
And I have heard, ApoUodorus carried —
a AflVight
* Target, shield.
3 Present subject
"> Scores, maru.
Eno. No more of that : — He did so.
Pom.. What, I pray you ?
Eno. A certain queen to Caesar in a mattress.
Pom. I know thee now ; — How far'st tliou,
soldier ?
Eno. Well :
And well am like to do : for, I perceive,
Four feasts are toward.
Pom. Let me shake thy hand ;
I never hated thee : I have seen thee fight.
When I have envied thy behaviour.
Eno. Sir,
I never lov'd you much ; but I have prais'd you.
When you have well deserv'd ten times as much
As I have said you did.
Pom. Enjoy thy plainness,
It nothing ill becomes thee. —
Aboard my galley, I invite you all :
Will you lead, lords ?
Cces. Ant. Lep. Show us the way, sir.
Pom. Come.
[Exeunt Pompey, Cjesar, Antont, Le-
pidus, Soldiers, and Attendants.
Men. Thy father, Pompey, would ne'er have
made this treaty. — [Aside.] — You and I have
known ^ sir.
Eno. At sea, I think.
Men. We have, sir.
Eno. You have done well by water.
Men. And you by land.
Eno. I will praise any man that will praise me,
though it cannot be denied what I have done by
land.
Men. Nor what I have done by water.
Eno. Yes, something you can deny for your own
safety : you have been a great thief by sea.
Men. And you by land.
Eno. There I deny my land service. But give
me your hand, Menas : If our eyes had authority,
here they might take two thieves kissing.
Men. All men's faces are true, whatsoe'er their
hands are.
Eno. But there is never a fair woman has a true
face.
Men. No slander ; they steal hearts.
Eno. We came hither to fight with you.
Men. For my part, I am sorry it is turned to a
drinking. Pompey doth this day laugh away his
fortune.
Eno. If he do, sure he cannot weep it back again.
Meiu You have said, sir. We looked not for
Mark Antony here ; Pray you, is he married to
Cleopatra ?
Eno. Caesar's sister is called Octavia.
Men. True, sir ; she was the wife of Caius Mar-
cell us.
Eno. But she is now the wife of Marcus Antonius.
Men. Pray you, sir ?
Eno. 'Tistrue.
Men. Then is Caesar and he for ever knit together.
Eno. If I were bound to divine of this unity, I
would not prophesy so.
Men. I think the jxjlicy of that puri>ose made
more in the marriage, than the love of the parties.
Eno. I tliink so too. But you shall find, the
band that seems to tie their friendship together,
will be the very strangler of tlieir amity : Octavia
is of a holy, cold, and still conversation.
Men. Who would not have his wife so ?
« Been acquainted.
Z z 4
712
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
Act II.
E710. Not he, that himself is not so ; which is
Mark Antony. He will to his Egyptian dish again :
then shall the sighs of Octavia blow the fire up in
Cajsar ; and, as I said before, that which is tlie
strengtii of their amity, shall prove the immediate
author of their variance. Antony will use his affec-
tion where it is ; he married but his occasion here.
Me7i. And thus it may be. Come, sir, will you
aboard ? I have a health for you.
Eno. I shall take it, sir : we have used our throats
in Egypt.
Men. Come ; let's away. {^Exeunt.
SCENE VII On board Pompey's Galley,
lying near Misenum.
Mustek. Enter two or three Servants, with a Banquet.
1 Serv. Here they'll be, man : Some o' their plants 9
are ill-rooted already; the least wind i' the world
will blow them down.
2 Sero. Lepidus is high-coloured.
1 Serv. They have made him drink alms-drink.
2 Serv. As they pinch one another by the dis-
position, he cries out, iVb more ; reconciles them to
his entreaty, and himself to the drink.
1 Serv. But it raises the greater war between
him and his discretion.
2 Serv. Why this it is to have a name in great
men's fellowship : I had as lief have a reed that will
do me no service, as a partizan ' I could not heave.
1 Serv. To be called into a huge sphere, and not
to be seen to move in't, are the holes where eyes
should be, which pitifully disaster the cheeks.
A Sennet sounded. Enter C^sar, Antony, Pom-
PEY, Lepidus, Agrippa, MfiCiENAs, Enobarbus,
Menas, with other Captains.
Ant. Thus do they, sir: [To C^sar.] They
take the flow o' the Nile
By certain scales i' the pyramid ; they know.
By the height, the lowness, or the mean, if dearth,
Or foison 2, follow : The higher Nilus swells.
The more it promises : as it ebbs, the seedsman
Upon the slime and ooze scatters his grain,
And shortly comes to harvest.
Lep. You have strange serpents there.
Ant. Ay, Lepidus.
Lep. Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your
mud by the operation of your sun : so is your cro-
codile.
Ant. They are so.
Pom. Sit, — and some wine. — ■ A health to
Lepidus.
Lep. I am not so well as I should be, but I'll
ne'er out.
Eno. Not till you have slept ; I fear me, you'll
be in, till then.
Lep. Nay, certainly, I have heard, the Ptolemies'
pyramises are very goodly things ; without contra-
diction, I have heard that.
Men. Pompey, a word. [Aside.
Pom. Say in mine ear : What is't ?
Men. Forsake thy seat, I do beseech thee, captain.
And hear me speak a word. [Adde.
Pom. Forbear me till anon. —
This wine for Lepidus.
Lep. What manner o' thing is your crocodile ?
Ant. It is shaped, sir, like itself; and it is as broad
as it hath breadth : it is just so high as it is, and
moves with its own organs: it lives by that which
» Feet ' Pike. 2 plenty.
nourisheth it ; and the elements once out of it, it
transmigrates.
Lep. What colour is it of?
Ant. Of its own colour too.
Lep. ' Tis a strange serpent.
Ant. 'Tis so. And the tears of it are wet.
Cces. Will this description satisfy him ?
Ant. With the health that Pompey gives him,
else he is a very epicure.
Pom. [To Mev AS aside] Go, hang, sir, hang!
Tell me of that ? away !
Do as I bid you. — Where's this cup I called for ?
Men. If for the sake of merit thou wilt hear me,
Rise from thy stool. [Aside.
Pom. I think, thou'rt mad. The matter ?
[Rises, and walks aside.
Men. I have ever held my cap off to thy fortunes.
Pom. Thou hast serv'd me with much faith :
What's else to say ?
Be jolly, lords.
Ant. These quick-sands, Lepidus,
Keep off them, for you sink.
Men. Wilt thou be lord of all the world ?
Pom. What sayst thou ?
Men. Wilt thou be lord of the whole world?
That's twice.
Pom. How should that be ?
Men. But entertain it, and.
Although thou think me poor, I am the man
Will give thee all the world.
Pom. Hast thou drunk well ?
Men. No, Pompey, I have kept me from the cup.
Thou art, if thou dar'st be, the earthly Jove :
Whate'er the ocean pales 3, or sky inclips*.
Is thine, if thou wilt have't.
Pom. Show me which way.
Men. These three world-sharers, these compe-
titors ^,
Are in thy vessel : Let me cut the cable ;
And, when we are put off, fall to their throats :
All there is thine.
Pom. Ah, this thou shouldst have done.
And not have spoke on't ! in me, 'tis villainy ;
In thee, it had been good service. Thou must know,
'Tis not my profit that doth lead mine honour ;
Mine honour, it. Repent, that e'er thy tongue
Hath so betray'd thine act : Being done unknown,
I should have found it afterwards well done ;
But must condemn it now. Desist, and drink.
Men. For this ? [Aside.
I'll never follow thy pall'd^ fortunes more. —
Who seeks, and will not take, when once 'tis offer'd.
Shall never find it more.
Pom. This health to Lepidus.
Ant, Bear him ashore. — I'll pledge it for him,
Pompey.
Eno. Here's to thee, Menas.
Men. Enobarbus, welcome.
Pom. Fill, till the cup be hid.
Eno There's a strong fellow, Menas.
[Pointi7ig to the Altendayit who carries off
Lepidus.
Men. Why ?
Eno. He bears
The third part of the world, man ; Seest not?
Men. The third part then is drunk : 'Would it
were all.
That it might go on wheels !
Eno. Drink thou ; increase the reels.
3 Encompasses. * Embraces. » Confederates. ^ Cloyed.
Act III. Scene I.
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
713
Men. Come.
Pom. This is not yet an Alexandrian feast.
^nt. It ripens towards it. — Strike the vessels, hoi
Here is to Caisar.
CcBS. I could well forbear it.
It's monstrous labour when I wash my brain,
And it grows fouler.
Aiit. Be a child o' the time.
Cees. Possess 7 it, I'll make answer : But I had
rather fast
From all, four days, than drink so much in one.
Eno. Ha, my brave emperor ! [To Antony.
Sliall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals,
And celebrate our drink ?
Pom. Let's ha't, good soldier.
Ant. Come, let us all take hands ;
Till tliat the conqueripg wine hath steep'd our sense
In soft and delicate Lethe.
Eno. All take hands. —
Make battery to our ears with the loud musick : —
The while, I'll place you : Then the boy shall singj
Tlie holding 8 every man shall bear, as loud
As his strong sides can volley.
[MvMck plays. Enobarbu3 places them
hand in hand.
SONG.
Come, thou monarch of the vine,
Plumpy Bacchus, with pink eyne^ :
In thy vats our cares be drowned ;
With thy grapes our hairs be crown d;
Cup us, till the world go round ;
Cup us till the world go round !
Cess. What would you more ? — Pompcy, good
night. Good brother.
Let me request you off: our graver business
Frowns at this levity. — Gentle lords, let's part ;
You see, we have burnt our cheeks ; strong Eno-
barbe
Is weaker tlian the wine ; and mine own tongue
Splits what it speaks ; the wild disguise hath
almost
Antick'd us all. What needs more words ? Good
night. —
Good Antony, yoiu* hand.
Pom. I'll try you o' the shore.
Ant. And shall, sir : give's your hand.
Ponu O, Antony,
You have my father's house, — But what ? we are
friends :
Come, down into the boat.
Eno. Take heed you fall not. —
[Exeunt Pompey, Caesar, Antony, and
Attendants,
Menas, I'll not on shore.
Men. No, to my cabin. —
These drums, these trumpets, flutes ! what ! —
Let Neptune hear we bid a loud farewell
To these great fellows : sound, and be hang'd,
sound out.
[A Flourish of Trumpets, with Drums.
Eno. Ho, says 'a ! — There's my cap.
Men, Ho ! — noble captain !
Come. \^Exeuiit.
ACT III.
SCENE I. — ^ Plain in Syria.
finter Ventipius, as after Conquest, with Sinus,
and other Romans, Officers, and Soldiers; the
dead Body of Pacorus borne before him.
Ven. Now, darting Parthia, art thou struck ; and
now
Pleas'd fortune does of Marcus Crassus' death
Make me revenger. — Bear the king's son's body
Before our army : — Thy Pacorus, Orodes ',
Pays this for Marcus Crassus.
SU. Noble Ventidius,
Whilst yet with Parthian blood thy sword is warm,
The fugitive Parthians follow ; spur through Media,
IMesopotamia, and the shelters whither
The routed fly : so thy grand captain Antony
Shall set thee on triumphant chariots, and
Put garlands on tliy head.
Vcn. O Silius, Silius,
I have done enough : A lower place, note well.
May make too great an act : For learn tliis, Silius;
Better leave undone, than by our deed acquire
Too high a fame, when him we serve's away.
Cajsar, and Antony, have ever won
More in their officer, than person : Sossius,
One of my place in Syria, his lieutenant,
For quick accumulation of renown.
Which he achiev'd by the minute, lost his favour :
Wlio does i' tlie wars more than his captain can,
' Un«lcrstand. " Hiirdcn, cltorus. " Eyes.
' Pacorus wag the son of Orodes, king of I'aitliia
Becomes his captain's captain ; and ambition,
The soldier's virtue, rather makes choice of loss,
Than gain, which darkens him.
I could do more to do Antonius good.
But 'twould offend him ; and in his offence
Should my performance perish.
SU. Thou hast, Ventidius,
That without which a soldier, and his sword.
Grants scarce distinction. Thou wilt write to
Antony ?
Ven. I'll humbly signify what in his name.
That magical word of war, we have eflected ;
How, with his banners, and his well-paid ranks.
The ne'er-yet-beaten horse of Parthia
We have jaded out o' the field.
SU. Where is lie now ?
Ven. He purposeth to Athens : whither with what
haste
The weight we must convey with us will permit.
We shall appear before him. — On, there; pass along.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II. — Rome. An Ante-chamber in
Cssar'j House.
Enter Agripfa and Enobarbcs, meeting,
Agr. What, are the the brothers parted ?
Eno. They have despatch'd with Pompey, he is
gone ;
The otlicr three are sealing. Octavia weeps
To ynxTX fiom Rome: Caesar is sad ; and Lepidus,
714
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
Act III.
Since Pompey's feast, as Meiias says, is troubled
With the green-sickness.
Agr. *Tis a noble Lepidus.
Eno. A very fine one : O, how he loves Cajsar !
Agr. Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark An-
tony !
Eno. Caesar, why he's the Jupiter of men.
Agr. What's Antony ? The god of Jupiter.
Eno. Spake you of Ca)sar ? How ? the nonpareil !
Agr. () Antony! O thou Arabian bird ! 3
Eno. Would you praise Cajsar, say, — Caesar ; — ■
go no further.
Agr. Indeed, he ply'd them both with excellent
praises.
Eno. But he loves Caesar best ; — Yet he loves
Antony :
Ho ! hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets,
cannot
Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number, ho, his love
To Antony. But as for Caesar,
Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder.
Atp'. Both he loves.
Eno. They are his shards *, and he their beetle.
So. — [ Trumjyets.
This is to horse. — Adieu, noble Agrippa.
Agr. Good fortune, worthy soldier ; and farewell.
Enter C^esar, Antony, Lepidus, and Octavia.
Ant. No further, sir.
C^s. You take from me a great part of myself;
Use me well in it. — Sister, prove such a wife
As my thoughts make thee, and as my furthest band 5
Shall pass on thy approof. — Most noble Antony,
Let not the piece of virtue ^, which is set
Betwixt us, as the cement of our love,
To keep it builded, be the ram, to batter
The fortress of it : for better might we
Have loved without this mean, if on both parts
This be not cherish'd.
Ant. Make me not oflfended
In your distrust.
Cces. I have said.
Ant. You shall not find,
Though you be therein curious ', the least cause
For what you seem to fear : So, the gods keep you,
And make the hearts of Romans serve your ends !
We will here part.
Cees. Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee well ;
The elements be kind to thee, and make
Thy spirits all of comfort ! fare thee well.
beta. My noble brother ! —
Ant. The April's in her eyes : It is love's spring,
And these the showers to bring it on. — Be cheerful.
Octa. Sir, look well to my husband's house ; and —
C^s. What,
Octavia ?
Octa. I'll tell you in your ear.
Ant. Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can
Her heart inform her tongue : the swan's down
feather,
That stands upon the swell at full of tide,
And neither way inclines.
Eno. Will Caesar weep ? [Aside to Agrippa.
Agr. He has a cloud in's face.
Eno. He were the worse for that, were he a horse j
So is he, being a man.
Agr. Why, Enobarbus?
When Antony found Julius Ca;sar dead.
Bond.
3 The phoenix.
•"' Octavia.
1 Wing-cases.
7 Scrupulous.
He cried almost to roaring ; and he wept.
When at Philippi he found Brutus slain.
^710. That year, indeed, he was troubled witli
rheum ;
What willingly he did confound 8, he wail'd :
Believe it, till I weep too.
CcBS. No, sweet Octavia,
You shall hear from me still : the time shall not
Out-go my thinking on you.
Ant. Come, sir, come ;
I'll wrestle with you in my strength of love :
Look, here I have you ; thus I let you go.
And give you to the gods.
Ca;s. Adieu ; be happy !
Lep. Let all the number of the stars give light
To thy fair way !
CiBS. Farewell, farewell ! [Xisses Octavia.
Ant. Farewell !
[Trumpets sound. Exeunt.
SCENE III. — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace.
Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and A lex as.
Cleo. Whereis the fellow?
Alex. Half afeard to come.
Cleo. Go to, go to : — Come hither, sir.
Enter a Messenger.
Alex. Good majesty,
Herod of Jewry dare not look upon you.
But when you are well pleas'd.
Cleo. That Herod's head
I'll have : But how ? when Antony is gone.
Through whom I might command it. — Come thou
near.
Mess. Most gracious majesty, —
Cleo. Didst thou behold
Octavia ?
Mess. Ay, dread queen.
Cleo. Where ?
Mess. Madam, in Rome
I look'd her in the face, and saw her led
Between her brother and Mark Antony.
Cleo. Is she as tall as me ?
Mess. She is not, madam.
Cleo. Didst hear her speak? is she shrill-tongu'd,
or low ?
Mess. Madam, I heard her speak; she is low-
voic'd.
Cleo. That's not so good : — He cannot like her
long-
Char. Like her ! O Isis ! 'tis impossible.
Cleo. I think so, Charmian : Dull of tongue, and
dwarfish ! —
What majesty is in her gait ? Remember,
If e'er thou look'dst on majesty.
Mess. She creeps ;
Her motion and her station i are as one :
She shows a body rather than a life ;
A statue, than a breather.
Cleo. Is this certain ?
MesHs. Or I have no observance.
Char. Three in Egypt
Cannot make better note.
Cleo. He's very knowing,
I do perceive't : — There's nothing in her yet : —
The fellow has good judgment.
Char. Excellent.
Cleo. Guess at her years, I pr'ythee.
8 Destroy. ' Standing still.
Scene IV.
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
715
Madam,
Mess.
She was a widow.
Cleo. Widow ? — Charm ian, hark.
Mess. And I do think, she's tliirty.
Cleo. Bear'st thou her face in mind ? is it long,
or round ?
Mess. Round even to faultiness.
Cleo. For the most part too.
They are foolish that arc so. — Her hair, what colour?
Afess. Brown, madam : And her forehead is as low
As she would wish it.
Cleo. There is gold for thee.
TIjou must not take my former sharpness ill :
I will employ thee back again ; I find thee
Most fit for business : Go, make thee ready ;
Our letters are prepar'd. [Exit Messenger.
Char. A proper man.
Cleo. Indeed he is so : I repent me much,
That so I harry'd'2 him. Why, methinks, by him,
This creature's no such thing.
Char. O, nothing, madam.
Cleo. The man hath seen some majesty, and should
know.
C/iar. Hath he seen majesty ? Isis else defend,
And serving you so long !
deo. I have one thing more to ask him yet, good
Charmian :
But 'tis no matter : thou shalt bring him to me
Where I will write : All may be well enough.
Char. I warrant you, madam. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — Athens. A Room in Antony's
House.
Enter Antony and Octavia.
Ant. Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that, —
That were excusable, that, and thousands more
Of semblable import, — but he hath wag'd
New wars 'gainst Pompey ; made his will, and read it
To publick ear :
Spoke scantly of me : when perforce he could not
But pay me terms of honour, cold and sickly
He vented them ; most narrow measure lent me :
When the best hint was given him, he not took't.
Or did it from his teeth. '
Octa. O my good lord,
Believe not all ; or, if you must believe,
Stomach ^ not all. A more unhappy lady.
If this division chance, ne'er stood between.
Praying for both parts :
And the good gods will mock me presently,
When I shall pray, 0 bless my lord and husband !
Undo that prayer, by crying out as loud,
0, bless my brother! Husband win, win brother.
Prays, and destroys the prayer ; no midway
'Twixt these extremes at all.
Ant. Gentle Octavia,
Let your best love draw to that point, which seeks
Best to preserve it : If I lose mine honour,
I lose myself: better I were not yours.
Than yours so branchless. But, as you requested,
Yourself shall go between us : The mean time, lady,
ril raise the preparation of a war
Shall stain * your brother; Make your soonest haste :
So your desires are yours.
Octa. Thanks to my lord.
The Jove of power make me most weak, most weak,
Your reconciler ! Wars 'twixt you twain would be
^ Pullctl, lugged.
♦ Resent
3 Indistinct, tiirough his teeth.
' Disgrace.
As if the world should cleave, and that slain men
Should solder up the rift.
Ant. When it appears to you where this begins.
Turn your displeasure that way ; for our faults
Can never be so equal, that your love
Can equally move with them. Provide your going;
Choose your own company, and command what cost
Your heart has mind to. [Exeunt,
SCENE V. — Another Room in the same.
Enter Enobarbus and Eaos, meeting.
Eno. How now, friepd Eros?
Eros. There's strange news come, sir.
Eno. What, man ?
Eros. Caesar and Lepidus have made wars upon
Pompey.
Eno. This is old ; What is the success ? 6
Eros. Caesar, having made use of him 7 in the
wars 'gainst Pompey, presently denied him rivality 8;
would not let him partake in the glory of the action :
and not resting here, accuses him of letters he had
formerly wrote to Pompey ; upon his own appeal 9,
seizes him : So the poor tliird is up, till deatli en-
large his confine.
.£^710. Then, world, thou hast a pair of chaps, no
more ;
And throw between them all the food thou hast.
They'll grind the one the other. Where's Antony ?
Eros. He's walking in the garden — thus ; and
spurns
The rush that lies before him ; cries, Foolf Lepidus I
And threats the throat of that his officer,
That murder'd Pompey.
Eno. Our great navy's rigged.
Eros. For Italy, and Caesar. More, Domitius j
My lord desires you presently : my news
I might have told hereafter.
Eno. 'Twill be naught :
But let it be. — Bring me to Antony.
Eros. Come, sir. [Exeunt.
SCENE VI. — Rome. A RoominCesssix'sUouse.
Enter Cssar, Aguippa, and Mec^nas.
Cces. Contemning Rome, he has done all this :
And more ;
In Alexandria, — liere's the manner of it, —
I' the market place, on a tribunal silver'd,
Cleopatra and himself in chairs of gold
Were publickly enthron'd ; at the feet, sat
Caesarion, whom they call my father's son ;
And all the unlawful issue, that their lust
Since then hath made between them. Unto her
He gave the 'stablishment of Egypt ; made her
Of lower Syria, Cyprus, Lydia,
Absolute queen.
Mec. This in the publick eye ?
Cces. V the common show-place, where they ex-
ercise.
His sons he there proclaim'd, The kings of kings :
Great INIedia, Parthia, and Armenia,
He gave to Alexander ; to Ptolemy he assigned
Syria, Cilicia, and Phoenicia : She
In the habiliments of the goddess Isis
That day appear'd ; and oft before gave audience.
As 'tis reported, so.
Mec. Let Rome be thus
Infonn'd.
• What follows ?
* * Equal raiik.
»■ e. Lpiiidus.
Accusatioa
716
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
Acr IIL
Agr. Who, queasy ' with his insolence
Already, will their good thoughts call from him.
C(E&. The people know it ; and have now receiv'd
His accusations.
Agr. Whom does he accuse ?
C(BS. Caesar : and that, having in Sicily
Sextus Pompeius spoil'd, we had not rated ^ him
His part o' the isle : then does he say, he lent me
Some shipping unrestor'd ; lastly, he frets,
That Lepidus of the triumvirate
Should be depos'd ; and, being, that we detain
All his revenue,
Agr, Sir, this should be answer'd.
CcBs. 'Tis done already, and the messenger gone.
I have told him, Lepidus was grown too cruel ;
That he his high authority abus'd,
And did deserve his change ; for what I have
conquer 'd,
I grant him pai-t ; but then, in his Armenia,
And other of his conquer'd kingdoms, I
Demand the like.
Mec He'll never yield to that.
Cces. Nor must not then be yielded to in this.
Enter Octavia.
Octa. Hail, Caesar, and my lord ! hail, most dear
Caesar !
Ciss. That ever I should call thee, cast-away !
Octa. You have not call'd me so, nor have you
cause.
Cees. Why have you stol'n upon us thus ? You
come not
Like Csesar's sister : The wife of Antony
Should have an army for an usher, and
The neighs of horse to tell of her approach.
Long ere she did appear ; the trees by the way
Should have borne men ; and expectation fainted.
Longing for what it had not : nay, the dust
Should have ascended to the roof of heaven,
Rais'd by your populous troops : But you are
come
A market-maid to Rome ; and have prevented
The ostent ' of our love, which, left unshown.
Is often left unlov'd : we should have met you
By sea, and land ; supplying every stage
With an augmented greeting.
Octa. Good my lord,
To come thus was I not constrain'd, but did it
On my free-will. My lord, Mark Antony,
Hearing that you prepar'd for war, acquainted
My griev'd ear withal ; whereon, I begg'd
His pardon for return.
CcES. Which soon he granted.
Being an obstruct 'tween his lust and him.
Octa. Do not say so, my lord.
CcBs. I have eyes upon him,
And his affairs come to me on the wind.
Where is he now ?
Octa. My lord, in Athens.
CiBS. No, my most wronged sister ; Cleopatra
Hath nodded him to her. He hath given his empire
To Cleopatra ; they now are levying
The kings o' the earth for war : He hath assembled
Bocchus, the king of Libya ; Archelaus,
Of Cappadocia ; Philadelphos, king
Of Paphlagonia ; the Thracian king, Adallas :
King Malchus of Arabia ; king of Pont ;
Herod of Jewry ; Mithridates, king
Of Comagene ; Polemon and Amintas,
1 Sick, disgusted. 2 Assigned. 3 Show, token.
The kings of Mede, and Lycaonia, with a
More larger list of scepters.
Octa. Ah me, most wretched,^
That have my heart parted betwixt two friends,
TJiat do afflict each other !
Cass. Welcome hither :
Your letters did withhold our breaking forth ;
Till we perceiv'd both how you were wrong led.
And we in negligent danger. Cheer your heart :
Be you not troubled with the time, which drives
O'er your content these strong necessities ;
But let determin'd things to destiny
Hold unbewail'd their way. Welcome to Rome :
Nothing more dear to me. You are abus'd
Beyond the mark of thought : and the high gods,
To do you justice, make them ministers
Of us, and those that love you. Best of comfort ;
And ever welcome to us.
Agr. Welcome, lady.
Mec Welcome, dear madam.
Each heart in Rome does love and pity you :
Only the adulterous Antony, most large
In his abominations, turns you off;
And gives his potent regiment "* to a trull,
That noises it against us.
Octa. Is it so, sir?
C(Bs. Most certain. Sister, welcome : Pray you.
Be ever known to j>atience : My dearest sister !
\Exeunt,
SCENE VII Antony's Camp near the Pro-
montory of Actium.
Enter Cleopatra and Enobarbus.
Cleo. I will be even with thee, doubt it not.
Eno. But why, why, why ?
Cleo. Thou hast forspoke ^ my being in these wars j
And say'st, it is not fit.
Eno. Well, is it? is it?
Cleo. Is't not ? Denounce against us, why should
not we
Be there in person ?
Eno. Well, I could reply : —
Cleo. What is't you say ?
Eno. Your presence needs must puzzle Antony ;
Take from his heart, take from his brain, from his
time.
What should not then be spar'd. He is already
Traduc'd for levity ; and 'tis said in Rome,
That Photinus an eunuch, and your maids.
Manage this war.
Cleo. Sink Rome ; and their tongues rot.
That speak against us ! A charge we bear i' the war,
And, as the president of my kingdom, will
Appear there for a man. Speak not against it ;
I will not stay behind.
Eno. Nay, I have done :
Here comes the emperor.
Enter Antony and Canidius.
Atit. Is't not strange, Canidius,
That from Tarentum, and Brundusium,
He could so quickly cut the Ionian sea.
And take in 6 Toryne ? — You have heard on't,
sweet ?
Cleo. Celerity is never more admir'd.
Than by the negligent.
Ant. A good rebuke,
Which might have well become the best of men,
4 Government * Forbid. « Take, subdue.
Scene VII.
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
717
To taunt at slackness. — Canidius, we
Will fight witli him by sea.
Cleo. By sea ! What else ?
Can. Why will my lord do so ?
Ant. For 7 he dares us to't.
Eno. So hath my lord dar'd him to single fight.
Can. Ay, and to wage this battle at Pharsalia,
Where Ca;sar fought with Pompey : But these offers,
Which serve not for his vantage, he shakes off;
And so should you.
Eno. Your ships are not well mann'd :
Your mariners are muleteers, reapers, people
Ingross'd by swift impress 8 ; in Cajsar's fieet
Are those, that often have 'gainst Pompey fought :
Their ships are yare9 ; yours, heavy. No disgrace
Shall fall you for refusing him at sea,
Being prepar'd for land.
Ant. By sea, by sea.
Eno. Most worthy sir, you therein tlirow away
The absolute soldiership you have by land ;
Distract your army, which doth most consist
Of war-mark'd footmen ; leave unexecuted
Your own renowned knowledge ; quite forego
The way which promises assurance : and
Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard.
From firm security.
Ant. I'll fight at sea.
Cleo. I have sixty sails ', Caesar none better.
Ant. Our overplus of shipping will we burn ;
And, with the rest full-mann'd from the head of
Actium
Beat the approaching Caesar. But if we fail,
Enter a Messenger.
We then can do't at land. — Thy business ?
Mess. The news is true, my lord ; he is descried ;
Caesar has taken Toryne.
Ant. Can he be there in person? 'tis impossible;
Strange, that his power should be. — Canidius,
Our nineteen legions thou shalt hold by land.
And our twelve thousand horse: — We'll to our
ship;
Enter a Soldier.
Away, my Thetis! « — How now, worthy soldier ?
Sold. O noble emperor, do not fight by sea ;
Trust not to rotten planks : Do you misdoubt
This sword, and these my wounds? Let the
Egyptians,
And the Phoenicians, go a ducking; we
Have used to conquer, standing on the earth,
And fighting foot to foot
Ant. Well, well, away.
[Exeunt Antony, Cleopatra, and Eno-
BARBUS.
Sold. By Hercules, I think, I am i' the right.
Can. Soldier, thou art : but his whole action grows
Not in the jiower on't : So our leader's led,
And we are women's men.
Sold. You keep by land
The legions and the horse whole, do you not ?
Cayi. Marcus Octavius, Marcus Justeius,
Publicola, and Caelius, are for sea :
But we keep whole by land. Tliis speed of Caesar's
Carries 3 beyond belief.
Sold. While he was yet in Rome,
His power went out in such distractions, as
Beguil'd all spies.
* Bcfau»e.
' Ships.
" Pressed in ha«tc.
« Cleopatra.
» Ready
* Goca.
Can. Who's his lieutenant, hear you ?
Sold. They say, one Taurus.
Can. Well I know the man.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. The emperor calls for Canidius.
Can. With news the time's with labour; and
throes forth *,
Each minute, some. [Exeunt.
SCENE VIII. —A Plain near Actium.
Enter Cesar, Taurus, Officers^ and others.
Cres. Taurus, —
Taur. My lord.
CcBs. Strike not by land ; keep whole :
Provoke not battle, till we have done at sea.
Do not exceed the prescript of this scroll :
Our fortune lies upon this jump. 5 {Exeunt,
Enter Antony and Enobarbus.
Ant. Set we our squadrons on yon' side o' the hill,
In eye of Caesar's battle ; from which place
We may the number of the ships behold,
And so proceed accordingly. \Exexint.
Enter Canidius, marching unth his Land Army ojie
Way over the Stage; and Taurus, the Lieutenant
of C^sAR, the other Way. AJler their going in,
is heard the noise of a Sea-Fight.
Alarum. Re-enter Enobarbus.
Eno. Naught, naught, all naught ! I can behold
no longer :
The Antoniad^, the Egyptian admiral.
With all their sixty, fly, and turn the rudder;
To see't, mine eyes are blasted.
Enter Scarus.
Scar. Gods, and goddesses.
All the whole synod of them !
Eno. What's thy passion ?
Scar. Tlic greater cantle 7 of the world is lost
With very ignorance ; we have kiss'd away
Kingdoms and provinces.
Lno. How appears the fight ?
Scar. On our side like the token'd " pestilence,
Where death is sure. Yon' ribald-rid nag of Egypt,
Whom leprosy o'ertake ! i' the midst o' the fight,
When vantage like a pair of twins appear'd,
Both as the same, or rather ours the elder,
The brize ' upon her, like a cow in June,
Hoists sails, and flies.
Eno. That I beheld : mine eyes
Did sicken at the sight on't, and could not
Endure a further view.
Scar. She once being loord''.
The noble ruin of her magick, Antony,
Claps on his sea-wing, and like a doling mallard.
Leaving the fight in height, flies after her :
I never saw an action of such shame ;
Experience, manhood, honour, ne'er before
Did violate so itself.
Eno. Aleck, alack !
Enter Camoius.
Can. Our fortune on the sea is out of breath.
And sinks most lamentably. Had our general
^ Brings forth. » Hazard. " Name of Cleoi>atra'8 ship
{ £°"'*^^. . Spotted. 1 The gad-fly that stings catlla
« Brought cloM to the wind. *
718
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
Act III.
Been what !ie knew himself, it had gone well :
O, he has given example for our flight,
Most grossly, by his oxvn.
Eiio. Ay, are you thereahouts ? Why then, good
night
Indeed. [^ Aside-
Can. Towards Peloponnesus are they fled.
Scar. 'Tis easy to't; and there I will attend
What further comes.
Can. To Caesar will 1 render
My legions, and my horse ; six kings already
Show rae the way of yielding.
Eno. I'll yet follow
The wounded chance of Antony, though my reason
Sits in the wind against me. [Exeunt.
SCENE IX.
Alexandria.
Palace.
A Room in the
Enter Antony and Attendants.
Ant. Hark, the land bids me tread no more
upon't,
It is asham'd to bear me ! Friends, come hither,
I am so lated 3 in the world, that I
Have lost ray way for ever : — I have a ship
Laded with gold ; take that, divide it : fly.
And make your peace with Cassar.
Alt. Fly ! not we.
Ant. I have fled myself; and have instructed
cowards
To run, and show their shoulders. — Friends, be
gone ;
I have myself resolved upon a course,
Which has no need of you ; be gone :
IVIy treasure's in the harbour, take it. — O,
1 follow'd that I blush to look upon :
My very hairs do mutiny ; for the white
Reprove the brown for rashness, and they them
For fear and doting Friends, be gone ; you shall
Have letters from me to some friends, that will
Sweep your way for you. Pray you, look not sad.
Nor make replies of loathness : take the hint
Which my despair proclaims ; let that be left
Which leaves itself : to the sea-side straightway :
I will possess you of that ship and treasure.
Leave me, I pray, a little; 'pray you now: —
Nay, do so; for, indeed, I have lost command,
Therefore I pray you : — I'll see you by and by.
[Sits down.
Enter Eros, and Cleopatra, led by Charmian and
Iras.
Eros. Nay, gentle madam, to him: — Comfort
him.
Iras. Do, most dear queen.
Char. Do ! Why, what else ?
Cleo. Let me sit down. O Juno !
Ant. No, no, no, no, no.
Eros. See you here, sir ?
Ant. O fye, fye, fye.
Char. Madam, —
Iras. Madam ; O good empress ! —
Eros. Sir, sir, —
Ant. Yes, my lord, yes ; — He '', at Philippi, kept
His sword even like a dancer ; while I struck
The lean and wrinkled Cassius : and 'twas I,
That the mad Brutus ended : he alone
Dealt on lieu tenantry *, and no practice had
In the brave squares of war: Yet now — No matter.
3 Belated, benighted. 4 Cassar.
* Fought by his officers.
Cleo. Ah, stand by.
Eros. The queen, my lord, the queen.
Iras. Go to him, madam, speak to him j
He is unqualitied^ with very shame.
Cleo. Well then Sustain me : — O !
Eros. Most noble sir, arise; the queen ap-
proaches ;
Her head's declin'd, and death will seize her ; but 7
Your comfort makes the rescue.
Ant. I have offended reputation ;
A most unnoble swerving.
Eros. Sir, the queen.
Ant. O, whither hast thou led me, Egypt ? See,
How I convey my shame out of thine eyes
By looking back on what I have left behind
'Stroy'd in dishonour.
Cleo. O my lord, my lord !
Forgive my fearful sails ! I little thought,
You would have follow'd.
Ant. Egypt, thou knew'st too v/cll,
My heart was to thy rudder tied by the strings,
And thou shouldst tow me after : O'er my spirit
Thy full supremacy thou knew'st ; and that
Thy beck might from the bidding of the gods
Command me.
Cleo. O, my pardon.
Ant. Now I must
To the young man send humble treaties, dodge
And palter in the shifts of lowness ; who
With half the bulk o' the world play'd as I pleas'd
Making, and marring fortunes. You did know
How much you were my conqueror ; and that
My sword, made weak by my affection, would
Obey it on all cause.
Cleo. O pardon, pardon.
Ant. Fall not a tear, I say : one of them rates 8
All that is won and lost : Give me a kiss ;
Even this repays me. — We sent our schoolmaster
Is he come back ? — Love, I am full of lead : —
Some wine, within there, and our viands : — For-
tune knows,
We scorn her most, when most she offers blows.
[Exennt.
SCENE X. — Caesar's Camp in Egypt.
Enter C^sar, Dolabella, Thyreus, and others.
Cees. Let him appear that's come from Antony. — .
Know you him ?
Dol. Caesar, 'tis his schoolmaster 9 ;
An argument that he is pluck'd, when hither
He sends so poor a pinion of his wing,
Which had superfluous kings for messengers,
Not many moons gone by.
Enter Euphronius.
CcBS. Approach, and speak.
Eup. Such as I am, I come from Antony :
I was of late as petty to his ends,
As is the morn-dew on the myrtle leaf
To his grand sea.
CcBS. Be it so ; Declare thine office.
Eup. Lord of his fortunes he salutes thee, and
Requires to live in Egypt : which not granted.
He lessens his requests : and to thee sues.
To let him breathe between the heavens and carlli,
A private man in Athens : This for him.
Next, Cleopatra does confess thy greatness ;
6 Divested of his faculties. ? Unless. » Equals in value
9 Euphronius, schoolmaster to Antony's children.
Scene XI.
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
19
b
Submits her to thy might ; and of thee craves
The circle ' of the Ptolemies for her heirs,
Now hazarded to thy grace.
Cees. For Antony,
I have no ears to his request. The queen
Of audience, nor desire, shall fail ; so she
From Egypt drive her all-disgraced friend,
Or take his life there : This if she perfonn,
She shall not sue unheard. So to them both.
Eup. Fortune pursue thee !
C<ss. Bring him through the bands.
[Exit EUPHRONIUS.
To try thy eloquence, now 'tis time : Despatch ;
From Antony win Cleopatra : promise,
[To TnvREUs.
And in our name, what she requires ; add more,
From thine invention, offers : women are not.
In their best fortunes, strong ; but want will perjure
Tlie ne'er touch'd vestal : Try thy cunning, Thyreus;
Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we
Will answer as a law.
Tliyr. Caesar, I go.
C(Bs. Observe how Antony becomes his flaw ^ ;
And what thou think'st his very action speaks
In every power that moves.
Thyr. Caesar, I shall. [Exeunt.
SCENE XI. — Alexandria. A Room in the Palace.
Enter Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian, and
Iras.
Cleo. What shall we do, Enobarbus ?
Eno. Think, and die.
Cleo. Is Antony, or we, in fault for this ?
Eno. Antony only, that would make his will
Lord of his reason. What although you fled
From that great face of war, whose several ranges
Frighted each other ? why should he follow ?
The itch of his affection should not then
Have nick'd his captainship ; at such a point.
When half to half the world oppos'd, he being
The mered question 3 : 'Twas a shame no less
Than was iiis loss, to course your flying flags.
And leave his navy gazing.
Cleo. Pr'ythee, peace.
Enter Antont, with Euphronius.
Ant. Is this his answer ?
Eup. Ay, my lord.
Ant. The queen
Shall then have courtesy, so she will yield
Us up.
Eup. He says so.
Ant. Let her know it. —
To the boy Csesar send this grizzled head,
And he will fill thy wishes to the brim
With principalities.
Cleo. That head, my lord ?
Ant. To him again ; Tell him he wears the rose
Of youth upon him ; from which the world should
note
Something particular : his coin, ships, legions.
May be a coward's ; whose ministers would prevail
Under the service of a child, as soon
As i' the command of Cajsar : I dare him therefore
To lay his gay caparisons * apart,
' Diadem, the orowa
« Conforms hiinsolf to this breach of his fortune.
' The only cause of dispute.
* Circiun.staiices of spktulour.
And answer me declin'd *, sword against sword.
Ourselves alone : I'll write it ; follow me.
[Exeunt Antony and Euphronjus.
Eno. Yes, like enough, high-battled Cajsar will
Unstate his happiness, and be stag'd to the show,
Against a sworder. — I see, men's judgments are
A parcel 6 of their fortunes ; and things outward
Do draw the inward quality after them.
To suffer all alike. That he should dream,
Knowing all measures, the full Caesar will
Answer his emptiness ; — Caesar, thou hast subduM
His judgment too.
Enter an Attendant.
Att. A messenger from Caesar.
Cleo. What, no more ceremony ? — See, my
women ! —
Against the blown rose may they stop their nose,
That kneel'd unto the buds. — Admit him, sir.
Eno. Mine honesty, and I, begin to square. 7
[Asiile.
The loyalty, well held to fools, does make
Our faith mere folly : — Yet, he that can endure
To follow with allegiance a fallen lord.
Does conquer him that did his master conquer.
And earns a place i' the story.
Enter Thyreus.
Geo. Caesar's will ?
Thyr. Hear it apart.
Cko. None but friends ; say boldly.
Thyr. So, haply, are they friends to Antony.
Eno. He needs as many, sir, as Caesar has ;
Or needs not us. If Caesar please, our master
Will leap to be his friend : For us, you know,
Whose he is, we are ; and that's Caesar's.
Thyr. So. —
Thus then, thou most renown'd ; Caesar entreats,
Not to consider in what case thou stand'st,
P^urther than he is Caesar.
Cleo. Go on : Right royal.
Thyr. He knows, that you embrace not Antony
As you did love, but as you fear'd him.
Cleo. O !
Thyr. The scars upon your honour, tlierefore, he
Does pity, as constrained blemishes
Not as deserv'd.
Cleo. He is a god, and knows
What is most right : Mine honour was not yielded,
But conquer'd merely.
Eno. To be sure of that, [Asiile.
I will ask Antony. — Sir, sir, thou'rt so leaky,
That we must leave thee to thy sinking, for
Thy dearest quit thee. [Exit Enobarbus.
Thyr. Shall I say to Caesar
What you require of him ? for he partly begs
To be desir'd to give. It much would plea.se him.
That of his fortunes you should make a staff'
To lean upon : but it would warm his spirits,
To hear from me you had left Antony,
And put yourself under his shrowd.
The universal landlord.
Cleo. What's your name ?
Thyr. My name is Thyreus.
Cleo. Most kind messenger.
Say to great Ca'sar this. In disputation ^
I kiss his conquering hand : tell him I am prompt
To lay my crown at his feet, and tliere to kneel :
* In age and power. ^ A re of a piece with them. ? Quarrel
* Supposed to be an error for dc/mtalion, i. e. by proxy.
720
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
Act id.
Tell him, from his all-obeying 9 breath I hear
The doom of Egypt.
Thyr. 'Tis your noblest course.
Wisdom and fortune combating together,
If that the former dare but what it can,
No chance may shake it. Give me grace ' to lay
My duty on your hand.
Cko. Your Caesar's father
Oft, when he hath mus'd of taking kingdoms in 2,
Bestow'd his lips on that unworthy place,
As it rain'd kisses.
Re-enter Antony and Enobarbus.
^nt. Favours, by Jove that thunders ! —
What art thou, fellow ?
2%r. One, that but performs
The bidding of the fullest man, and worthiest
To have command obey'd.
JSno. You will be whipp'd.
Ant. Approach, there : — Ay, you kite ! — Now
gods and devils !
Authority melts from me: Of late,when Icry'd, Ho!
Like boys unto a muss 3, kings would start forth.
And cry. Your will ? Have you no ears ? I am
Enter Attendants.
Antony yet. Take hence this Jack 4, and whip him.
Eno. 'Tis better playing with a lion's whelp,
Than with an old one dying.
Ant. Moon and stars !
Whip him : — Were't twenty of the greatest tribu-
taries
That do acknowledge Caesar, should I find them
So saucy with the hand of she here, (What's her name
Since she was Cleopatra ?) — Whip him, fellows,
Till, like a boy, you see him cringe his face,
And whine aloud for mercy : Take him hence.
Thi/r. Mark Antony, —
Ant. Tug him away : being whipp'd.
Bring him again : — This Jack of Caesar's shall
Bear us an errand to him. —
[Exeunt Attend, with Thyreus.
You were half blasted ere I knew you : — Ha !
Have I my pillow left unpress'd in Rome,
Forborne the getting of a lawful race,
And by a gem of women, to be abus'd
By one that looks on feeders ? ^
Cleo. Good my lord, —
Ant. You have been a boggier ever : —
But when we in our viciousness grow hard,
(O misery on't!) the wise gods seel ^ our eyes;
In our own filth drop our clear judgments ; make us
Adore our errors ; laugh at us, while we strut
To our confusion.
Cleo. O, is it come to this ?
Ant. I found you as a morsel, cold upon
Dead Caesar's trencher : nay, you were a fragment
Of Cneius Pompey's ; besides what hotter hours,
Unregister'd in vulgar fame, you have
Luxuriously pick'd out : — For, I am sure.
Though you can guess what temperance should be,
You know not what it is.
Cleo. Wherefore is this ?
Ant. To let a fellow that will take rewards.
And say, God quit you ! be familiar with
My playfellow, your hand ; this kingly seal,
And plighter of high hearts ! —
9 Obeyed. ' Grant me the favo'.ir. 2 Conquering.
3 Scramble. 4 a term of contempt.
* Servants. ^ Close up.
I have savage cause ;
And to proclaim it civilly, were like
A halter'd neck, which does the hangman thank
For being yare 7 about him. — Is he whipp'd ?
He-enter Attendants, with Thyreus.
1 Att. Soundly, my lord.
Ant. Cry'd he? and begg'd he pardon ?
1 Att. He did ask favour.
Ant. If that thy father live, let him repent
Thou was not made his daughter ; and be thou sorry
To follow Caesar in his triumph, since
Thou hast been whipp'd for following him : hence-
forth.
The white hand of a lady fever thee.
Shake thou to look on't. — Get thee back to Caesar,
Tell him thy entertainment : Look, thou say,
He makes me angry with him : for he seems
Proud and disdainful ; harping on what I am ;
Not what he knew I was : He makes me angry ;
And at this time most easy 'tis to do't ;
When my good stars, that were my former guides,
Have empty left their orbs, and shot their fires
Into the abysm of hell. If he mislike
My speech, and what is done ; tell him, he has
Hipparchus, my enfranchis'd bondman, whom
He may at pleasure whip, or hang, or torture.
As he shall like, to quit 8 me : Urge it thou :
Hence, with thy stripes, begone. \_Exit Thyrkl's.
Cleo. Have you done yet ?
Ant. Alack, our terrene ^ moon
Is now eclips'd ; and it portends alone
The fall of Antony !
Cleo. I must stay his time.
Ant. To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyes
With one that ties his points ?
Cleo. Not know me yet ?
Ant. Cold-hearted toward me ?
Cleo. Ah, dear, if I be so,
From my cold heart let heaven engender hail.
And poison it in the source ; and the first stone
Drop in my neck : as it determines ', so
Dissolve my life ! The next Caesarion 2 smite !
Till, by degrees, the memory of myself.
Together with my brave Egyptians all.
By the discandying 3 of this pelleted storm.
Lie graveless ; till the flies and gnats of Nile
Have buried them for prey !
Ant. I am satisfied.
Caesar sits down in Alexandria ; where
I will oppose his fate. Our force by land
Hath nobly held ; our sever'd navy too
Have knit again, and fleet ^ threatening most sea-
like.
Where hast thou been, my heart ? — Dost thou hear,
lady?
If from the field I shall return once more
To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood ;
I and my sword will earn our chronicle ;
There is hope in it yet.
Cleo. That's my brave lord !
Ant. I will be treble-sinew'd, hearted, breath'd,
And fight maliciously : for when mine hours
Were nice ^ and lucky, men did ransome lives
Of me for jests ; but now, I'll set my teeth.
And send to darkness all that stop me. — Come,
Let's have one other gaudy night : call to me
7 Ready, handy. ^ Requite. ^ Earthly.
1 Dissolves. 2 Her son by Julius Casar.
3 Melting. * Float. * Trifling.
Act IV. Scene I.
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
721
All my sad captains, fill our bowls ; once more
Let's mock the midnight bell.
Cleo. It is my birth-day :
I had thought to have held it poor ; but, since my lord
Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra.
Ant. We'll yet do well.
Cleo. Call all his noble captains to my lord.
Ant. Do so, we'll speak to them; and to-night
I'll force
The wine peej) through their scars. — Come on, my
queen ;
There's sap in't yet. The next time I do fight,
I'll make death love me ; for 1 will contend
Even with his pestilent scythe.
\^Exeunt Antony, Clhopatra, and
Attendants.
Eno. Now he'll out-stare the lightning. To be
furious
Is, to be frighted out of fear : and in that mood,
The dove will peck the estridge 7 ; and I see still,
A diminution in our captain's brain
Restores his heart : When valour preys on reason.
It eats the sword it fights with. I will seek
Some way to leave him. [^Exit-
ACT IV.
SCENE I Caesar'5 Camp at Alexandria.
Enter C^sar, reading a Letter; Agrippa, Me-
c^NAS, and others.
Cces. He calls me, boy ; and chides, as he had
power
To beat me out of Egypt : my messenger
He hath whipp'd with rods ; dares me to personal
combat,
Cfissar to Antony : Let the old ruffian know,
I have many other ways to die ; mean time,
Laugh at his challenge.
Mec. Caesar must think.
When one so great begins to rage, he's hunted
Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now
Make boot ^ of his distraction : Never anger
Made good guard for itself.
Cces. Let our best heads
Know, that to morrow the last of many battles
We mean to fight : — Within our files there are,
Of tliose that serv'd Mark Antony but late,
Enough to fetch him in. See it be done ;
And feast the army; we have store to do't,
And they have eam'd the waste. Poor Antony !
{Exeunt.
SCENE II. — Alexandria. A Room in tlie
Palace.
Enter Antont, Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Char-
MiAN, Iras, Alexas, and others.
Ant. He will not fight with me, Domitius.
Eno. No,
AyU. Why should he not ?
Eno, He thinks, being twenty times of better
fortune.
He is twenty men to one.
Ant. To-morrow, soldier.
By sea and land I'll fight : or 1 will live.
Or bathe my dying honour in the blood
Shall make it live again. Woo't thou fight well ?
Ejio. I'll strike ; and cry, 7"ake alU
Ant. Well said ; come on. —
Call forth my household servants ; let's to-night
Enter Servants.
Be bounteous at our meal. — Give me thy hand,
Thou hast been rightly honest ; so hast thou ; —
And thou, — and thou, — and thou ; — you have
serv'd me well.
And kings have been your fellows.
' Take advantage.
Cleo. What means this ?
Eno. *Tis one of those odd tricks, which sorrow
shoots [^sufe.
Out of the mind.
Ant. And thou art honest too.
I wish I could be made so many men ;
And all of you clapp'd up together in
An Antony ; that I might do you service.
So good as you have done.
Sei-v. The gods forbid !
Ant. Well, my good fellows, wait on me to-night :
Scant not my cups ; and make as much of me,
As when mine empire was your fellow too.
And suflfer'd my command.
Cleo. What does he mean ?
Eno. To make his followers weep.
Ant. Tend me to-night.
May be, it is the period of your duty :
Haply, you shall not see me more ; or if,
A mangled shadow : perchance to-morrow
You'll serve another master. I look on you.
As one that takes his leave. Mine honest friends,
I turn you not away ; but, like a master
Married to your good service, stay till death :
Tend me to-night two hours, I ask no more.
And the gods yield » you for't !
Eno. What mean you, sir,
To give them this discomfort ? Look, they weep ;
And I, an ass, am onion-eyed ; for shame.
Transform us not to women.
Ant. Ho, ho, ho !
Now the witch take me, if I meant it thus !
Grace grow where those drops fall ! My hearty
friends.
You take me in too dolorous a sense ;
I spake to you for your comfort . did desire you
To burn this night with torches : Know, my hearts,
I hope well of to-morrow ; and will lead you.
Where rather I'll expect victorious life,
Tlian death and honour. Let's to supi>cr ; come.
And drown consideration. [Exeunt.
SCENE III. ^Before the Palace.
Enter tu^ Soldiers to their Guards.
1 Sold- Brother, good night : to-morrow is the day.
2 Sold. It will determine one way : fare you well.
Heard you of nothing strange about the streets ?
1 Sold. Nothing : What new s ?
2 Sold. Belike, 'tis but a rumour ;
Good night to you.
1 Sold. Well, sir, good nigljt.
7 Ostricli. 8 Reward,
3 A
722
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
Act IV.
Enter two other Soldiers.
2 Sold. Soldiers,
Have careful watch.
3 Sold, And you : Good night, good night.
\_The first two place theviselves at
their Posts.
4 Sold. Here we: [Thej/ take their Posts.] and
if to-morrow
Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope
Our landmen will stand up.
3 Sold. 'Tis a brave army,
I And full of purpose.
I [Musick of Hautboys under the Stage.
j 4 Sold. Peace, what noise ?
1 Sold. List, list !
2 Sold. Hark!
1 Sold. Musick i' the air.
3 Sold. Under the earth.
4 Sold. It signs 9 well,
Does't not ?
3 Sold. No.
1 Sold. Peace, 1 say. What should this mean ?
2 Sold. 'Tis the god Hercules, whom Antony lov'd.
Now leaves him.
1 Sold. Walk ; let's see if other watchmen
Do hear what we do. [ Thei/ advance to another Post.
2 Sold. How now, masters ?
Sold. How now ?
How now ? do you hear tliis ?
[Several speaking together.
I Sold. Ay; Is't not strange ?
3 Sold. Do you hear, masters ? do you hear ?
1 Sold. Follow the noise so far as we have quarter.
Let's see how't will give off.
Sold. [Several speaking.] Content : 'Tis strange.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV. —^ Room in the Palace.
Enter Antony and Cleopatra; Charmian, and
others, attending.
Ant. Eros ! mine armour, Eros !
Cleo. Sleep a little.
Ant. No, my chuck. — Eros, come ; mine armour,
Eros!
Enter Eros, with Armour.
Come, my good fellow, put thine iron on : —
If fortune be not ours to-day, it is
Because we brave her. — Come.
Cleo. Nay, I'll help too.
What's this for ?
Ant. Ah, let be, let be ! thou art
The armourer of my heart : — False, false ; this, this.
Cleo. Sooth, la, I'll help : Thus it must be.
Ant. Well, well ;
We shall thrive now. — Seest thou, my good fellow?
Go put on thy defences.
Eros. Briefly, sir.
Cleo. Is not this buckled well ?
Ant. Rarely ; rarely :
He that unbuckles this, till we do please
To doff't 1 for our repose, shall hear a storm. —
Thou fumblest, Eros ; and my queen's a squire
More tight ^ at this than thou : Despatch. — O love,
That thou couldst see my wars to-day, and knew'st
The royal occupation 1 thou shouldst see
I Put it off. » Handy.
Enter an OflBcer armed.
A workman in't. — Good morrow to thee ; wel-
come ;
Thou look'st like him that knows a warlike charge :
To business that we love, we rise betime,
And go to it with delight.
1 Off. A thousand, sir,
Early though it be, have on their riveted trim,
And at the port expect you.
[Shout. Trumpets. Flam
Enter other OfBcers, and Soldiers.
2 Off. The morn is fair. — Good morrow, gene
All. Good morrow, general.
Ant. 'Tis well blown,
This morning, like the spirit of a youth
That means to be of note, begins betimes. —
So, so ; come, give me that : this way, well said
Fare thee well, dame, whate'er becomes of me:
This is a soldier's kiss : rebukable [Kisses her.
And worthy shameful check it were, to stand
On more mechanick compliment ; I'll leave thee.
Now, like a man of steel. — You that will fight.
Follow me close ; I'll bring you to't. — Adieu.
[Exeunt Antony, Eros, Officers, and
Soldiers.
Char. Please you, retire to your chamber ?
Cleo. Lead me.
He goes forth gallantly. That he and Caasar might
Determine this great war in single fight !
Then, Antony, — But now, — Well, on. [Exeunt*
SCENE V. — Antony's Camp near Alexandria.
Trumpets sound. Enter Antony and Eros ; a
Soldier meeting them.
Sold. The gods make this a happy day to Antony.
Ant. 'Would thou and those thy scars had once
prevail'd
To make me fight at land 1
Sold. Hadst thou done so.
The kings that have revolted, and the soldier
That has this morning left thee, would have still
Follow'd thy heels.
Ant. Who's gone this morning ?
Sold, Who?
One ever near thee : Call for Enobarbus,
He shall not hear thee ; or from Csesar's camp
Say, / am none of thine.
Ant. What say'st thou ?
Sold. ^ir,
He is with Caesar.
Eros. Sir, his chests and treasure
He has not with him.
Ant. Is he gone ?
Sold. Most certain.
Ant. Go, Eros, send his treasure after ; do it ;
Detain no jot, I charge thee : write to him ^H
(I will subscribe) gentle adieus, and greetings: iH I
Say, that I wish he never find more cause ^B I
To change a master. — O, my fortunes have
Corrupted honest men; — Eros, despatch. [Exeunt.
SCENE VI. — Caesar's Camp before Alexandria.
Flourish. Enter Cjesar, with Agrippa, Enobarbus,
and others.
Cces. Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight :
Our will is, Antony be took alive;
Make it so known.
Scene VII.
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
723
Agr. Caesar, I shall. \ETit Aorippa.
Cxs. The time of universal peace is near :
Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook'd world
Shall bear the olive freely.
Enier a Messenger.
Mess. Antony
Is come into the field.
Cces. Go, charge Agrippa
Plant those that have revolted in the van,
That Antony may seem to spend his fury
Upon himself. [Exeurit C-«sar and his Train.
Eno. Alexas did revolt ; and went to Jewry,
On affairs of Antony : tliere did persuade
Great Herod to incline himself to Caesar,
And leave his master Antony : for this pains,
Cajsar hath hang'd him. Canidius, and the rest
That fell away, have entertainment, but
No honourable trust. I have done ill ;
Of which I do accuse myself so sorely,
That I will joy no more.
EiUer a Soldier of Cmskvls.
Sold. Enobarbus, Antony
Hath after thee sent all thy treasure, with
His bounty overplus: The messenger
Came on my guard, and at thy tent is now.
Unloading of his mules.
Eno. I give it you.
Sold. Mock me not, Enobarbus.
I tell you true : Best that you saf 'd the bringer
Out of tlie host ; I must attend mine office.
Or would have done't myself. Your emperor
Continues still a Jove. \^ExU Soldier.
Eno. I am alone the villain of the earth,
And feel I am so most. O Antony,
'i'hou mine of bounty, how wouldst thou have paid
My better service, when my turpitude
Thou dost so crown with gold ! This blows 3 my
heart:
If swifl thought break it not, a swifter mean
Shall outstrike thought : but thought will do't, I feel.
I fight against thee ! — No : I will go seek
Some ditch, wherein to die ; the foul'st best fits
My latter part of life. [£xif.
SCENE \ll. — Field of Battle between the Camps.
Alarum. Drums and Trumpets. Enter Agrippa,
and others.
Agr. Retire, we have engaged ourselves too far :
Cassar himself has work, and our oppression
Exceeds what we expected. [Exeunt.
Alarum. Enter Antony and Scarus, wounded.
Scar. O my brave emperor, this is fought indeed !
Had we done so at first, we had driven them home
With clouts about their heads.
Ant. Thou bleed*st apace.
Scar. I had a wound here that was like a T,
But now 'tis made an H.
Ant. They do retire.
Scar. We'll beat 'em into bench-holes ; I have yet
Room for six scotches * more.
Enter Eros.
Eros. They arc beaten, sir ; and our advantage
serves
For a fair victory.
3 Swells. * Cuu.
Scar. liCt us score their backs.
And snatch 'em up, as we take hares, behind;
'Tis sport to maul a runner.
Ant. I will reward thee
Once for thy spritely comfort, and ten-fold
For thy good valour. Come thee on.
Scar. I'll halt after. lExeunt.
SCENE VIII. — Under the Walls of Alexandria.
Alarum. Enter Antony, marching} Scarur, and
Forces.
Ant. We have beat him to his camp ; Run one
before,
And let the queen know of our guests. — To-morrow,
Before the sun shall see us, we'll spill the blood
That has to-day escap'd. I thank you all ;
For doughty ^-handed are you ; and have fought
Not as you serv'd the cause, but as it had been
Each man's like mine ; you have shown all Hectors.
Enter the city, clasp your wives, your friends.
Tell them your feats ; whilst they with joyful tears
Wash the congealment from your wounds, and kiss
The honour'd gashes whole. — Give me thy hand ;
[ToScARus.
Enter Cleopatra, attended.
To this great fairy 6 I'll commend thy acts,
Make her tlianks bless thee. — O thou day o' the
world.
Chain mine arm'd neck ; leap thou, attire and all.
Through proof of harness 7 to my heart, and there
Ride on the pants triiimphing.
Cleo. Lord of lords !
O infinite virtue ! com'st thou smiling from
The world's great snare uncaught ?
Ant. My nightingale.
We have beat them to their beds. What, girl?
though grey
Do something mingle with our brown ; yet have we
A brain that nourishes ovu: nerves, and can
Get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man ;
Conunend unto his lips thy favouring hand ;
Kiss it, my warrior : — He hath fought to-day.
As if a god, in hate of mankind, had
Destroy'd in such a shape.
Cleo. 1*11 give thee, friend,
An armour all of gold ; it was a king's.
Ant. He has deserv'd it, were it carbuncled
Like holy Phoebus' car. — Give me thy hand;
Through Alexandria make a jolly march ;
Bear our hack'd targets like the men that owe ^ thenu
Had our great palace tlie capacity
To camp this host, we all would sup together ;
And drink carouses to the next day's fate,
Which promises royal peril. — Trumpeters,
With brazen din blast you the city's ear ;
Make mingle with our rattling tambourines ;
That heaven and earth may strike their sounds
together.
Applauding our approach. [Exeunt.
SCENE lX. — CsssaT'sCamp.
Sentinels on their Post. Enter Enobarbus.
1 Sold. If we be not reliev'd within this hour,
We must return to the court of guard : The night
» Brave.
• Beauty united with power, wa« the popular charactcris.
tick of fairies. ' Armour of proof. "Own.
3 A 52
724
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
Act IV.
Is shiny ; and, they say, we shall embattle
By the second hour i' the morn.
2 Sold. This last day was
A shrewd one to us.
Mno. O, bear me witness, night, —
3 Sold. What man is this?
2 Sold. Stand close, and list to him.
Uno. Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon.
When men revolted shall upon record
Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did
Before thy face repent ! —
1 Sold. Enobarbus !
3 Sold. Peace ;
Hark further.
Uno. O sovereign mistress of true melancholy.
The poisonous damp of night disponge upon me ;
That life, a very rebel to my will.
May hang no longer on me : Throw my heart
Against the flint and hardness of my fault ;
Which, being dried with grief, will break to powder,
And finish all foul thoughts. O Antony,
Nobler than my revolt is infamous.
Forgive me in thine own particular;
But let the world rank me in register
A master-leaver, and a fugitive :
0 Antony ! O Antony ! [Dies.
2 Sold. Let's speak
To him.
1 Sold. Let's hear him, for the things he speaks
May concern Caesar.
3 Sold. Let's do so. But he sleeps.
1 Sold. Swoons rather ; for so bad a prayer as his
Was never yet for sleeping.
2 Sold. Go we to him.
3 Sold. Awakcj awake, sir ; speak to us.
2 Sold. Hear you, sir ?
1 Sold. The hand of death hath raught 9 him.
Hark, the drums [Drums ajur off.
Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him
To the court of guard ; he is of note : our hour
Is fully out.
3 Sold. Come on then ;
He may recover yet. [Exeunt with the Body.
SCENE X. — Between the two Camps.
Enter Antony and Scarus, with Forces, marching.
Ant. Their preparation is to-day by sea ;
We please them not by land.
Scar. For both, my lord.
Ant. I would, they'd fight i' the fire, or in the air j
We'd fight there too. But this it is ; our foot
Upon the hills adjoining to the city.
Shall stay with us ; order for sea is given ;
They have put forth the haven, further on,
Where their appointment we may best discover,
\nd look on their endeavour. [Exeunt.
Enter C^sar, and his Forces, marching.
Cces. But ^ being charg'd, we will be still by land.
Which, as I tak't, we shall ; for his best force
Is forth to man his gallies. To the vales.
And hold our best advantage. [Exeunt.
Re-enter Antony and Scarus.
Ant. Yet they're not join'd : Where yonder pine
does stand,
1 shall discover all : I'll bring thee word
Straight, how 'tis like to go. [Exit.
B Reached. ' Without
Scar. Swallows have built
In Cleopatra's sails their nest : the augurers
Say, they know not, — they cannot tell : — look
grimly.
And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony
Is valiant, and dejected ; and, by starts,
His fretted fortunes give him hope, and fear.
Of what he has, and has not.
Alarum afar off, as at a Sea Fight.
Re-enter Antony.
Ant. All is lost ;
This foul Egyptian hath betrayed me :
My fleet hath yielded to the foe : and yonder
They cast their caps up, and carouse together
Like friends long lost. — Triple-tum'd whore ! 2 'tis
thou
Hast sold me to this novice ; and my heart
Makes only wars on thee. — Bid them all fly ;
For when I am reveng'd upon my charm,
I have done all : — Bid them all fly, begone.
Exit Scarus.
O sun, thy uprise shall I see no more :
Fortune and Antony part here ; even here
Do we shake hands. — All come to this? — The hearts
That spaniel'd me at heels, to whom I gave
Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets
On blossoming Caesar ; and this pine is bark'd,
That over-topp'd them all. Betray'd I am :
O this false soul of Egypt ! this grave charm.
Whose eye beck'd forth my wars, and call'd them
home;
Whose bosom was my crownet 3, my chief end,
Like a right gipsy, hath, at fast and loose 4,
Beguil'd me to the very heart of loss. —
What, Eros, Eros!
Enier Cleopatra.
Ah ! thou spell ! Avaunt.
Cleo. Why is my lord enrag'd against his love '?
Aiit. Vanish : or I shall give thee thy deserving.
And blemish Caesar's triumph. Let him take thee.
And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians :
Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot
Of all thy sex ; most monster-like, be shown
For poor'st diminutives s, to dolts ; and let
Patient Octavia plough thy visage up
With her prepared nails. [Exit Cleo.] 'Tis well
thou'rt gone.
If it be well to live : But better 'twere
Thou fell'st into my fury, for one death
Might have prevented many. — Eros, ho ! —
The shirt of Nessus is upon me : Teach me,
Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage :
Let me lodge Lichas 6 on the horns o' the moon ;
And with those hands that grasp'd the heaviest club,
Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die ;
To the Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall
Under this plot : she dies for't Eros, ho ! [Exit.
SCENE XI Alexandria. A Room in the Palace.
Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Mardian.
Cleo. Help me, my women ! O, he is more mad
Than Telamon 7 for his shield ; the boar of Thessaly
Was never so emboss'd.s
2 Cleopatra first belonged to Julius Caesar, then to Antony,
and now, as Antony supposes, to Augustus. 3 Finish.
"■ A cheating game, at present named pricking at the belt.
5 For the smallest piece of money.
fi The boy that brought the poisoned shirt to Hercules.
7 Ajax Telamon for the shield of Achilles.
8 Foaming at the mouth. <
Scene XII.
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
725
Char. To the monument ;
There lock yourself, and send him word you are
dead.
The soul and body rive not more in parting,
Than greatness going off.
Cleo- To the monument : —
Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself;
Say, that the last I spoke was, Antony,
And word it, pr'ythee, piteously : Hence,
Mardian ; and bring me how he takes my death
To the monument [Exeunt.
SCENE XU.—jinotherRoom,
Enter Antony and Eros.
Ant. Eros, thou yet behold'st me !
■Eros. Ay, noble lord.
u4nt. Sometime, we see a cloud that's dragonish;
A vapour, sometime, like a bear, or lion,
A tower'd citadel, a pendant rock,
A forked mountain, or blue promontory
With trees upon*t, that nod unto the world.
And mock our eyes with air : Thou hast seen these
signs ;
They are black vesper's pageants.
£ros. Ay, my lord.
jint. That which is now a horse, even with a
thought.
The rack 9 dislimns : and makes it indistinct,
As water is in water.
Eros. It does, my lord.
ulnt. My good knave, Eros, now tliy captain is
Even such a body : here I am Antony ;
Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave.
I made these wars for Egypt ; and the queen,
Whose heart, I thought, I had, for she had mine ;
Which, whilst it was mine, had annex'd unto't
A million more, now lost, — she, Eros, has
Tack'd cards with Caesar, and false play'd my glory
Unto an enemy's triumph.
Nay, Weep not, gentle Eros ; there is left us
Ourselves to end ourselves O, thy vile lady !
Enter Mardian.
She has robb'd me of my sword.
^^ar' No, Antony ;
My mistress lov'd thee, and her fortunes mingled
With thine entirely.
■^ni- Hence, saucy eunuch ; peace ;
She hath betray'd me, and shall die the death.
Mar. Deatli of one person can be paid but once ;
A nd that she has discharged : What thou wouldst do.
Is done unto thy hand : the last she spake
Was, Antony ! most noble Antony !
Then in the midst a tearing groan did break
The name of Antony ; it was divided
Between her heart and lips : she render'd life.
Thy name so buried in her.
Ant. Dead then ?
Mar. Dead.
Ant. Eros, unarm ; the long day's task is done,
And we must sleep : — That thou depart'st hence
safe.
Does pay thy labour richly j Go. — Off, pluck off; —
[Exit Mardian.
Tlic seven-fold shield of Ajax cannot keep
The battery from my heart. O, cleave, my sides !
Heart, once be stronger than thy continent ',
Crack thy frail case ! — Apace, Eros, apace. —
» The fleeting clouds.
' i. r. The thing that contains thco.
No more a soldier : — bruis'd pieces, go ;
You have been nobly borne. — From me a while.
[Exit Eros.
I will o'ertake thee, Cleopatra, and
Weep for my pardon. So it must be, for now
All length is torture ; — Since the torch is out.
Lie down, and stray no further : Now all labour
Mars what it does ; yea, very force entangles
Itself with strength : Seal then, and all is done. —
Eros ! — I come, my queen : — Eros ! Stay for me:
Where souls do couch on flowers, we'll hand in
hand.
And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze :
Dido and her ^neas shall want troops.
And all the haunt be ours Come, Eros, Eros !
Re-enter Eros.
Eros. What would my lord ?
-^w^ Since Cleopatra died,
I have liv'd in such dishonour, that the gods
Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword
Quarter'd the world, and o'er green Neptune's back
With ships made cities, condemn myself, to lack
The courage of a woman ; less noble mind
Than she, which, by her death, our Caesar tells,
/ am conqueror of mi/self. Thou art sworn, Eros,
That, when the exigent should come, (which now
Is come, indeed,) when I should see behind me
The inevitable prosecution of
Disgrace and horror, that, on my command,
Thou then wouldst kill me : do't ; the time is come ;
Thou strik'st not me, 'tis Caesar thou defeat'st.
Put colour in thy cheek.
Eros. The gods withliold me !
Shall I do that, which all the Parthian darts,
Though enemy, lost aim, and could not ?
Ant. Eros,
Wouldst thou be window'd in great Rome, and see
Thy master thus with pleach'd'^ arms, bending down
His corrigible neck, his face subdued
To penetrative shame ; whilst the wheel'd seat
Of fortunate Caesar, drawn before him, branded
His baseness that ensued ?
Eros. I would not see't.
Ant. Come then ; for with a wound I must be
cur'd.
Draw that thy honest sword, which thou hast worn
Most useful for thy country.
Eros. O, sir, pardon me.
Ant. When I did make thee free, swor'st thou not
then
To do this when I bade thee ? Do it at once ;
Or thy precedent services are all
But accidents unpurpos'd. Draw, and come.
Eros. Turn from me then that noble countenance,
Wherein the worship s of the whole world lies.
Ant. Lo thee ! [ Tumingfrom him.
Eros. My sword is drawn.
Ant. Then let it do at once
The thing why thou hast drawn it.
Eros. My dear master,
My captain, and my emperor ! let me say,
Before I strike this bloody stroke. Farewell.
Ant. 'Tis said, man ; — and farewell.
Eros. Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now ?
Ant. Now, Eros.
Eros. Why, there then : _ [Falls on his sword.]
Thus do I escape the sorrow
Of Antony's death.
• Folded. 3 Dignity.
3 A 3
726
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
Act IV.
^rU. Thrice nobler than myself !
Thou teachest me, O valiant Eros, what
I should, and thou couldst not. My queen and
Eros
Have, by their brave instruction, got upon me
A nobleness in record : But I will be
A bridegroom in my death, and run into't
As to a lover's bed. Come then ; and, Eros,
Thy master dies thy scholar ; to do thus
[Falling on his sword.
I leam'd of thee. How ! not yet dead? not dead? —
The guard ! — ho ! — O, despatch me.
Enter Dercetas and Guard.
1 Guard. What's the noise ?
Ant, I have done my work ill, friends : O, make
an end
Of what I have begun.
2 Guard. The star is fallen.
1 Guard. And time is at his period.
AU. Alas, and woe !
Ant. Let him that loves me strike me dead.
1 Guard. Not I.
2 Guard. Nor I.
3 Guard. Nor any one. \^Exeunt Guard.
Der. Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers fly.
This sword but shown to Caesar, with this tidings.
Shall enter me with him.
Enter Diomedes.
Dio. Where's Antony?
Ber, There, Diomed, there.
Dio. Lives he ?
Wilt thou not answer, man ? [^Exit Dercetas.
Ant. Art thou there, Diomed ? Draw thy sword,
and give me
SuiHcient strokes for death.
Dio. Most absolute lord.
My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee.
Ant. When did she send thee ?
Dio. Now, my lord.
Ant. Where is she ?
Dio. Lock'd in her monument. She had a pro-
phesying fear
Of what hath come to pass : for when she saw
(Which never shall be found,) you did suspect
She had dispos'd with Caesar, and that your rage
Would not be purg'd, she sent you word she was
dead;
But, fearing since how it might work, hath sent
Me to proclaim the truth ; and I am come,
I dread, too late.
Ant. Too late, good Diomed : — Call my guard,
I pr'ythee.
Dio. What, ho ! the emperor's guard ! The
guard, what, ho !
Come, your lord calls.
Enter some of the Guard.
Ant. Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra bides ;
Tis the last service that I shall command you.
1 Guard. Woe are we, sir, you may not live to
wear
All your true followers out.
All. Most heavy day !
Ant. Nay, good my fellows, do not please sharp
fate
To grace it with your sorrows : bid that welcome
Which comes to punish us, and we punish it
Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up :
I have led you oft ; carry me now, good friends.
And have my thanks for all.
[Exeunt, bearing Antomy
SCENE Xlll. ^ A Mo7iument.
Enter above, Cleopatra, Charmian, and Iras.
Cleo. O, Charmian, I will never go from hence.
C/iar. Be comforted, dear madam.
Cleo. No, I will not ;
All strange and terrible events are welcome.
But comforts we despise ; our size of sorrow,
Proportion'd to our cause, must be as great
Enter Diomedes.
As that which makes it. — How now ? is he dead ?
Dio. His death's upon him, but not dead.
Look out o' the other side your monument.
His guard have brought him thither.
Enter Antony, borne by the Guard.
Cleo. O thou sun.
Burn the great sphere thou mov'st in ! — darkling
stand
The varying shore o' the world ! — O Antony !
Antony, Antony ! — Charmian, help ; help, Iras ;
Help, friends below ; Let's draw him hither.
Ant. Peace :
Not Caesar's valour hath o'erthrown Antony,
But Antony's hath triumphed on itself.
Cleo. So it should be, that none but Antony
Should conquer Antony ; but woe 'tis so !
Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying ; only
I here imp6rtune death awhile, until
Of many thousand kisses the poor last
I lay upon thy lips. —
Cleo. I dare not, dear
(Dear my lord, pardon,) I dare not.
Lest I be taken : not the imperious show
Of the full-fortun'd Csesar ever shall
Be brooch'd ■* with me ; if knife, drugs, serpents, have
Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe :
Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes,
And still conclusion ^, shall acquire no honour
Demuringupon me. — But come, come, Antony,—
Help me, my women, — we must draw thee up ; —
Assist, good friends.
Ant. O, quick, or I am gone.
Cleo. Here's sport indeed ! — How heavy weighs
my lord !
Our strength is all gone into heaviness,
That makes the weight : Had I great Juno's power.
The strong wing'd Mercury should fetch thee up.
And set thee by Jove's side. Yet come a little, —
Wishers were ever fools ; — O, come, come, come ;
[They draw Antony ^lp.
And welcome, welcome ! die, where thou hast liv'd :
Quicken 6 with kissing ; had my lips that power.
Thus would I wear them out.
AU. A heavy sight.
Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying :
Give me some wine, and let me speak a little.
Cleo. No, let me speak ; and let me rail so high.
That the false housewife Fortune break her wheel, Jfl^ I
Frovok'd by my offence. "^P
Ant. One word, sweet queen :
Of Caesar seek your honour, with your safety. — O !
Cleo. They do not go together.
Ant. Gentle, hear me : ^m
None about Caesar trust, but Proculeius. ^jr |
* Ornamented * Sedate determination. « Revivft
Act V. Scene I.
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
CUo. My resolution, and my hands, I'll trust;
None about Caesar.
AnX. The miserable change now at my end,
Lament nor sorrow at : but please your thoughts,
In feeding them with those my former fortunes
Wherein I liv'd, the greatest prince o' the world,
The noblest : and do now not basely die,
Nor cowardly ; put oflf my helmet to
My countryman, a Roman, by a Roman
Valiantly vanquish'd. Now, my spirit is going ;
I can no more. \_DieS'
Clco. Noblest of men, woo't die ?
Hast thou no care of me ? Shall I abide
In this dull world, which in thy absence is
No better than a stye ? — O, see, my women,
The crown o* the earth doth melt : — My lord ! —
O, wither'd is the garland of the war,
The soldier's pole is fallen ; young boys, and girls
Are level now with men ; the odds is gone.
And there is nothing left remarkable
Beneath the visiting moon. [She faints.
Char. O quietness, lady !
Iras. She is dead too, our sovereign.
Char. Lady, —
Iras. Madam, —
C/iar. O madam, madam, madam !
727
Royal Egypt !
Iras.
Empress !
Char. Peace, peace, Iras.
Cleo. No more, but e'en a woman; and com-
manded
By such poor passion as the maid that milks.
And does the meanest chares. 7 — It were for me
To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods ;
To tell them, that this world did equal theirs.
Till they had stolen our jewel. All's but naught ;
Patience is sottish ; and impatience does
Become a dog that's mad : Then is it sin,
To rush into the secret house of death,
Ere death dare come to us? — How do you, women?
What, what? good cheer! Why, how now, Charmian?
My noble girls ! — Ah, women, women, look !
Our lamp is spent, it's out : — Good sirs, take
heart : — [To the Guard below.
We'll bury him : and then what's brave, what's noble,
Let's do it after the high Roman fashion,
And make death proud to take us. Come away :
This case of that huge spirit now is cold.
Ah, women, women ! come ; we have no friend
But resolution, and the briefest end.
[Exeunt ; those above bearing off Antony's Body.
ACT V.
SCENE I. — Caesar'i Camp before Alexandria.
E-nJter Caesar, Aorifpa, Dolabella, Mecjenas,
Gallus, Proculeius, and others.
CcBs. Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield ;
Being so frustrate, tell him, he mocks us by
The pauses that he makes.
Dot. Caesar, I shall. [Exit Dolabella.
Enter Dercetas, with the Sword of Antony.
Cces. Wherefore is that ? and what art thou, that
dar'st
Appear thus to us ?
Der. I am call'd Dercetas ;
Mark Antony I serv'4, who best was worthy.
Best to be serv'd : whilst he stood up and spoke.
He was my master : and I wore my life.
To spend upon his haters : If thou please
To take me to tliee, as I was to him
I'll be to Caesar ; If thou pleasest not,
I yield thee up my life.
Cces. What is't tliou say'st ?
Der. I say, O Caesar, Antony is dead.
Cccs. The breaking of so great a thing should make
A greater crack : The round world should have shook
Lions into civil streets.
And citizens to their dens. — The death of Antony
Is not a single doom ; in the name lay
A moiety of the world.
Der. He is dead, Caesar ;
Not by a public minister of justice,
Nor by a hired knife ; but tliat self hand.
Which writ his honour in the acts it did,
Hath, with the courage which the heart did lend it,
Splitted the heart. — Tliis is his sword,
I I'obb'd his wound of it ; behold it stain'd
With his most noble blood.
C<Bs. Look you sad, friends ?
The gods rebuke me, but it is a tidings
To wash the eyes of kings.
Ai^r. And strange it is.
That nature must compel us to lament
Our most persisted deeds.
Mec. His taints and honours
Waged equal with him.
jigr. A rarer spirit never
Did steer humanity : but you gods will give us
Some faults to make us mend. Caesar is touch'd.
Mec. When such a spacious mirror's set before him,
He needs must see himself.
Cces. O Antony !
I have follow'd thee to this : — But we do lance
Diseases in our bodies : I must perforce
Have shown to thee such a declining day.
Or look on thine ; we could not stall together
In the whole world : but yet let me lament.
With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts.
That thou, my brother, my competitor
In top of all design, my mate in empire,
Friend and companion in the front of war,
Tlie arm of mine own body, and the heart
Where mine his^ tlioughts did kindle, — that oui
stars,
Unreconciliable, should divide
Our equalness to tliis. — Hear me, good friends, — •
But I will tell you at some meeter season ;
Enter a Messenger.
Tlie business of this man looks out of him.
We'll hear him what he says. — Whence are you
Mess. A poor Egyptian yet. The queen my
mistress,
Con6n'd in all she has, her monument.
Of thy mtcnts desires instruction ;
7 Task-work. « It&
3 A 4
728
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
Act V.
That she preparedly may frame herself
To the way she's forc'd to.
Ca;s. Bid her have good heart ;
She soon shall know of us, by some of ours,
How honourable and how kindly we
Determine for her : for Caesar cannot live
To be ungentle.
Mess. So the gods preserve thee ! \_Exit.
CcBs. Come hither, Proculeius ; Go, and say,
We purpose her no shame ; give her what comforts
The quality of her passion shall require ;
Lest, in her greatness, by some mortal stroke
She do defeat us : for her life in Rome
Would be eternal in our triumph : Go,
And, with your speediest, bring us what she says,
And how you find of her.
Pro. Caesar, I shall. {Exit Proculeius.
C<Bs. Gallus, go you along. — Wliere's Dolabella,
To second Proculeius ? \Ex\i Gallus.
Agr. Mec. Dolabella !
Cces. Let him alone, for I remember now
How he's employed ; he shall in time be ready.
Go with me to my tent ; where you shall see
How hardly I was drawn into this war;
How calm and gentle I proceeded still
In all my writings : Go with me and see
What I can show in this. \_Exeunt.
SCENE I L— Alexandria.
Monument.
A Room in the
Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, and Iras.
Cleo. My desolation does begin to make
A better life : 'Tis paltry to be Caesar;
Not being fortune, he's but fortune's knave 9,
A minister of her will ; And it is great
To do that thing that ends all other deeds ;
Which shackles accidents ; and bolts up change ;
Which sleeps, and never palates more the dung.
The beggar's nurse and Caesar's.
Enter, to the Gates of the Monument, Proculeius,
Gallus, and Soldiers.
Pro. Caesar sends greeting to the queen of Egypt ;
And bids thee study on what fair demands
Thou mean'st to have him grant thee.
Cleo. [Within.] What's thy name ?
Pro. My name is Proculeius.
Cleo. [JVithin.] Antony
Did tell me of you, bade me trust you ; but
I do not greatly care to be deceiv'd,
That have no use for trusting. If your master
Would have a queen his beggar, you must tell him.
That majesty, to keep decorum, must
No less beg than a kingdom : if he please
To give me conquer'd Egypt for my son,
He gives me so much of mine own, as I
Will kneel to him with thanks.
Pro. Be of good cheer ;
You are fallen into a princely hand, fear nothing :
Make your full reference freely to my lord.
Who is so full of grace, that it flows over
On all that need : Let me report to him
Your sweet dependancy : and you shall find
A conqueror, that will pray in aid for kindness.
Where he for grace is kneel'd to.
Cleo. [Within.'] Pray you, tell him
I am his fortune's vassal, and I send him
The greatness he has got. I hourly learn
9 Servant.
A doctrine of obedience ; and would gladly
Look him i' the face.
Pro. This I'll report, dear lady.
Have comfort ; for, I know, your plight is pitied
Of him that caus'd it.
Gal. You see how easily she may be surpris'd ;
[Here Proculeius, and two of the Guard,
ascend the Monument by a Ladder placed
against a Window, and having descended,
come behind Cleopatra. Som£ of the Guard
unbar and open the Gates.
Guard her till Caesar come.
[To Proculeius and the Guard. Exit
Gallus.
Iras. Royal queen !
Char. O Cleopatra ! thou art taken, queen ! —
Cleo. Quick, quick, good hands.
[Drawing a Dagger.
Pro. Hold, worthy lady, hold :
[Seizes and disarms her.
Do not yourself such wrong, who are in this
Reliev'd, but not betray'd.
Cleo. What, of death too
That rids our dogs of languish ?
Pro. Cleopatra,
Do not abuse my master's bounty, by
The undoing of yourself : let the world see
His nobleness well acted, which your death
Will never let come forth.
Cleo. Where art thou, death ?
Come hither, come ! come, come, and take a queen
Worth many babes and beggars !
Pro. O, temperance, lady !
Cleo. Sir, I will eat no meat, I'll not drink, sir;
If idle talk will once be necessary,
I'll not sleep neither : This mortal house I'll ruin,
Do Caesar what he can. Know, sir, that I
Will not wait pinion'd at your master's court :
Nor once be chastis'd with the sober eye
Of dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up,
And show me to the shouting varletry i
Of censuring Rome ? Rather a ditch in Egypt
Be gentle grave to me ! rather on Nilus' mud
Lay me stark naked, and let the water-flies
Blow me into abhorring ! rather make
My country's high pyramides my gibbet,
And hang me up in chains !
Pro. You do extend
These thoughts of horror further than you shall
Find cause in Caesar.
Enter Dolabella.
Dol. Proculeius,
What thou hast done thy master Caesar knows,
And he hath sent for thee : as for the queen,
I'll take her to my guard.
Pro. So, Dolabella,
It shall content me best : be gentle to her. —
To Caesar I will speak what you shall please,
[To Cleopatra.
If you'll employ me to him.
Cleo. Say, I would die
[Exeunt Proculeius and Soldiers.
Dol. Most noble empress, you have heard of me ?
Cleo. I cannot tell.
Dol. Assuredly, you know me.
Cleo. No matter, sir, what I have heard or known.
You laugh, when boys, or women, tell their dreams ;
Is't not your trick ?
1 Rabble.
Scene II.
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
729
Dol. I understand not, madam.
Cteo. I dream'd, there was an emperor Antony ; —
O, such another sleep, that I might see
But such another man !
Dol. If it might please you, —
Cleo. His face was as the heavens ; and therein
stuck
A sun, and moon; which kept their course, and
lighted
The little O, the earth.
Dol. Most sovereign creature, —
Cleo. His legs bestrid the ocean : his rear'd arm
Crested the world : Ids voice was propertied
As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends ;
But when he meant to quail 2 and shake the orb,
He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty.
There was no winter in't ; an autumn 'twas,
That grew the more by reaping : In his livery
Walk'd crowns, and crownets ; realms and islands
were
As plates 3 dropp'd from his pocket.
Dol. Cleopatra, —
Cleo. Think you, there was, or might be, such a
man
As this I dream'd of?
Dol. Gentle madam, no.
Cleo. You lie up to the hearing of the gods.
But, if there be, or ever were one such,
It's past the size of dreaming : Nature wants stuff
To vie strange forms with fancy ; yet, to imagine
An Antony, were nature's piece 'gainst fancy.
Condemning shadows quite.
Dol. Hear me, good madam :
Your loss is as yourself, great : and you bear it
As answering to the weight : Would I might never
O'ertake pursu'd success, but I do feel.
By the rebound of yours, a grief that shoots
My very heart at root.
Cleo. I thank you, sir.
Know you, what Caesar means to do with me ?
Dol. 1 am loath to tell you what I would you knew.
Cleo. Nay, pray you, sir, —
Dol. Though he be honourable, —
Cleo. He'll lead me then in triumph ?
Dd. Madam ; he will ;
I know it.
[ Within.'^ Make way there, — Caesar.
Enter C^sar, Gallus, Proculeius, MecjENas,
Seleucus, and Attendants.
Cess. Which is the queen
Of Egypt?
Dol. *Tis the emperor, madam.
[Cleopatra kneels.
Cces. Arise,
You shall not kneel —
I pray you, rise ; rise, Egypt.
Cleo. Sir, the gods
Will have it thus ; my master and my lord
I must obey.
Cees. Take to you no hard thoughts :
The record of what injuries you did us,
Though written in our flesh, we shall remember
As things but done by chance.
Cleo. Sole sir o' the world,
I cannot project ♦ mine own cause so well
To make it clear ; but do confess, I have
Been laden with like frailties, which before
Have often sham'd our sex.
2 Crush.
3 Silver money.
« Shape or form.
Cees. Cleopatra, know,
We will extenuate rather than enforce :
If you apply yourself to our intents,
(Which towards you are most gentle,) you shall find
A benefit in this change ; but if you seek
To lay on me a cruelty, by taking
Antony's course, you shall bereave yourself
Of my good purposes, and put your children
To that destruction which I'll guard them from.
If thereon you rely. I'll take my leave.
Cleo. And may; through all the world : 'tis yours:
and we
Your 'scutcheons, and your signs of conquest, shall
Hang in what place you please. Here, my good
lord.
Cces. You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra.
Cleo. This is the brief of money, plate, and jewels,
I am possess'd of : 'tis exactly valued :
Not petty things admitted. — Where's Seleucus ?
Sel. Here, madam.
Cleo. This is my treasurer ; let him speak, my lord,
Upon his peril, that I have reserv'd
To myself nothing. Speak the truth, Seleucus.
Sel. Madam,
I had rather seel 5 my lips, than, to my peril.
Speak that which is not.
Cleo. What have I kept back'
Sel. Enough to purchase what you have made
known.
C<es. Nay, blush not, Cleopatra; I approve
Your wisdom in the deed.
Cleo. See, Caesar ! O, behold.
How pomp is follow'd ! mine will now be yours ;
And, should we shift estates, yours would be mine
The ingratitude of this Seleucus does
Even make me vrild ; — O slave, of no more trust
Than love that's hir'd ! — What, goest thou back ?
thou shalt
Go back, I warrant thee ; but I'll catch thine eyes.
Though they had wings: Slave, soul-less villain,dogi
O rarely base !
Cces. Good queen, let us entreat you.
Cleo. O Caesar, what a wounding shame is this ;
That thou, vouchsafing here to visit me.
Doing the honour of thy lordliness
To one so meek, that mine own servant should
Parcel 0 the sum of my disgraces by
Addition of his envy ! Say, good Caesar,
That I some lady trifles have reserv'd,
Immoment toys, things of such dignity
As we greet modem 7 friends withal : and say,
Some nobler token I have kept apart
For Livia 8, and Octavia, to induce
Their mediation ; must I be unfolded
With one that I have bred? The gods ! It smites me
Beneath the fall I have. Pr'ythee, go hence ;
[ To Seleucus.
Or I shall show the cinders of my spirits
Through the ashes of my chance. — Wert thou a
man,
Thou wouldst have mercy on me.
CcBs. Forbear, Seleucus.
[Exit Seleucus.
Cleo. Be it known, that we, the greatest, are mis-
thought
For things that others do ; and, when we fall.
We answer others* merits in our name,
Are therefore to be pitied.
* Sew up.
' Common.
• Addta
« Cctar'i wire.
7S0
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
Act V.
Cpa. Cleopatra,
Not what you have reserv'd, nor what acknowledg'd,
Put we i' the roll of conquest : still be it yours,
Bestow it at your pleasure ; and believe,
Caisar's no merchant, to make prize with you
Of things that merchants sold. Therefore be cheer'd ;
Make not your thoughts your prisons : no, dear
queen ;
For we intend so to dispose you, as
Yourself shall give us counsel. Feed, and sleep :
Our care and pity is so much upon you,
That we remain your friend ; And so, adieu.
Cleo. My master, and my lord !
Cces. Not so : Adieu.
[Exeunt C^sar and his Train.
Cleo. He words me, girls, he words me, that I
should not
Be noble to myself ; but hark thee, Charmian.
[Whispers Charmian.
Iras. Finish, good lady ; the bright day is done.
And we are for the dark.
Cleo. Hie thee again :
I have spoke already, and it is provided j
Go, put it to the haste.
Char. Madam, I will.
Re-enter Dolabella.
Dol. Where is the queen ?
Char. Behold, sir. [ExU Charmian.
Cleo. Dolabella?
Dol. Madam, as thereto sworn by your command,
Which my love makes religion to obey,
I tell you this : Caesar through Syria
Intends his journey ; and, within three days.
You with your children will he send before :
Make your best use of this : I have perform'd
Your pleasure and my promise.
Cleo. Dolabella,
I shall remain your debtor.
Dol. I your servant.
Adieu, good queen ; I must attend on Caesar.
Cleo. Farewell, and thanks. [Exit Dol] Now,
Iras, what think'st thou ?
Thou, an Egyptian puppet, shall be shown
In Rome, as well as I : mechanick slaves
With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers, shall
Uplift us to the view ; in their thick breaths,
Hank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded.
And forc'd to drink their vapour.
Iras. The gods forbid !
Cleo. Nay, 'tis most certain, Iras : Saucy lictors
Will catch at us, like strumpets : and scald rhymers
Ballad us out o' tune : the quick 9 comedians
Extemporally will stage us, and present
Our Alexandria revels ; Antony
Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see
Some squeaking Cleopatra boy ' my greatness.
Iras. O the good gods !
Cleo. Nay, that is certain.
Iras. I'll never see it ; for, I am sure my nails
Are stronger than mine eyes.
Cleo. Why that's the way
To fool their preparation, and to conquer
Their most absurd intents. — Now, Channian ? —
Enter Charmian.
Show me, my women, like a queen — Go fetch
My best attires; — I am again for Cydnus.
To meet Mark Antony ; — Sirrah, Iras, go
9 Lively. i Female characters were played by boys.
Now, noble Charmian, we'll despatch indeed :
And, when thou hast done this chare, I'll give thee
leave
To play till doomsday. — Bring our crown and all.
Wherefore's tliis noise?
[Exit Iras. A Noise within.
Enter one of the Guard.
Guard. Here is a rural fellow.
That will not be denied your highness' presence ;
He brings you figs.
Cleo. Let him come in. How poor an instrument
[Exit Guard.
May do a noble deed ! he brings me liberty.
My resolution's plac'd, and I have nothing
Of woman in me : Now from head to foot
I am marble-constant : now the fleeting moon
No planet is of mine.
Re-enter Guard, with a Clown bringing a Basket.
Guard. This is the man.
Cleo. Avoid, and leave him. [Exit Guard.
Hast thou the pretty worm of Nilus there.
That kills and pains not ?
Clown. Truly I have him : but I would not be
the party that should desire you to touch him, for
his biting is immortal ; those, that do die of it, do
seldom or never recover.
Cleo. Remember'st thou any that have died on't ?
Clown. Very many, men and women too. I heard
of one of them no longer than yesterday : a very
honest woman, but something given to lie ; as a
woman should not do, but in the way of honesty :
how she died of the biting of it, what pains she felt
Truly, she makes a very good report o' the worm :
But he that will believe all that they say, shall never
be saved by half that they do : But this is most
fallible, the worm's an odd worm.
Cleo. Get thee hence ; farewell.
Clown. I wish you all joy of the worm.
Cleo. Farewell. [Clown sets down the Basket.
Clown. You must think this, look you, that the
worm will do his kind. 2
Cleo. Ay, ay; farewell.
Clown. Look you, the worm is not to be trusted,
but in the keeping of wise people ; for, indeed, there
is no goodness in the worm.
Cleo. Take thou no care ; it shall be heeded.
Clown. Very good : give it nothing, I pray you,
for it is not worth the feeding.
Cleo. Will it eat me?
Clown, You must not think I am so simple, but
I know the devil himself will not eat a woman -. I
know, that a woman is a dish for the gods, if the
devil dress her not.
Cleo. Well, get thee gone ; farewell.
Cloum.Yes, forsooth ; I wish you joy of the worm.
[ExU.
Re-enter Iras, with a Robe, Crown, ^c.
Cleo. Give me my robe, put on my crown ; I have
Immortal longings in me : Now no more
The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip : —
Yare, yare 3, good Iras ; quick. — Methinks, I hear
Antony call ; I see him rouse himself
To praise my noble act ; I hear him mock
The luck of Caesar, which the gods give men
To excuse their after wrath : Husband, I come
Now to that name my courage prove my title !
2 Act according to his nature. ^ Make haste
I
Scene II.
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
731
I am fire, and air ; my other elements
I give to baser life So, — have you done ?
Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips.
Farewell, kind Charmian ; — Iras, long farewell.
[JHsses them. Iras /uUs and dies.
Have I the aspick in my lips ? Dost fall ?
If thou and nature can so gently part,
If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world
It is not worth leave-taking.
Char. Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain ; that I may
say.
The gods themselves do weep !
Cleo. This proves me base :
If she first meet the curled Antony,
He'll make demand of her ; and spend that kiss,
Which is my heaven to have. Come, mortal wretch,
[To the Jsp, which she applies to her Breast.
With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate
Of life at once untie : poor venomous fool,
Be angry and despatch. O, couldst thou speak !
That I might hear thee call great Caesar, ass
Unpolicied ! ♦
Char, O eastern star !
Cleo. Peace, peace !
Dost thou not see my baby at my breast,
Tliat sucks the nurse asleep ?
Char. O, break ! O, break !
Cleo. As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle —
O Antony ! — Nay, I will take thee too ; —
[Jjyjilying another Asp to her Arm.
What should I stay — [ Falls on a Bed, and dies.
Char. In this wild world ? — So, fare thee well. —
Now boast thee, death ! in thy possession lies
A lass unparallel'd Downy windows close ;
And golden Phoebus never be beheld
Of eyes again so royal ! Your crovm's awry ;
I'll mend it, and then play.
Enter the Guard, rushing in.
1 Guard. Where is the queen?
Char. Speak softly, wake her not.
1 Guard. Csesar hath sent —
Char. Too slow a messenger.
[Applies the Asp.
O, come : apace, despatch : I partly feel thee.
1 Guard. Approach, ho ! All's not well : Caesar's
beguil'd.
2 Guard. There's Dolabella sent from Caesar; —
call him.
1 Guard. What work is here ? — Charmian, is this
well done?
Char. It is well done, and fitting for a princess
Descended of so many royal kings.
Ah, soldier ! [Dies.
* Unpolitic, to leave me to myself.
Enter Dolabella.
Dol. How goes it here ?
2 Guard. AH dead.
j)ol. Caesar, thy thoughts
Touch their eflTects in this : Thyself art coming
To see perform'd the dreaded act, which thou
So sought'st to hinder.
[Within.'] A way there, way for Caesar !
Enter Cjbsak, and Attendants.
Dol. O, sir, you are too sure an augurer ;
That you did fear, is done.
Ctes. Bravest at the last;
She levell'd at our purposes, and, being royal,
Took her own way. — The manner of their deaths ?
I do not see them bleed.
j)ol. Who was last with them ?
1 Guard. A simple countryman, that brought her
figs;
This was his basket.
CiBs. Poison'd then.
1 Guard. O Caesar,
This Charmian liv'd but now ; she stood, and spake;
I found her trimming up the diadem
On her dead mistress ; trembling she stood,
And on the sudden dropp'd.
^^j. O noble weakness !
If they had swallow'd poison, 'twould appear
By external swelling : but she looks like sleep,
As she would catch another Antony
In her strong toil of grace. *
j)ol. Here, on her breast.
There is a vent of blood, and something blown :
The like is on her arm.
1 Guard. This is an aspick's trail : and these fig-
leaves
Have slime upon them, such as the aspick leaves
Upon the caves of Nile.
Cces. Most probable.
That so she died ; for her physician tells me,
She hath pursu'd conclusions infinite
Of easy ways to die. — Take up her bed ;
And bear her women from the monument : —
She shall be buried by her Antony ;
No grave upon the earth shall clip ^ in it
A pair so famous. High events as these
Strike those that make them : and their story is
No less in pity than his glory, which
Brought them to be lamented. Our army shall.
In solemn show, attend this funeral ;
And then to Rome. — Come, Dolabella, see
High order in this great solemnity. [Exeunt.
» Graceful appearance
• Enfold
o/
A^
^
CYMBELINE.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
I
Cymbeline, King of Britain.
Ci.OTEK, Son to the Queen by a former Husband.
Leonatus Posthumus, o Gentleman, Husband to
Imogen.
Belauius, a banished Lord, disguised under the Name
of Morgan.
^ (Sons to Cymbeline, disguised under
OUIDERIUS. I ., Tkr /• Ti J /~»
• i the Names of Poi.ydore and Lad-
ArVIRAGUS, 1 I a . 11 I •
(_ WAL, supposed Sons to iselarius.
Philario, Friend to Posthumus, 1
Iachimo, Friend to Philario, J
A French Gentleman, Friend to Philario.
Caius Lucius, General of the Roman Forces.
A Roman Captain.
SCENE, sometimes in Britain
Italians.
Two British Captains.
PisANio, Servant to I'ostlmmus.
Cornelius, a Physician.
Two Gentlemen.
Two Gaolers.
Queen, Wife to Cyml)eline.
Imogen, Daughter to Cymbeline by a former Queen.
Helen, Woman to Imogen.
Lords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes, Appari-
tions, a Soothsayer, a Dutcli Gentleman, a Spanish
Gentleman, Musicians, Officers, Oiplains, Soldiers,
Messengers, and other Attendants.
sometimes in Italy.
WHY. nw. nnT BLEEi
C Y M B E L I N E
ACT I.
SCENE I. — Britain. T/ie Garden behind
Cymbeline's Palace.
Enter tivo Gentleiuen.
1 Gent. You do not meet a man but frowns : our
bloods '
No more obey the heavens, than our courtiers ;
Still seem, as does the king's.
2 Gent. But what's the matter ?
1 Gent. His daughter, and the heir of his king-
dom, whom
He purpos'd to his wife's sole son, (a widow,
That late he married,) hath referred herself
Unto a poor but worthy gentleman : She's wedded;
Her husband banish'd ; she imprison'd : all
Is outward sorrow ; though, I think, the king
lie touch'd at very heart.
2 Gent. None but the king ?
1 Gent. He, that hath lost her, too: so is the queen.
That most desir'd the match : But not a courtier,
Although they wear their faces to the bent
Of the king's looks, hath a heart that is not
Glad at the thing they scowl at.
2 Gent. And why so?
1 Gent. He that hath miss'd the princess, is a thing
Too bad for bad report : and he that hath her,
( I mean, that married her, — alack, good man ! —
And therefore banish'd, ) is a creature such
As, to seek through the regions of the earth
' Inclination, natural disposition.
For one his like, there would be something failing
In him that should compare. I do not think,
So fair an outward, and such stuff within.
Endows a man but he.
2 Gent. You speak him far. 2
1 Gent. I do extend him, sir, within himself;
Crush him together, rather than unfold
His measure duly. 3
2 Gent. What's his name, and birth ?
I Gent. I cannot delve him to the root: His father
Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour,
Against the Romans, with Cassibelan ;
But had his titles by Tenantius"*, whom
He serv'd with glory and admir'd success :
So gain'd the sur-addition, Leonatus :
And had, besides this gentleman in question,
Two other sons, who, in the wars o' the time,
Died with their swords in hand; for which their j
father
(Then old and fond of issue) took such sorrow,
'I hat he quit being ; and bis gentle lady,
Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceas'd
As he was born. The king, he takes the babe
To his protection ; calls him Posthumus ;
Breeds him, and makes him of his bed-chamber :
Puts him to all the learnings that his time
Could make him the receiver of ; which he took.
As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd : and
2 i.e. You praise him extensively.
3 My praise, however extensive, is within his merit
'» The father of Cymbcline.
Act I. Scene II.
CYMBELINE.
733
In his spring became a harvest : Liv'd in court
(Which rare it is to do) most prais'd, most lov'd :
A sample to the youngest ; to the more mature,
A glass that feated* tliem ; and to the graver,
A child that guided dotards : to his mistress.
For whom he now is banished, — her own price
Proclaims how she esteem 'd him and his virtue ;
By her election may be truly read,
What kind of man he is.
2 Gent. I honour him
Even out of your report. But, 'pray you, tell me,
Is she sole child to the king ?
1 Gent. His only child.
He had two sons, (if this be worth your hearing,
Mark it,) the eldest of tliem at three years old,
r the swathing clothes the other, from their nursery
Were stolen : and to this hour, no guess in knowledge
Which way they went.
2 Gent. How long is this ago ?
1 Gent. Some twenty years.
2 Gent. That a king's children should be so con-
vey'd !
So slackly guarded ; And the search so slow,
That could not trace them !
1 Gent. Howsoe'er 'tis strange.
Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at,
Yet is it true, sir.
2 Gent. I do well believe you.
1 Gent. We must forbear ; Here comes the gen-
tleman.
The queen and princess. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. — The same.
Enter the Queen, Posthumus, and Imogen.
Queen. No, be assur'd, you shall not find me,
daughter.
After the slander of most step-mothers,
Evil-eyed unto you : you are my prisoner, but
Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys
That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthdmus,
So soon as I can win the offended king,
I will be known your advocate : marry, yet
The fire of rage is in him ; and 'twere good.
You lean'd unto his sentence, with what patience
Your wisdom may inform you.
Post. Please your highness,
I will from hence to-day.
Queen. You know the peril : —
I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying
The pangs of barr'd affections ; though the king
Hath charg'd you should not speak together.
[Exit Queen.
Into. O
Dissembling courtesy ! How fine this tyrant
Can tickle where she wounds ! — My dearest hus-
band,
I something fear my father's wrath ; but nothing,
(Always reserv'd my holy duty,) what
His rage can do on me : You must be gone ;
And I shall here abide the hourly shot
Of angry eyes ; not comforted to live,
But that there is tliis jewel in the world,
That I may see again.
Post. My queen ! my mistress !
O, lady, weep no more ; lest I give cause
To be susi>ccted of more tenderness
Than doth become a man ! I will remain
Tlie loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth.
^ Formed their manners.
My residence in Rome at one Philario's ;
Who to my father was a friend, to me
Known but by letter : thither write, my queen,
And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send.
Though ink be made of gall.
Re-enter Queen.
Queen. Be brief, I pray you :
If the king come I shall incur I know not
How much of his displeasure : Yet I'll move him
[Aside.
To walk this way : I never do him wrong,
But he does buy my injuries, to be friends ;
Pays dear for my offences. [Exit.
Post. Should we be taking leave
As long a term as yet we have to live.
The loathness to depart would grow : Adieu !
Itno. Nay, stay a little :
Were you but riding forth to air yourself,
Such parting were too petty. Look here, love j
This diamond was my mother's : take it, heart ;
But keep it till you woo another wife.
When Imogen is dead.
Post. How ! how ! another ? — .
You gentle gods, give me but this I have.
And sear up^ my embracements from a next
With bonds of death ! — Remain thou here
[Putting on the liing.
While sense can keep it on ! And sweetest, fairest.
As I my poor self did exchange for you.
To your so infinite loss; so in our trifles
I still win of you : For my sake, wear this ;
It is a manacle of love ; I'll place it
Upon this fairest prisoner.
[Putting a bracelet on her Amu
Imo. O, the gods }
When shall we see again ?
Enter Cymbeline, and Lords.
Post. Alack, the king !
Ci/m. Thou basest thing, avoid ! hence, from my
sight !
If, after this command, thou fraught' the court
With thy unworthiness, thou diest : Away !
Thou art poison to my blood.
Post. The gods protect you ?
And bless the good remainders of the court !
I am gone. [Exit.
Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death
More sharp than this is.
Ci/m. O disloyal thing,
That shouldst repair my youth ; thou heapest
A year's age on me !
Imo. I beseech you, sir.
Harm not yourself with your vexation ; I
Am senseless of your wrath ; a touch more rare *
Subdues all pangs, all fears.
Ci/m. Past grace ? obedience ?
Imo. Past hope, and in despair ; that way, past
grace.
Cynu That mightst have had the sole son of my
queen !
Imo. O bless'd, that I might not! I chose an eagle.
And did avoid a puttock. 9
Ct/m. Thou took'st a beggar j wouldst have made
my throne
A seat for baseness.
Imo. No ; I rather added
A lustre to it.
« Close up.
8 A more exquisite feeling.
7 Fill
« Akit&
734
CYMBELINE.
Act I.
Cijm. O thou vile one !
Imo. Sir,
It is your fault that I have loved Posthumus :
"You bred him as my playfellow ; and he is
A man, worth any woman ; overbuys me
Almost the sum he pays.
Cynu What ! — art thou mad ?
Imo. Almost, sir ; Heaven restore me ! — 'Would
I were
A neat-herd's ' daughter ! and my Leonatus
Our neighbour shepherd's son !
He-enter Queen.
Cym. Thou foolish thing! —
They were again together : you have done
\To the Queen.
Not after our command. Away with her,
And pen her up.
Queen. 'Beseech your patience: — Peace,
Dear lady daughter, peace ; — Sweet sovereign.
Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself some
comfort
Out of your best advice.^
Cym. Nay, let her languish
A drop of blood a day ; and, being aged,
Die of this folly ! [Exit.
Queen.
Enter Pisanio.
Fye ! — you must give way :
Here is your servant. — How now, sir? What news?
Fis. My lord your son drew on my master.
Queen. Ha !
No harm, I trust, is done ?
PL'S. There might have been.
But that my master rather play'd than fought,
And had no help of anger : they were parted
By gentlemen at hand.
Queen. I am very glad on't.
Imo. Your son's my father's friend ; he takes his
part. —
To draw upon an exile ! — O brave sir ! —
I would they were in Africk both together ;
Myself by with a needle, that I might prick
The goer back. — Why came you from your master ?
Pis. On his command : He would not suffer me
To bring him to the haven : left these notes
Of what commands I should be subject to,
When it pleas'd you to employ me.
Queen. This hath been
Your faithful servant ; I dare lay mine honour.
He will remain so.
Pis. I humbly thank your highness.
Queen. Pray, walk a while.
Imo. About some half hour hence,
I pray you speak with me : you shall, at least.
Go see my lord aboard : for this time, leave me.
{^Exeunt.
SCENE III. — ^ publick Palace.
Enter Cloten, and two Lords.
Clo. Have I hurt him ?
2 Lord. No, faith ; not so much as his patience.
[Aside.
1 Lord. Hurt him ? his body's a passable carcass,
if he be not hurt : it is a thoroughfare for steel if it
be not hurt.
2 Lord. His steel was in debt.
Clo. The villain would not stand me.
1 Cattle-keeper. 2 Consideration.
2 Lord. No ; but he fled forward still, toward
your face. [Aside.
1 Lord. Stand you ! You have land enough of
your own : but he added to your having ; gave you
some ground.
2 Lord. As many inches as you have oceans :
Puppies ! [Aside.
Clo. I would they had not come between us.
2 Lord. So would I, till you had measured how
long a fool you were upon the ground. [Aside.
Clo. And that she should love this fellow, and
refuse me !
1 Lord. Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and
her brain go not together : She's a good sign, but I
have seen small reflection of her wit. 3
2 Lord. She shines not upon fools, lest tlie reflec-
tion should hurt her. [Aside.
Clo. Come, I'll to my chamber : "Would there
had been some hurt done !
2 Lord. I wish not so ; unless it had been the fall
of an ass, which is no great hurt. [Aside,
Clo. You'll go with us?
1 Lord. I'll attend your lordship.
Clo. Nay, come, let's go together.
2 Lord. Well, my lord. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV. —A Room in Cymbeline'5 Palace,
Enter Imogen and Pisanio.
Imo. I would thou grew'st unto the shores o' the
haven.
And question'dst every sail : if he should write,
And I not have it, 'twere a paper lost
As offer'd mercy is. What was the last
That he spake to thee ?
Pis. 'Twas, His queen, his queen I
Imo. Then wav'd his handkerchief?
Pis. And kiss'd it, madam.
Imo. Senseless linen ! happier therein than I ! —
And that was all ?
Pis. No, madam ; for so long
As he could make me with this eye or ear
Distinguish him from others, he did keep
The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief.
Still waving, as the fits and stirs of his mind
Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on,
How swift his ship.
Imo. Thou shouldst have made him
As little as a crow, or less, ere left
To after-eye him.
Pis. Madam, so I did.
Imo. I would have broke mine eye-strings ; crack' d
them, but
To look upon him ; till the diminution
Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle :
Nay, follow'd him, till he had melted from
The smallness of a gnat to air ; and then
Have turn'd mine eye, and wept. — But, good
Pisanio,
When shall we hear from him ?
Pis. Be assur'd, madam.
With his next 'vantage. ^
Imo. I did not take my leave of him, but had
Most pretty things to say : ere I could tell liim.
How I would think on him, at certain hours.
Such thoughts, and such; or I could make him swear
3 To understand the force of this idea, it should be remem-
bered that anciently almost every sign had a motto, or some
attempt at a witticism underneath it.
* Opportunity.
Scene V,
CYMBEIJNE.
735
I
The slies of Italy should not betray
Mine interest, and his honour ; or liave charg'd him,
At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight,
To encounter me with orisons *, for then
I am in heaven for him : or ere I could
Give him that parting kiss, which I had set
Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father,
And, like the tyrannous breathing of the north,
Shakes all our buds from growing.
Enter a Lady.
Lady. The queen, madam.
Desires your highness' company.
lino. Those things I bid you do, get ihcm de-
spatch'd. —
I will attend the queen.
Pis. Madam, I shall.
, ■ [_Exeunt.
SCENE V. — An Apartment in Philario'5
House.
Enter Fhilario, Iachimo, a Frenchman, a Dutch-
man, awl a Spaniard.
lack. Believe it, sir : I have seen him in Britain :
he was tlien of a crescent note*, expected to prove
so worthy, as since he hath been allowed the name
of: but I could then have looked on him without
the help of admiration ; though the catalogue of his
endowments had been tabled by his side, and I to
peruse him by items.
Phi. You speak of him when he was less fur-
nished, than now he is, with that which makes him
both without and within.
French. I have seen him in France : we had very
many there, could behold the sun with as firm eyes
as he.
Inch. This matter of marrying his king's daugh-
ter, (wherein he must be weighed rather by her value,
than his own,) words him, I doubt not, a great deal
from the matter.
French. And then his banishment : — —
lach. Ay, and the approbation of those, that
weep tliis lamentable divorce, under her colours, are
wonderfully to extend 7 him ; be it but to fortify her
judgment, which else an easy battery might lay flat,
for taking a beggar without more quality. But how
comes it, he is to sojourn witli you ? How creeps
acquaintance?
Phi. His father and I were soldiers together ; to
whom I have been often bound for no less than my
life:
Enter Posthumus.
Here comes the Briton : Let him be so entertained
amongst you, as suits with gentlemen of your
knowing, to a stranger of his quality. — I beseech
you all, be better known to this gentleman ; whom
I commend to you, as a noble friend of mine : How
worthy he is, I will leave to appear hereafter, rather
than story him in his own hearing.
French' Sir, we have known together in Orleans.
Post. Since when I have been debtor to you for
courtesies, which I will be ever to pay, and yet pay
still.
French. Sir, you o'er-rate my poor kindness : I
was glad I did atone 8 my countryman and you ; it
had been pity, you should liave been put together
* Meet me with reciprocal prayer. •> Increasing in fame.
7 Piaisehim. ^ Reconcile.
with so mortal a purpose, as then each bore, upon
importance 9 of so slight and trivial a nature.
Post. By your pardon, sir, I was then a young
traveller : rather shunn'd to go even with wliat I
lieard. than in my every action to be guided by
otliers' experiences : but, upon my mended judg-
ment, if I offend not to say it is mended,) my
quarrel was not all altogether slight.
French. 'Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitremcnt
of swords ; and by such two, tliat would, by all
likelihood, have confounded ' one the other, or have
fallen both.
lach. Can we, with manners, ask what was the
diHcrence ?
French. Safely, I think : 'twas a contention in
publitk, which may, without contradiction, suffer
the report. It was much like an argument that fell
out last night, where each of us fell in praise of our
country mistresses : This gentleman at that time
vouching, (and upon warrant of bloody affirmation,)
his to be more fair, virtuous, wise, chaste, constant,
qualified, and less attemptable, than any the rarest
of our ladies in France.
lach. That lady is not now living ; or this gen-
tleman's opinion, by this, worn out.
Post. She holds her virtue still, and I my mind.
lach. You must not so far prefer her 'fore ours
of Italy.
Post. Being so far provoked as I was in France,
I would abate her nothing ; though I profess myself
her adorer, not her friend. ■*
lach. As fair, and as good, (a kind of hand-in-
hand comparison, ) had been something too fair, and
too good, for any lady in Britany. If she went be-
fore others I have seen, as that diamond of yours
out-lustres many I have beheld, I could not but
believe she excelled many : but I have not seen tlie
most precious diamond that is, nor you the lady.
Post. I praised her, as I rated her: so do I my
stone.
lach. What do you esteem it at ?
Post. More than the world enjoys.
lach. Eitlier your un paragoned mistress is dead,
or slie's outpriz'd by a trifle.
Post. You are mistaken : the one may be sold,
or given : if there were wealth enough for the pur-
chase, or merit for the gift : the other is not a thing
for sale, and only the gift of the gods.
lach. Which the gods have given you ?
Post. Which, by their graces, I will keep.
lach. You may wear her in title yours : but, you
know, strange fowl light upon neighbouring ponds.
Your ring niay be stolen too : so, of your brace of
unprizeable estimations, the one is but frail, and the
other casual ; a cunning thief, or a that-way accom-
plished courtier, would hazard the winning both of
first and last.
Post. Your Italy contains none so accomplished
a courtier, to convince ' the honour of my mistress ;
if, in the holding or loss of that, you term her frail.
I do nothing doubt, you have store of thieves ; not-
withstanding I fear not my ring.
Phi. I^et us leave here, gentlemen.
Post. Sir, with all my heart. ITiis worthy sig-
nior, I thank him, makes no stranger of me ; we
are familiar at first.
lach. With five times so much conversation, I
should get ground of your fair mistress : make her
9 Instigation.
' Lover.
' Destroyed.
• Overcome.
736
CYMBELINE.
go back, even to the yielding; had I admittance,
and opportunity to friend.
Post. No, no.
lach. I dare, thereon, pawn the moiety of my
estate to your ring ; which, in my opinion, o'er-
values it something : But I make my wager rather
against your confidence, than her reputation : and,
to bar your offence herein too, I durst attempt it
against any lady in the world.
Post. You are a great deal abused in too bold a
persuasion j and I doubt not you sustain what you're
worthy of, by your attempt.
lack. What's that?
Post. A repulse : Though your attempt, as you
call it, deserve more ; a punishment too.
Phi. Gentlemen, enough of this : it came in too
suddenly ; let it die as it was born, and, 1 pray you,
be better acquainted.
lach. 'Would I had put my estate, and my
neighbour's, on the approbation ^ of what I have
spoke.
Post. What lady would you choose to assail ?
lach. Yours; whom in constancy, you think,
stands so safe. 1 will lay you ten thousand ducats
to your ring, that, commend me to the court where
your lady is, with no more advantage than the op-
portunity of a second conference, and I will bring
from thence that honour of hers, which you imagine
so reserved.
Post. I will wage against your gold, gold to it :
my ring I hold dear as my finger ; 'tis part of it.
lach. You are a friend, and therein the wiser.
Post. This is but a custom in your tongue : you
bear a graver purpose, I hope.
lach. I am the master of my speeches ; and would
undergo what's spoken, I swear.
Post. Will you ? — I shall but lend my diamond
till your return : — Let there be covenants drawn
between us : My mistress exceeds in goodness the
hugeness of your unworthy thinking : I dare you
to this match : here's my ring.
Phi. I will have it no lay.
lach. By the gods it is one : — If I bring you no
sufficient testimony that I have enjoyed your mis-
tress, my ten thousand ducats are yours ; so is your
diamond too. If I come ofl^, and leave her in such
honour as you have trust in, she your jewel, this
your jewel, and my gold are yours : — provided, I
have your commendation &, for my more free enter-
tainment.
Post. I embrace these conditions ; let us have
articles betwixt us : — only, thus far you shall an-
swer. If you make your voyage, and give me di-
rectly to understand you have prevailed, I am no
further your enemy, she is not worth our debate :
if she remain unseduced, (you not making it a[)pear
otherwise,) for your ill opinion, and the assault you
have made to her chastity, you shall answer me with
your sword.
lach. Your hand ; a covenant : We will have
these things set down by lawful counsel, and straight
away for Britain ; lest the bargain should catch cold,
and starve : I will fetch my gold, and have our two
wagers recorded.
Post. Agreed.
[Exeunt Posthumus and Iachimo.
French. Will this hold, think you ?
Phi. Signior Iachimo will not from it. Pray let
us follow 'em. [Exeunt.
* Proot. 5 Recommendation.
Act I
SCENE VI. — Britain. A Room m Cymbeline's
Palace.
Enter Queen, Ladies, and Cornelius.
Queen. Whiles yet the dew's on ground, gathei
those flowers;
Make haste : Who has the note of them ?
1 Ladi/. I, madam.
Queen. Despatch. [Exeunt Ladies.
Now, master doctor; have you brought those drugs ?
Cor. Pleaseth your highness, ay ; here they are,
madam : [Presenting a small Box.
But I beseech your grace, (without offence ;
My conscience bids me ask ;) wherefore you have
Commanded of me these most poisonous compounds.
Which are the movers of a languishing death ;
But, though slow, deadly ?
Queen. I do wonder, doctor.
Thou ask'st me such a question : Have I not been
Thy pupil long ? Hast thou not learn'd me how
To make perfumes ? distil ? preserve ? yea, so,
That our great king himself doth woo me oft
For my confections ? Having thus far proceeded,
(Unless thou think'st me devilish,) is't not meet
That I did amplify my judgment in
Other conclusions ? 6 I will try the forces
Of these thy compounds on such creatures as
We count not worth the hanging, (but none human,)
To try the vigour of them, and apply
Allayments to their act; and by them gather
Their several virtues, and eflTects.
Cor. Your highness
Shall from this practice but make hard your heart :
Besides, the seeing these effects will be
Both noisome and infectious.
Queen. O, content thee. —
Enter Pisanio.
Here comes a flattering rascal ; upon him [Aside.
Will I first work : he's for his master.
And enemy to my son. — How now, Pisanio ? —
Doctor, your service for this time is ended ;
Take your own way.
Cor. I do suspect you, madam ;
But you shall do no harm. [Aside.
Queen. Hark thee, a word. —
[To Pisanio.
Cor. [Aside.} I do not like her. She doth think,
she has
Strange lingering poisons : I do know her spirit.
And will not trust one of her malice with
A drug of such a nature : Tliose she has.
Will stupify and dull the sense awhile :
Which first, perchance, she'll prove on cats and dogs;
Then afterward up higher ; but there is
No danger in what show of death it makes.
More than the locking up the spirits a time.
To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd
With a most false eflfect ; and I the truer.
So to be false with her.
Queen. No further service, doctor.
Until I send for thee.
Cor. I humbly take my leave.
[Eait.
Queen. Weeps she still, say'st thou ? Dost thou
think, in time
She will not quench ; and let instructions enter
Where folly now possesses ? Do thou work ;
When thou shalt bring me word, she loves my son,
6 Experiments.
I
Scene VII.
CYMBELINE.
737
k
I'll tell thee, on the instant, thou art then
As great as is thy master : greater ; for
His fortunes all lie speechless, and his name
Is at last grasp : Return he cannot, nor
Continue where he is : to shift his being 7,
Is to exchange one misery witli another ;
And every day, that comes, coines to decay
A day's work in him : What shalt thou expect,
To be depender on a thing that leans ?
"Who cannot be new built ; nor has no friends,
\_The Queen drops n Box : Pisa Nib takes it rip.
So much as but to prop him ? — Tliou tak'st up
Thou know'st not what ; but take it for thy labour :
It is a thing I made, which hath the king
Five times redeem'd from deqth : I do not know
What is more cordial : — Nay, I pr'ythee, take it ;
It is an earnest of a further good
That I mean to thee. Tell tJiy mistress how
The case stands with her ; do't, as from thyself.
Tljink what a chance thou changest on ; but think
Thou hast thy mistress, still ; to boot, my son.
Who shall take notice of thee : I'll move the king
To any shape of thy preferment, such
As thou'lt desire ; and then myself, I chiefly,
That set thee on to this desert, am bound
To load thy merit richly. Call my women ;
Think on my words. [Exit Pisa.] — A sly and
constant knave ;
Not to be shak'd : the agent for his master ;
And the remembrancer of her, to hold
The hand fast to her lord. — I have given him that,
Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her
Of Hegers for her sweet ; and which she, after.
Except she bend her humour, shall be assur'd
Re-enter Pisanio and Ladies.
To taste of too. — So, so ; — well done, well done :
The violets, cowslips, and the primroses.
Bear to my closet : — Fare thee well, Pisanio ;
Think on my words. [Exeunt Queen and Ladies.
Pis. And shall do :
But when to my good lord I prove untnie,
I'll choke myself: there's all I'll do for you.
[ExU.
SCENE VII Another Room in the same.
Enter Imogen.
Tmo. A father cruel, and a step-dame false ;
A foolish suitor to a wedded lady,
Tliat hath her husband banish'd ; — O, that hus-
band!
My supreme crown of grief ! and those repeated
Vexations of it ! Had I been thief-stolen.
As my two brothers, happy ! but most miserable
Is the desire that's glorious; Blessed be those,
How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills,
Which seasons comfort. — Who may this be ? Fye !
Enter Pisanio and Iachimo.
Pis. Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome ;
Comes from my lord with letters.
lack. Change you, madam ?
The worthy Leonatus is in safety,
And greets your highness dearly.
[Presents a Letter.
Imo. Thanks, good sir :
You are kindly welcome.
lach. All of her, that is out of door, most rich !
[Aside.
7 To change his abode.
If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare.
She is alone the Arabian bird ; and I
Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend!
Arm me, audacity, from head to foot !
Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight ;
Rather, directly fly.
Imo. [Reads.] — He is one of the noblest note, to
whose kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Reflect
upon him accordingly, as you value your truest
Leonatus.
So far I read aloud :
But even the very middle of my heart
Is warm'd by the rest, and takes it tliankfully.
You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I
Have words to bid you ; and shall find it so,
In all that I can do.
lach. Thanks, fairest lady. —
What ! are men mad ? Hath nature given them eyes
To see this vaulted arch, and the ricli crop
Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt
The fiery orbs above, and the twinn'd stones
Upon the number'd beach ? and can we not
Partition make with spectacles so precious
'Twixt fair and foul ?
Imo. What makes your admiration ?
lach. It cannot be i' the eye ; for apes and mon-
keys,
'Twixt two such shes, would chatter this way, and
Contemn with mows 8 the other : Nor i* the judg»
ment ;
For idiots in this case of favour, would
Be wisely definite.
Imo. What is't, dear sir,
Thus raps you ? Are you well ?
lach. Thanks, madam; well: — 'Beseech you,
sir, desire [To Pisanio.
My man's abode where I did leave him : he
Is strange and peevish. 9
Fis. I was going, sir,
To give him welcome. [Exit Pisanio.
Imo. Continues well my lord ? His health 'be-
seech you?
lach. Well, madam.
Imo. Is he dispos'd to mirth ? I hope he is.
lach. Exceeding pleasant ; none a stranger there
So merry and so gamesome : he is call'd
The Briton reveller.
Imo. WTien he was here,
He did incline to sadness ; and oft-times
Not knowing why.
lach. I never saw him sad.
There is a Frenchman his companion, one
An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves
A Gallian girl at home : he furnaces
The thick sighs from him ; whiles the jolly Briton
(Your lord, I mean,) laughs from's free lungs,
cries 01
Can my sides hold, to think, that man, — who knotos
By history, report, or his oum proof,
What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose
But m ust be, — will his free hours languish for
Assur'd bondage ?
Imo. Will my lord say so ?
lach. Ay, madam ; with his eyes in flood with
laughter.
It is a recreation to be by,
And hear him mock the Frenchman : But, heavens
know,
Some men are much to blame.
* Making moutht. • Shy and foolish.
SB
738
CYMBELINE.
Act I.
Imo. Not he, I hope.
lach. Not he : But yet heaven's bounty towards
him might
Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much
In you, — which I count his, beyond all talents, —
Wliilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound
To pity too.
Imo. What do you pity, sir ?
laclu Two creatures, heartily.
Imo. Am I one, sir?
You look on me : What wreck discern you in me.
Deserves your pity ?
lack. Lamentable! What!
To hide me from the radiant sun, and solace
I' the dungeon by a snuff'?
Imo. I pray you, sir,
Deliver with more openness your answers
To my demands. Why do you pity me ?
lach. Tliat others do,
I was about to say, enjoy your But
It is an office of the gods to 'venge it,
Not mine to speak on't.
Imo. You do seem to know
Something of me, or what concerns me : 'Pray you
(Since doubting things go ill often hurts more
Than to be sure they do : For certainties
Either are past remedies ; or, timely knowing,
The remedy then born,) discover to me
Wliat both you spur and stop.^
lach. Had I this cheek
To bathe my lips upon ; this hand, whose touch.
Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul
To the oath of loyalty ; this object, which
Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,
Fixing it only here : should I then join
With hands made hard with hourly falsehood,
(With falsehood as with labour,) it were fit
That all the plagues of hell should at one time
Encounter such revolt.
Imo. My lord, I fear,
Has forgot Britain.
lach. And himself. Not I,
Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce
The beggary of his change ; but 'tis your graces
That, from my mutest conscience, to my tongue,
Charms this report out.
Imo. Let me hear no more.
lach. O dearest soul ! your cause doth strike my
heart
With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady
So fair, and fasten'd to an empery 3,
Would make the great'st king double ! to be part-
ner'd
With tomboys, hir'd with that self-exhibition 4
Which your own coffers yield ! O be reveng'd ;
Or she, that bore you, was no queen, and you
Recoil from your great stock.
Imo. Reveng'd !
How should I be reveng'd ? If this be true,
(As I have such a heart, that both mine ears
Must not in haste abuse,) if it be true.
How should I be reveng'd ?
lach. ~ Should he make me
Live like Diana's priest ? Revenge it, lady !
I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure j
More noble than that runagate to your bed ;
And will continue fast to your affection.
Still close, as sure.
2 What you seem anxious to utter, and yet withhold
3 Sovereign command. < Allowance, pension.
Imo. What ho, Pisanio !
lach. Let me my service tender on your lips.
Imo. Away ! — I do condemn mine ears, that liave
So long attended thee. — If thou wert honourable.
Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not
For such an end thou seek'st ; as base, as strange.
Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far
From thy report, as thou from honour ; and
Solicit'st here a lady, that disdains
Thee and the devil alike. — What ho, Pisanio ' — .
The king my father shall be made acquainted
Of thy assault : if he shall think it fit,
A saucy stranger in his court, to mart
As in a Roman stew, he hath a court
He little cares for, and a daughter whom
He not respects at all. — What ho, — Pisanio !
lach. O happy Leonatus ! I may say ;
The credit that thy lady hath of thee.
Deserves thy trust ; and thy most perfect goodness
Her assur'd credit ! — Blessed live you long !
A lady to the worthiest sir, that ever
Country call'd his ! and you, his mistress, only
For the most worthiest fit ! Give me your pardon.
I have spoke this, to know if your affiance
Were deeply rooted ; and shall make your lord,
That which he is new o'er : And he is one
The truest manner'd ; such a holy witch,
That he enchants societies unto him :
Half all men's hearts are his.
Imo. You make amends.
lach. He sits 'mongst men, like a descended god :
He hath a kind of honour sets him off".
More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry.
Most mighty princess, that I have adventur'd
To try your taking of a false report ; which hath
Honour'd with confirmation your great judgment
In the election of a sir so rare.
Which you know, cannot err : The love I bear him
Made me to fan ^ you thus ; but the gods made
you,
Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your pardon.
Imo. All's well, sir : Take my power i'the court
for yours.
Inch. My humble thanks. I had almost forgot
To entreat your grace but in a small request,
And yet of moment too, for it concerns
Your lord ; myself, and other noble friends.
Are partners in the business.
Imo. Pray, what is't ?
lach. Some dozen Romans of us, and your lord,
(The best feather of our wing) have mingled sums.
To buy a present for the emperor ;
Which I, the factor for the rest, have done
In France : 'Tis plate of rare device ; and jewels.
Of rich and exquisite form : their values great ;
And I am something curious, being strange.
To have them in safe stowage ; May it please you
To take them in protection ?
Imo. Willingly ;
And pawn mine honour for their safety : since
My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them
In my bed-chamber.
lach. They are in a trunk.
Attended by my men : I will make bold
To send them to you only for this night :
I must aboard to-morrow.
Imo. O, no, no.
lach. Yes, I beseech ; or I shall short my word,
By lengthening my return. From Gallia
* To fan, is to winnow.
Act II. Scene I.
CYMBELINE.
I cross'd the soas on purpose, and on promise
To see your grace.
iT/no. I thank you for your pains
But not away to-morrow.
I<u:h. O, I must, madam :
Therefore, I shall beseech you, if you please
To greet your lord with writing, do't to-night :
■39
I Jiavc outstood my time ; wliicJj is material
To the tender of our present.
Irno. I will write.
Send your trunk to me ! it shall safe be kept,
And truly yielded you : You are very welcome.
\_ExeMnt.
ACT II.
SCENE I. — Court before Cymbeline's Palace.
Enter Cloten, and two Lords.
Clo. Was there ever man had such luck ? when
I kissed the jack upon an up-cast «, to be hit away !
I had a hundred pound on't : And then a jack-
anapes must take me up for swearing ; as if I bor-
rowed mine oaths of him, and might not spend them
at my pleasure.
1 Lord. What got he by that ? You have broke
liis pate with your bowl.
2 Lord. If his wit had been like him that broke
it, it would have ran all out. [Aside.
Clo. When a gentleman is disposed to swear, it
is not for any standers-by to curtail his oaths:
Ha?
2 Lord. No, my lord; nor [Aside."] crop the ears
of them.
Clo. I give him satisfaction ? — 'Would he had
been one of my rank !
2 Lord. To have smelt like a fool. [Aside.
Clo. I am not more vex'd at any thing in the
earth : I had rather not be so noble as I am ; they
dare not fight with me, because of the queen my
mother: every jack-slave hath his belly full of
figliting, and I must go up and down like a cock
tliat nobody can match.
1 Lord. It is not fit your lordship should under-
take every companion that you give offence to.
Clo. No, I know that : but it is fit, I should
commit oflfence to my inferiors.
2 Lord. Ay, it is fit for your lordship only.
Clo. Why, so I say.
1 Lord. Did you hear of a stranger that's come
to court to-night?
Clo. A stranger ! and I know not on't !
2 Lord. He's a strange fellow himself, and knows
>t not. [Aside.
1 Lord. There's an Italian come ; and, 'tis
tliought, one of Leonatus' friends.
Clo. Leonatus ! a banish'd rascal ; and he's an-
other, whatsoever he be. Who told you of tliis
stranger ?
1 Lord. One of your lordship's pages.
Clo. Is it fit, I went to look upon him ? Is there
no derogation in't ?
1 Lord. You cannot derogate, my lord.
C7o. Not easily, I think.
2 Lord. You are a fool granted ; therefore your
issues being foolish, do not derogate. [Aside.
Clo. Come, I'll go see this Italian : What I have
lost to-day at bowls, I'll win to-night of him. Come,
go-
2 Lord. I'll attend your lordship.
[Exeunt Clotkn and Jirst Lord.
« He is describing his fate at bowls, the jack is the small
bowl at which the others arc aimed.
That such a crafty devil as is his mother
Should yield the world this ass ! a woman, that
Bears all down with her brain ; and this her son
Cannot take two from twenty for his heart,
And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess.
Thou divine Imogen, what thou endur'st !
Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govem'd ;
A mother hourly coining plots ; a wooer
More hateful than the foul expulsion is
Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act
Of the divorce he'd make ! The heavens hold firm
The walls of thy dear honour ; keep unshak'd
That temple, thy fair mind ; that thou mayst sUuid,
To enjoy thy banish'd lord, and this great land !
[Exit.
SCENE II. — A Bed-chamber i in one Pari of it
a Trunk.
Imogen reading in her Bed ; a Lady attending.
Imo. Who's there ? my woman Helen ?
Ladi/. Please you, madam.
Imo. What hour is it ?
Lady. Almost midnight, madam.
Imo. I have read three hours, then : mine eyes
are weak : —
Fold down the leaf where I have left : To bed ;
Take not away the taper, leave it burning ;
And if thou canst awake by four o'the clock,
I pr'ythee, call me. Sleep hath seiz'd me wJioIly.
[Exit Lady.
To your protection I commend me, gods !
From fairies, and the tempters of the night,
Guard me, beseech ye !
[Sleeps.^ Iachimo, /rom the Trunk.
lach. The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd
sense
Renairs itself by rest : Our Tarquin thus
Did softly press the rushes 7, ere he waken'd
The chastity he wounded. — Cytherea,
How bravely thou becom'st thy bed ! fresli lily !
And whiter than the sheets ! that I might touch .'
But kiss ; one kiss ! — Rubies unparagon'd,
How dearly they do't! — 'Tis her breathing that
Perfumes the chamber thus : The flame o'the taj>er
Bows toward her ; and would under-peep her lids.
To see the enclosed lights, now canopied
Under these windows : White and azure, lac'd
With blue of heaven's own tinct.*" — But my design ?
To note the chamber : — I will write all down :
Such and such pictures : — There the window : —
Such
The adornment of her bed ; — The arras figures,
Why, such, and such : — And the contents o'tlie
story, —
? It was anciently the custom to strew chamltcrs with rusheat
" t. e. The white t^kin laced with blue veins.
3 B 2
7td
CYMBELINE.
Act II.
Ah, but some natural notes about her body,
Above ten thousand meaner moveables
Would testify, to enrich mine inventory :
O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her !
And be her sense but as a monument,
Thus in a chapel lying ! — Come off, come off: —
[Talcing of her Bracelet.
As slippery, as the Gordian Icnot w^as hard !
'Tis mine ; and this will witness outwardly.
As strongly as the conscience does within.
To the madding of her lord. On her left breast
A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
I' the bottom of a cowslip : Here's a voucher,
Stronger than ever law could make : this secret
Will force him think I have prevail'd, and ta'en
The treasure of her honour. No more. — To what
end ?
Why should I write this down, that's riveted,
Screw'd to my memory ? She hath been reading late
The tale of Tereus ; here the leaf's turn'd down.
Where Philomel gave up ; — I have enough :
To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it.
Swift, swift, you dragons of the night ! — that
dawning
May bare the raven's eye : I lodge in fear ;
Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.
[Clock strikes.
One, two, three, — Tiine, time !
[Goes into the I'runk. The Scene closes.
SCENE III. — All Ante -chamber adjoining Imo-
gen's Apartment.
Enter Cloten and Lords.
1 Lord. Your lordship is the most patient man in
loss, the most coldest that ever turn'd up ace.
Clo. It would make any man cold to lose.
1 Lord. But not every man patient, after the
noble temper of your lordship : You are most hot,
and furious, when you win.
Clo. Winning would put any man into courage :
If I could get this foolish Imogen, I should have
gold enough : It's almost morning, is't not ?
1 Lord. Day, my lord.
Clo. I would this musick would come: I am
advised to give her musick o'the mornings; they
say, it will penetrate.
Enter Musicians.
Come on ; tune : If you can penetrate her with
your fingering, so ; we'll try vvdth tongue too : if
none will do, let her remain ; but I'll never give
o'er. First, a very excellent good conceited thing :
after a v/onderful sweet air, with admirable rich
words to it, — and then let her consider.
SONG.
Haik ! hark ! the lark at heaverCs gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gifts arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chalicd ^ jlowers that lies :
And winking Mary -buds begin
To ope their golden eyes ;
With every thing that pretty bin :
My lady sweet, arise ;
Arise, arise.
So, get you gone : If this penetrate, I will consider
your musick the better ' : if it do not, it is a vice in
9 Cups. • Will pay you more for it.
her ears, which horse-hairs, and cat-guts, can never
amend. [Exeunt Musicians.
Enter Cymbeline and Queen.
2 Lord. Here comes the king.
Clo. I am glad, I was up so late ; for that's the
reason I was up so early ; He cannot choose but
take this service I have done, fatherly. — Good
morrow to your majesty, and to my gracious mother.
Cym. Attend you here the door of our stem
daughter ?
Will she not forth ?
Clo. I have assailed her with musick, but sh
vouchsafes no notice.
Cym. The exile of her minion is too new ;
She hath not yet forgot him : some more time
Must wear the print of his remembrance out,
And then she's yours.
Queen. You are most bound to the king j
Who let's go by no 'vantages, that may
Prefer you to his daughter : Frame yourself
To orderly solicits ; and be friended
With aptness of the season : make denials
Increase your services : so seem, as if
You were inspir'd to do those duties which
You tender to her : that you in all obey her.
Save when command to your dismission tends.
And therein you are senseless.
Clo. Senseless ? not so.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome;
The one is Caius Lucius.
Cym. A worthy fellow,
Albeit he comes on angiy purpose now ;
But that's no fault of his : We must receive him
According to the honour of his sender ;
And towards himself his goodness forespent on us
We must extend our notice. — Our dear son.
When you have given good morning to your mistress,
Attend the queen, and us ; we shall have need
To employ you towards this Roman. — Come, oiu*
queen.
[Exeunt Cym. Queen, Lords, and Mess.
Clo. If she be up, I'll speak with her ; if not.
Let her lie still, and dream. — By your leave, ho ! —
[JCnocks.
I know her women are about her : What
If I do line one of their hands ? *Tis gold
Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes
Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up
Their deer to the stand of the stealer ; and 'tis gold
Which makes the true man kill'd, and saves the thief;
Nay, sometime, hangs both thief and true man : What
Can it not do, and undo ? I will make
One of her women lawyer to me ; for
I yet not understand the case myself.
By your leave. [ITnocks-
Enter a Lady.
Lady. Who's there, that knocks ?
Clo. A gentleman.
Lady. No more ?
Clo. Yes, and a gentlewoman's son.
Lady. ^ That's more
Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours.
Can justly boast of; What's your lordship's pleasure ?
Clo. Your lady's person ; is she ready ?
Lady. Ay,
To keep her chamben
Scene III.
CYMBELINE.
741
Clo. There's gold for you; sell me your good
report.
"Lady. How ! my good name ? or to report of you
What I shall think is good ? — The princess —
Enter Imogen.
Clo. Good-morrow, fairest sister : Your swiet
hand.
hno. Good-morrow, sir : You lay out too much
pains
For purchasing but trouble : the thanks I give.
Is telling you tliat I am poor of thanks,
And scarce can spare them,
Clo. Still, I swear, I love you.
I mo. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me:
If you swear still, your recompence is still
That I regard it not.
Clo. This is no answer.
Ifyw. But that you shall not say I yield, being
silent,
I would not speak. I pray you, spare me,
I shall unfold equal discourtesy
To your best kindness ; one of your great knowing
Should learn, being taught, forbearance.
Clo. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin :
I will not.
Tmo, Fools are not mad folks.
Clo. Do you call me fool ?
Imo. As I am mad, I do ;
If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad ;
That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir.
You put me to forget a lady's manners,
By being so verbal ^ : and learn now, for all,
That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce,
By the very truth of it, I care not for you j
And am so near the lack of charity,
(To accuse myself,) I hate you : which I had rather
You felt, than make't my boast.
Clo. You sin against
Obedience, which you owe your father. For
The contract you pretend with that base wretch,
(One, bred of alms, and foster'd with cold dishes,
With scraps o'the court,) it is no contract, none :
And though it be allow 'd in meaner parties,
( Yet who, than he, more mean ?) to knit their souls
( On whom there is no more dependency
But brats and beggary) in self-figur d knots :
Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by
The consequence o' the crown ; and must not soil
The precious note of it with a base slave,
A hilding *• for a livery, a squire's cloth,
A pan tier, not so eminent.
Imo. Profane fellow !
Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more,
But what thou art, besides, thou wert too base
To \)c his groom : thou wert dignified enough.
Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made
Comparative for your virtues, to be styl'd
The under-hangman of his kingdom ; and hated
For being preferr'd so well.
Clo. The south-fog rot him !
Imo. He never can meet more mischance, than
come
To be but nam'd of thee. His meanest garment,
That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer,
In my respect, tlian all the hairs above thee.
Were they all made such men — How now, Pisanio ?
' So vcrbosp, so full of talk. 3 Knots of their own tying.
* A low fellow only fit to wear a livery.
Eiiter Pisanio.
Clo. His garment ? Now, the devil —
Imo. To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently: —
Clo. His garment ?
Imo. I am sprighted * with a fool ;
Frighted, and angcr'd worse ; — Go, bid my woman
Search for a jewel, that too casually
Math left mine arm ; it was thy master's : 'shrew mc.
If I would lose it for a revenue
Of any king's in Europe. I do think,
I saw't this morning : confident I am
Last night 'twas on mine arm ; I kiss'd it :
I hope, it be not gone, to tell my lord
That I kiss aught but he.
Pis. 'Twill not be lost.
Imo. I hope so ; go, and search. [Exit Pis.
Clo. You have abus'd me : —
His meanest garment ?
Imo. Ay ; I said so, sir.
If you will make't an action, call witness to't.
Clo. I will inform your father.
Imo. Your mother too :
She's my good lady ; and will conceive, I hope,
But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir.
To the worst of discontent. [Exit.
Clo. I'll be reveng'd : —
His meanest garment ? — Well. [Exit.
SCENE IV.
Rome. An Apartment in Phi-
lario's House.
Enter Posthumus a7id Philario.
Post. Fear it not, sir : I would, I were so sure
To win the king, as I am bold, her honour
Will remain hers.
Phi. What means do you make to him ?
Post. Not any ; but abide the change of time ;
Quake in the present winter's state, and wish
That warmer days would come : In these fear'd
hopes,
I barely gratify your love ; they failing,
I must die much your debtor.
Phi. Your very goodness, and your company
O'erpays all I can do. By this, your king
Hath heard of great Augustus : Caius Lucius
Will do his commission thoroughly : And, I think.
He'll grant the tribute, send the an-earages.
Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance
Is yet fresh in tlieir grief.
Post. I do believe,
(Statist 6 though I am none, nor like to be,)
That this will prove a war ; and you shall hear
The legions, now in Gallia, sooner landed
In our not-fearing Britain, than liave tidings
Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen
Are men more order'd, than when Julius Ca?sar
Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their courage
Worthy his frowning at : Their discipline
(Now mingled with their courages) will make known
To their approvers 7, they are people, such
That mend upon the world.
Enter Iachimo.
Phi. See ! Iachimo ?
Post. The swiftest harts have posted you l)y land :
And winds of all the comers kiss'd your sails,
To make your vessel nimble.
Phi. Welcome, sir.
6 Haunted. « Statesmen. ' To those who try them.
3 B 3
74-2
CYMBELINE.
Act II.
Post. I hope, the briefness of your answer made
The speediness of your return.
lack. Your lady
Is one the fairest that I have look'd upon.
l^ost. And therewithal, the best ; or let her beauty
Look through a casement to allure false hearts,
And be false with them.
lack. Here are letters for you.
Post. Their tenour good, I trust.
lack. 'Tis very like.
Phi. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court,
When you were there ?
lack. He was expected then.
But not approach'd.
Post. AH is well yet. —
Sparkles this stone as it was wont ? or is't not
Too dull for your good wearing ?
lack. If I had lost it,
I should have lost the worth of it in gold.
I'll make a journey twice as far, to enjoy
What was in Britain mine. The ring is won.
Post. The stone's too hard to come by.
lack. Not a whit,
Your lady being so easy.
Post. Make not, sir,
Your loss your sport ; I hope, you know that we
Must not continue friends.
lach. Good sir, we must.
If you keep covenant : Had I not brought
The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant
We were to question further : but I now
Profess myself the winner of her honour.
Together with your ring ; and not the wronger
Of her, or you, having proceeded but
By both your wills.
Post. If you can make't apparent.
The ring is yours : If not, the foul opinion
You had of her pure honour, gains, or loses.
Your sword, or mine ; or masterless leaves both
To who shall find them.
lach. Sir, my circumstances,
Being so near the truth, as I will make them,
Must first induce you to believe : whose strength
I will confirm with oath ; which, 1 douTit not,
You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall find
You need it not.
Post. Proceed.
lack. First, her bed-chamber,
(Where, I confess, I slept not ;) It was hang'd
With tapestry of silk and silver : the story
Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman,
And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for
The press of boats, or pride : A piece of work
So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive
In workmanship, and value ; which, I wonder'd
Could be so rarely and exactly wrought,
Since the true life on't was —
Post. This is true ;
And this you might have heard of here, by me,
Or by some other.
lach. More particulars
Must justify my knowledge.
Post. So they must,
Or do your honour injury.
lack. The chimney
Is south the chamber ; and the chimney-piece.
Chaste Dian, bathing : never saw I figures
So likely to report themselves : the cutter
Was as another nature, dumb ; outwent her.
Motion and breath left out.
Post. Tl)is is a thing,
Which you might from relation likewise reap ;
Being, as it is, much spoke of.
lack. The roof o' the chamber
With golden cherubins is fretted : Her andirons ^
(I had forgot them,) were two winking Cupids
Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely
Depending on their brands.
Post. This is her honour ! —
Let it be granted, you have seen all this, (and praise
Be given to your remembrance,) the description
Of what is in her chamber, nothing saves
The wager you have laid.
lack. Then if you can,
[Pulling out the Bracelet.
Be pale ; I beg but leave to air this jewel : See ! —
And now 'tis up again : It must be married
To that your diamond ; I'll keep them.
Post. Jove ! —
Once more let me behold it : Is it that
Which I left with her ?
lack. Sir, (I thank her,) that:
She stripp'd it from her arm ; I see her yet ;
Her pretty action did outsell her gift.
And yet enrich'd it too : She gave it me, and said.
She priz'd it once.
Post. May be, she pluck'd it off.
To send it me.
lack. She writes so to you ? doth she ?
Post. O, no, no, no j 'tis true. Here, take this
too; [Gives t/te Eing.
It is a basilisk unto mine eye.
Kills me to look on *t : — Let there be no honour.
Where there is beauty ; truth, where semblance ;
love.
Where there's another man : The vows of women
Of no more bondage be, to where they are made.
Than they are to their virtues j which is nothing : —
O, above measure false !
Pki. Have patience, sir.
And take your ring again ; 'tis not yet won ;
It may be probable, she lost it ; or,
Who knows, if one of her women, being corrupted.
Hath stolen it from her ?
Post. Very true ;
And so, I hope, he came by't : — Back my ring ; —
Render to me some corporal sign about her.
More evident than this : for this was stolen.
lack. By Jupiter, I had it from her arm.
Post. Hark you, he swears ; by Jupiter he swears.
'Tis true; — nay, keep the ring — 'tis true: lam
sure,
She would not lose it : her attendants are
All sworn and honourable : — They induc'd to
steal it !
And by a stranger ? — No, he hath enjoy'd her.
There, take thy hire : and all the fiends of hell
Divide themselves between you !
Phi. Sir, be patient :
This is not strong enough to be believ'd
Of one persuaded well of
Post. Never talk on't.
lack. If you seek
For further satisfying, under her breast
(Worthy the pressing,) lies a mole, right proud
Of that most delicate lodging : You remember
This stain upon her?
Post. Ay, and it doth confirm
8 Ornamented iron bars which support wood burnt in
chimneys.
Act III. Scene I.
CYMBELINE.
7i3
Another stain, as big as hell can hold,
Were there no more but it.
Inch. Will you hear more ?
Post. Spare your arithmetick.
lack. I'll be sworn,
Post. No swearing.
If you will swear you have not done't, you lie ;
And I will kill thee, if tliou dost deny
Thou hast made me cuckold.
lach. I will deny nothing.
Post. O, that I had her here, to tear her limb-meal !
I will go there, and do't ; i' the court ; before
Her father : — I'll do something \^Exit.
Phi. Quite besides
The government of patience ! — You have won :
Let's follow liim, and pervert the present wrath
He hath against himself.
Inch. With all my heart. {^Exeunt.
SCENE V. — Another Room in the same.
Enter Posthumus.
Post. Is there no way for men to be, but women
Must be half- workers ? We are bastards all.
I am a counterfeit. Yet my mother sccm'd
The Dian of that time : so doth my wife
The nonpareil of this. — O vengeance, vengeance !
I thought her chaste as unsunn'd snow. Could I
find out
The woman's part in me ! For there's no motion
That tends to vice in man, but I affirm
It is the woman's part : Be it lying, note it,
The woman's ; flattering, her's ; deceiving, her's ;
Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,
Nice longing, slanders, mutability,
All faults that may be nam'd, nay that hell
knows,
Why, her's, in part, or all ; but, rather, all :
For ev'n to vice
ITiey are not constant, but are changing still
One vice, but of a minute old, for one
Not half so old as that I'll write against them.
Detest them, curse them : — Yet 'tis greater
skill
In a true hate, to pray they have tlieir will :
The very devils cannot plague them better. [Exit.
ACT III.
SCENE I. — Britain. J Room of State in Cym-
beline'5 Palace.
Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, and Lords, at
one Door: and at another, Caius Lucius, and
Attendants.
Cym^ Now say, what would Augustus Caesar with
us?
Lvjc. When Julius Caesar, (whose remembrance
yet
Lives in men's eyes ; and will to ears, and tongues,
Be theme, and hearing ever,) was in this Britain,
And conquer 'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle,
( Famous in Ciesar's praises, no whit less
Than in his feats deserving it,) for him,
And his succession, granted Rome a tribute,
Yearly three tliousand pounds ; which by thee lately
Is left untender'd.
^ueen. And, to kill the marvel.
Shall be ever so.
Clo. There be many Caesars,
Ere such another Julius. Britain is
A world by itself ; and we will nothing pay.
For wearing our own noses.
Quceru That opportunity.
Which tlien they had to take from us, to resume
We have again. — Remember, sir, my liege.
The kings your ancestors; together with
The natural bravery of your isle ; which stands
As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in
With rocks unscaleable, and roaring waters ;
With sands, that will not bear your enemies' boats,
But suck them up to the top-mast. A kind of con-
quest
Caesar made here ; but made not here his brag
Of came, and saiv, and overcame : with shame
(The first that ever touch'd him,) he was carried
From off our coast, twice beaten ; and his shipping
(I'oor ignorant baubles !) on our terrible seas,
Like egg-sliells mov'd upon their surges, crack 'd
As easily 'gainst our rocks -. for joy whereof,
The fam'd Cassibelan, who was once at point
(O, giglot fortune !) to master Cajsar's sword.
Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright.
And Britons strut witli courage.
Clo. Come, there's no more tribute to be paid :
Our kingdom is stronger than it was at that time ;
and, as I said, there is no more such Caesars ; other
of them may have crooked noses ; but to owe 8 such
straight arms, none.
Cym. Son, let your mother end.
Clo. We have yet many among us can gripe as
hard as Cassibelan : I do not say, I am one ; but I
have a hand. — Why tribute ? why should we pay
tribute ? If Caesar can hide the sun from us with
a blanket, or put the moon in his pocket, we will
pay him tribute for light ; else, sir, no more tribute,
pray you now.
Cym. You must know.
Till the injurious Romans did extort
This tribute from us, we were free : Caesar's ambition,
(Which swell'd so much, that it did almost stretch
The sides o' the world,) against all colour, here
Did put the yoke upon us ; which to shake off,
Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon
Ourselves to be. We do say then to Caesar,
Our ancestor was that Mulmutius, which
Ordain'd our laws ; (whose use the sword of Caesar
Hath too much mangled j whose repair, and fran-
chise.
Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed,
Though Rome be therefore angry ; i Mulmutius,
Who was tlie first of Britain, which did put
His brows witliin a golden crown, and call'd
Himself a king.
Luc. I am sorry, Cymbeline,
That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar
( Caesar, that hath more kings his servants, than
'Hiyself domestick officers,) tliine enemy:
Receive it from me, then : — War, and confusion.
In Caesar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee : look
8 Own.
3B 4
744
CYMBELINE.
Act III.
For fury not to be resisted : — Thus defied,
I thank thee for myself.
Cym. Thou art welcome, Caius.
Thy Caesar knighted me ; my youth I spent
Much under him ; of him I gather'd honour ;
Which he, to seek of me again, perforce.
Behoves me keep at utterance 9 ; I am perfect ',
That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for
Their liberties, are now in arms : a precedent
"Which, not to read, would show the Britons cold :
So Caesar shall not find them.
Luc. Let proof speak.
Clo. His majesty bids you welcome. Make pas-
time with us a day, or two, longer : If you seek us
afterwards in other terms, you shall find us in our
salt-water girdle : if you beat us out of it, it is yours ;
if you fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare the
better for you ; and there's an end.
Xmc. So, sir.
Cym. I know your master's pleasure, and he mine :
All the remain is, welcome. {Exeunt.
SCENE II. — Another Room in the same.
Enter Pisanio.
Pis. How! of adultery? Wherefore write you not
What monster's her accuser ? — Leonatus !
O, master ! what a strange infection
Is fallen into thy ear ? What false Italian
(As poisonous tongued, as handed,) hath prevail'd
On thy too ready hearing ? — Disloyal ? No :
She's punish'd for her truth ; and undergoes.
More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults
As would take in ^ some virtue. — O, my master !
Thy mind to her is now as low, as were
Thy fortunes. — How ! that I should murder her?
Upon the love, and truth, and vows, which I
Have made to thy command ? — I, her ? — her
blood ?
If it be so to do good service, never
Let me be counted serviceable. How look I
That I should seem to lack humanity
So much as this fact comes to ? Do't ; The letter
[Reading.
That I have sent her, by her own command,
Shall give thee opportunity : — O vile paper !
Black as the ink that's on thee ! Senseless bauble.
Art thou a feodary ^ for this act, and look'st
So virgin-like without ? Lo, here she comes.
Enter Imogen.
I am ignorant in what I am commanded.
Imo. How now, Pisanio ?
Pis. Madam, here is a letter from my lord.
Imo. Who? thy lord? that is my lord, Leonatus?
O, learn'd indeed were that astronomer.
That knew the stars, as I his characters ;
He'd lay the future open. — You good gods.
Let what is here contain'd relish of love,
Of my lord's health, of his content, — yet not.
That we two are asunder, let that grieve him, —
(Some griefs are med'cinable ;) that is one of them.
For it doth physick love ; — of his content.
All but in that ! — Good wax, thy leave : — Bless'd
be,
You bees, that make these locks of counsel ! Lovers,
And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike ;
Though forfeitures you cast in prison, yet
5 At the extremity of defiance. * Well informed.
' To take in a town, is to conquer it ^ Confederate.
You clasp young Cupid's tables. — Good news,
gods ! [Reads.
Justice, and your father s wrath, should he lake me
in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me, as you,
0 the dearest of creatures, would not even renew me
with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria,
at MUJord- Haven. What your own love will, out of
this, advise you, follow. So, he wishes you all happi-
ness, that retnains loyal to his vow, and your, increas-
ing in love, Leonatus Po.sthumus.
O, for a horse with wings ! — Hear'st thou, Pisanio?
He is at Milford-Haven : Read, and tell me
How far 'tis thither. If one of mean afFaii-s
May plod it in a week, why may not I
Glide thither in a day ? — Then, true Pisanio,
(Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord j who
long'st, —
O, let me bate, — but not like me ; — yet Iong*st, —
But in a fainter kind ; — O, not like me ;
For mine 's beyond beyond,) say, and speak thick 4,
(Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing,
To the smothering of the sense,) how far it is
To this same blessed Milford : And, by the way
Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as
To inherit such a haven : But, first of all.
How we may steal from hence ; and, for the gap
That we shall make in time, from our hence going.
And our return to excuse: — but first, how get
hence :
Why should excuse be born or e'er begot?
We'll talk of that hereafter. Pr'ythee, speak.
How many score of miles may we well ride
'Twixt hour and hour?
Pis. One score, 'twixt sun and sun.
Madam, 's enough for you ; and too much too.
Imo. Why, one that rode to his execution, man.
Could never go so slow : I have heard of riding
wagers.
Where horses have been nimbler than the sands
That run i' the clock's behalf: — But this is foolery:
Go, bid my woman feign a sickness ; say
She'll home to her father : and provide me, pre-
sently,
A riding suit ; no costlier than would fit
A franklin's ^ housewife.
Pis. Madam, you're best consider.
Imo. I see before me, man, nor here, nor here.
Nor what ensues ; but have a fog in them.
That I cannot look through. Away, I pr'ythee ;
Do as I bid thee : There's no more to say ;
Accessible is none but Milford way. [Exeunt.
SCENE III. — Wales. A mountainous Country,
with a Cave.
Enter Belarius, Guiderius, onrf Arviragus.
Bd. A goodly day not to keep house, with such
Whose roof's as low as ours ! Stoop, boys ; This gate
Instructs you how to adore the heavens ; and bows
you
To rr orning's holy oflSce : The gates of monarchs
Are i.rch'd so high, that giants may jet ^ through.
And keep their impious turbans on, without
Good morrow to the sun. — Hail, thou fair heaven !
We house i' the rock, yet use thee not so hardly
As prouder livers do.
Gui. Hail, heaven !
Arv. Hail, heaven !
4 Crowd one word on another, as fast as possible.
6 A freeholder. 6 strut, walk proudly.
Scene III.
CYMBELINE.
745
Bel. Now, for our mountain sport: Up to yon hill,
Your legs are young ; I'll tread these flats. Con-
sider,
When you above perceive me like a crow.
That it is place wliich lessens, and sets off.
And you may then revolve what tales I have told
you.
Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war :
This service is not service, so being done,
But being so allowed : To apprehend thus.
Draws us a profit from all things we see :
And often, to our comfort, shall we find
Tlje sharded 7 beetle in a safer hold
Than is the fuU-wing'd eagle. O, this life
Is nobler, than atteniling for a check ;
Richer, than doing nothing for a babe ;
Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk :
Such gain the cap of him, that makes them fine,
Yet keeps his book uncross'd : no life to ours. 8
Gui. Out of your proof you speak : we, poor un-
fledg'd.
Have never winn'd from view o' the nest ; nor know
not
What air's from home. Haply, this life is best,
If quiet life be best ; sweeter to you,
That have a sharper known ; well corresponding
With your stiff age ; but, unto us, it is
A cell of ignorance ; travelling a-bed ;
A prison for a debtor, that not dares
To stride a limit. 9
Arv. What should we speak of,
When we are old as you ; when we shall hear
The rain and wind beat dark December, how
In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse
The freezing hours away ? We have seen nothing :
We are beastly ; subtle as the fox, for prey ;
Like warlike as tlie wolf, for what we eat ;
Our valour is, to chase what flies ; our cage
We make a quire, as doth the prison bird,
And sing our bondage freely.
Bel. How you speak !
Did you but know the city's usuries,
And felt them knowingljr : the art o' the court,
As hard to leave, as keep ; whose top to climb
Is certain falling, or so slippery, that
The fear's as bad as falling ; the toil of the war,
y A pain that only seems to seek out danger
I' the name of fame and honour; which dies i' the
search ;
And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph.
As record of fair act ; nay, many times,
^ Doth ill deserve by doing well ; what's worse.
Must court'sey at the censure : — O, boys, this story
The world may read in me : My body's mark'd
With Roman swords : and my report was once
First with the best of note : Cymbeline lov'd me ;
And when a soldier was the theme, my name
Was not far off: Then was I as a tree,
Whose boughs did bend with fruit: but in one night,
A storm, or robbery, call it what you will.
Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves,
And left me bare to weather.
Gui. Uncertain favour !
Bel. My fault being nothing, (as I have told you
oft,)
But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd
Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline,
I was confederate with the Romans : so
7 Scaly.winged. 8 ,-. ^. Compared with our*.
» To overi>as8 his bound
FoUow'd my banishment ; and, this twenty years.
This rock, and these demesnes, have been my world ;
Where I have liv'd at honest freedom ; paid
More pioDs debts to heaven, than in all
The fore-end of my time. — But, up to the moun-
tains ;
This is not hunters' language : — He that strikes
The venison first, shall be the lord o' the feast ;
To him the other two shall minister ;
And we will fear no poison, wliich attends
In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the val-
leys. \_Exeunt Gui. and Ah, v.
How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature !
These boys know little, they are sons to the king ;
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
They think, they are mine : and, tliough train'd up
thus meanly
I' the cave, wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit
The roofs of palaces ; and nature prompts them,
In simple and low things to prince it, much
Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore, —
The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom
The king his father call'd Guiderius, — Jove !
When on my three-foot stool I sit, and tell
The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out
Into my story : say, — Thus mine enemy fell ;
And thus I set my foot on his neck; even then
The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats.
Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture
That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal,
(Once, Arvirdgus,) in as like a figure.
Strikes life into my speech, and shows much more
His own conceiving, Hark ! the game is rous'd ! —
O Cymbeline ! heaven, and my conscience, knows.
Thou didst unjustly banish me : whereon.
At three, and two years old, I stole these babes ;
Thinking to bar thee of succession, as
Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile,
Thou wast their nurse; tliey took thee for their
mother.
And every day do honour to her grave :
Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd.
They take for natural father. The game is up.
[ExU.
SCENE lY.—Near Milford-Haven.
Enter Pisanio and Imogen.
Imo- Thou told'st me, when we came from horsey
the place
Was near at hand : — Ne'er long'd my mother so
To see me first, as I have now : — Pisanio ! Man !
Where is Posthumus ? What is in thy mind.
That makes thee stare thus ? Wherefore breaks tliat
sigh
From the inward of thee ? One, but painted thus.
Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
Beyond self-explication : Put thyself
Into a haviour ' of less fear, ere wildness
Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter ?
Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with
A look untender? If it be summer news.
Smile to't before : if winterly, tliou need'st
But keep that countenance still. — My husband's
hand, *
Detested Italy hath out-craftied him.
And he's at some hard point. — Speak, man ; thy
tongue
May take off some extremity, which to read
Would be even mortal to me.
> For behaviour.
746
CYMBELINE.
Act III.
Pw. Please you, read ;
And you shall find me, wretched many a thing
The most disdain'd of fortune.
Imo. [Reads.] Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath play' d
the strumpet in my bed : the testimonies whereof lie
bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises,
but from proof as strotig as my grief, and as certain
as I expect my revenge. That part, thou, Pisanio,
must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the
breach of hers. Let thine own hands take away her
life : I shall give thee opportunities at Milford-
Haven : she hath my letter for the purpose : Where,
if thou fear to strike, and to make we certain it is
done, thou art the paruiar to her dishonour, and
equally to me disloyal.
Pis. What, shall I need to draw my sword ? the
paper
Hath cut her throat already, — No, 'tis slander ;
Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue
Out-venoms all the worms of Nile ; whose breath
Hides on the posting winds, and doth belie
All corners of the world : kings, queens, and states.
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave
This viperous slander enters. — What cheer, ma-
dam?
Ino. False to his bed ! What is it to be false ?
To lie in watch there, and to think on him ?
To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep charge
nature,
To break it with a fearful dream of him,
And cry myself awake? that's false to his bed ?
Is it?
Pis. Alas, good lady !
Imo. I false ? Thy conscience witness : — lachimo,
Thou didst accuse him of incontinency ;
Thou then look'dst like a villain ; now, methinks,
Thy favour's good enough. — Some jay of Italy,
Whose mother was her painting "^ hath betrayed him :
I'oor I am stale, a garment out of fashion ;
And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls,
I must be rip'd : — To pieces with me ! — O,
Men's vows are women's traitors ! All good seeming,
By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought
Put on for villainy*; not born, where't grows;
But worn, a bait for ladies.
Pis. Good madam, hear me.
Imo. True honest men being heard, like false
iEneas,
Were, in his time, thought false : and Sinon's weep-
ing
Did scandal many a holy tear ; took pity
From most true wretchedness: So, thou. Post-
humus,
Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men ;
Goodly, and gallant, shall be false and perjur'd
From thy great fail. — Come, fellow, be thou honest:
Do thou thy master's bidding : when thou see'st him,
A little witness my obedience : Look !
I draw the sword myself: take it, and hit
The innocent mansion of my love, my heart :
Fear not ; 'tis empty of all things, but grief:
Thy master is not there ; who was, indeed.
The riches of it : Do his bidding ; strike.
Thou may'st be valiant in a better cause ;
But now thou seem'st a coward.
Pvi. Hence, vile instrument !
Thou shalt not damn my hand.
Imo. Why, I must die ;
And if do not by thy hand, thou art
2 Likeness.
No servant of thy master's : Against self-slaughter
There is a prohibition so divine,
That cravens 3 my weak hand. Come, here's my
heart ;
Something's afore't: — Soft, soft ; we'll no defence ;
Obedient as the scabbard. — What is here ?
The scriptures ' of the loyal Leonatus,
All turn'd to heresy ? Away, away.
Corrupters of my faith ! you shall no more
Be stomachers to my heart ! Thus may poor fools
Believe false teachers : Though those that are be-
tray'd
Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
Stands in worse case of woe.
And thou, Posthiimus, thou that didst set up
My disobedience 'gainst the king my father,
And make me put into contempt the suits
Of princely fellows, shalt thereafter find
It is no act of common passage, but
A strain of rareness : and I grieve myself,
To think, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her
That now thou tir'st * on, how thy memory
Will then be pang'd by me. — Pr'ythee, despatch :
The lamb entreats the butcher : Where's thy knife ?
Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding.
When I desire it too.
Pis. O gracious lady,
Since I receiv'd command to do this business,
I have not slept one wink.
Imo. Do't, and to bed then.
Pis. I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first.
Imo. Wherefore then
Did'st undertake it ? Why hast thou abus'd
So many miles with a pretence ? this place ?
Mine action, and thine own? our horses' labour?
The time inviting thee ? the perturb'd court ?
For my being absent : Whereunto I never
Purpose return ? Why hast thou gone so far,
To be unbent, when thou hast ta'en thy stand,
The elected deer before thee ?
Pis. But to win time
To lose so bad employment : in the which
I have considered of a course ; Good lady.
Hear me with patience.
Imo. Talk thy tongue weary ; speak :
I have heard, I am a strumpet ; and mine ear.
Therein false struck, can take no greater wound.
Nor tent to bottom that. But speak.
Pis. Then, madam,
I thought you would not back again.
Imo. Most like ;
Bringing me here to kill me.
Pis. Not so, neither :
But if I were as wise as honest, then
My purpose would prove well. It cannot be,
But that my master is abus'd :
Some villain, ay, and singular in his art,
Hath done you both this cursed injury.
Imo. Some Roman courtezan.
Pis. No, on my life.
I'll give but notice you are dead, and send him
Some bloody sign of it ; for 'tis commanded
I should do so : You shall be miss'd at court.
And that will well confirm it.
Imo. Why, good fellow,
What shall I do the while ? Where bide ? How live ?
Or in my life what comfort, when I am
Dead to my husband?
Pis. If you'll back to the court. —
3 Cowards i The writings. » Feedcst or prcyest on.
Scene IV.
CYMBELINE.
7n
Imo. No court, no father ; nor no more ado
With that harsh, noble, simple, nothing :
That Clotcn, whose love-su^t hath been to me
As fearful as a siege.
Pis. If not at court.
Then not in Britain must you bide.
lino. Where, then ?
Hath Britain all the sun that shines ? Day, night,
Are they not but in Britain? I' the world's volume
Our Britain seems as of it, but not in it ;
In a great pool, a swan's nest ; Pr'ythee, think
There's livers out of Britain.
Pis. I am most glad
You think of other place. The ambassador,
Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford- Haven
To-morrow : Now, if you could wear a mind
Dark as your fortune is ; and but disguise
That, which, to appear itself, must not yet be,
But by self-danger ; you should tread a course
Pretty, and full of view: yea, haply, near
The residence of Posthumus : so nigh, at least.
That though his actions were not visible, yet
Report should render him hourly to your ear,
As truly as he moves.
Imo. O, for such means !
Though peril to my modesty, not death on't,
I would adventure.
Pis. Well then, here's the point :
You must forget to be a woman ; change
Command into obedience ; fear, and niceness,
(Tlie handmaids of all women, or, more truly,
Woman its pretty self,) to a waggish courage ;
Ready in gibes, quick- answered, saucy, and
As quarrellous as the weasel : nay, you must
Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek.
Exposing it (but, O, the harder heart !
Alack no remedy !) to the greedy touch
Of common-kissing Titan 6; and forget
Your troublesome and dainty trims, wherein
You make great Juno angry.
Imo. Nay, be brief:
I see into thy end, and am almost
A man already.
Pis. First, make yourself but like one.
Fore-thinking this, I have already fit,
('Tis in my cloak-bag,) doublet, hat, hose, all
That answer to them : Would you, in their serving,
And with what imitation you can borrow
From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucius
Present yourself, desire his service, tell him
Wherein you are happy, (which you'll make him
know.
If that his head have ear in musick,) doubtless.
With joy he will embrace you ; for he's honourable.
And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad
You have me', rich ; and I will never fail
Beginning, nor supplyment.
Imo. Thou art all the comfort
The gods will diet me with. Pr'ythee, away :
There's more to be considered ; but we'll even
All that good time will give us: This attempt
Pm soldier to, and will abide it with
A prince's courage. Away, I pr'ythee.
Pis. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell :
Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of
Your carriage from tlie court. My noble mistress.
Here is a box ; I had it from the queen ;
What's in't is precious ; if you are sick at sea,
« The sun.
" A* for your (utwutcnce abroad, you may rely on mc.
Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this
Will drive away distemper. — To some shade.
And fit you to your manhood : — May the gotls
Direct you to tlie best !
Imo. Amen : I thank thee.
\_Excunt.
SCENE V A Room in Cymbeline'5 Palace.
Enlcr CvMBELiNK, QuEEK, Cloten, Lucius, aiul
Lords.
Cym. Thus far ; and so farewell.
L%ic. Thanks, royal sir.
My emperor hath wrote ; I must from hence ;
And am right sorry, that I must report ye
My master's enemy.
Cym. Our subjects, sir.
Will not endure his yoke ; and for ourself
To show less sovereignty than they, must needs
Appear unkingly.
Luc. So, sir, I desire of you
A conduct over land, to Milford- Haven. —
Madam, all joy befall your grace, and you !
Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that office :
The due of honour in no point omit : —
So, farewell, noble Lucius
Luc. Your hand, my lord.
Clo. Receive it friendly : but from this time forth
I wear it as your enemy.
Luc Sir, the event
Is yet to name the winner; Fare you well.
Cym. Leave not tlie worthy Lucius, good my lords.
Till he have cross'd the Severn. — Happiness!
\^Exeunt Lucius and Lords.
Queen. He goes hence froviming : but it honours
us,
Tliat we have ^ven him cause.
Clo. 'Tis all the better;
Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.
Cynu Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor
How it goes here. It fits us, therefore, ripely.
Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness:
Tlie powers that he already hath in Gallia
Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves
His war for Britain.
Queen. 'Tis not sleepy business ;
But must be look'd to speedily, and strongly.
Cym. Our expectation that it would be thus.
Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen.
Where is our daughter ? She hath not appear 'd
Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd
The duty of the day ; She looks us like
A thing more made of malice, than of duty :
We have noted it. — Call her before us ; for
We have been too slight in sufferance.
[Exii an Attendant.
Queen. Royal sir.
Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir'd
Hath her life been ; the cure whereof, my lord,
'Tis time must do. 'Beseech your majesty.
Forbear sharp speeches to her : she's a lady
So tender of rebukes, tliat words are strokes,
And strokes death to her.
Re-enter an Attendant.
Cym. Where is she, sir ? How
Can her contempt be answer'd ?
Atten. Please you, sir.
Her chambers are all lock'd ; and there's no answer
That will be given to the loud'st of noise we make.
748
CYMBELINE.
Act iJiL,
Queens My lord, when last I went to visit her,
She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close ;
Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity,
She should that duty leave unpaid to you,
Which daily she was bound to proffer: this
She wish'd me to make known ; but our great court
Made me to blame in memory.
Ci/m. Her doors lock'd ?
Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that, which I fear,
Prove false ! [ExU^
Queen. Son, I say, follow the king.
Clo. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant,
I have not seen these two days.
Queen. look after. —
[Exit Cloten.
Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus ! —
He hath a drug of mine : I pray, his absence
Proceed by swallowing that ; for he believes
It is a thing most precious. But for her.
Where is she gone ? Haply, despair hath seiz'd her ;
Or, wing'd with fervour of her love, she's flown
To her desir'd Posthumus : Gone she is
To death, or to dishonour ; and my end
Can make good use of either : She being down,
I have the placing of the British crown.
Re-enter Cloten.
How now, my son ?
Clo. 'Tis certain she is fled :
Go in, and cheer the king ; he rages ; none
Dare come about him.
Queen. All the better : May
This night forestall him of the coming day !
[Eodt Queen.
Clo. I love, and hate her : for she's fair and royal ;
And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
Than lady, ladies, woman 8 ; from every one
The best she hath, and she, of all compounded,
Outsells them all : I love her therefore ; But,
Disdaining me, and throwing favours on
The low Posthumus, slanders so her judgment.
That what's else rare, is chok'd ; and, in that point,
I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed.
To be reveng'd upon her For, when fools
Enter Pisanio.
Shall — Who is here ? What ! are you packing, sirrah?
Come hither : Ay, you precious pandar ! Villain,
Where is thy lady ! In a word ; or else
Thou art straightway with the fiends.
Pis. O, good my lord !
Clo. Where is thy lady ? or, by Jupiter
I will not ask again. Close villain,
I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip
Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus ?
From whose so many weights of baseness cannot
A dram of worth be drawn.
Pis. Alas, my lord.
How can she be with him ? When was she missed ?
He is in Rome.
Clo. Where is she, sir ? Come nearer ?
No further halting : satisfy me home.
What is become of her ?
Pis. O, my all- worthy lord !
Clo. AH- worthy villain !
Discover where thy mistress is, at once,
At the next word, — No more of worthy lord, —
Speak, or thy silence on the instant is
Thy condemnation and thy death.
I 8 Than any ladi/, than all ladies, than all womankind.
Pis. Then, sir,
This paper is the history of my knowledge
Touching her flight. [Presenting a Letter.
Clo. Let's see't : — I will pursue her
Even to Augustus' throne.
Pis. Or this, or perish. "1
She's far enough ; and what he learns by this, I Aside.
May prove his travel, not her danger. J
Clo. Humph '
Pis. I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen,
Safe may'st thou wander, safe return again ! [Aside.
Clo. Sirrah, is this letter true ?
Pis. Sir, as I think.
Clo. It is Posthumus' hand ; I know't. — Sirrah,
if thou wouldst not be a villain, but do me true
service ; undergo those employments, wherein I
sliould have cause to use thee, with a serious in-
dustry,— that is, what villainy soe'er I bid thee do,
to perform it, directly and truly, — I would think
thee an honest man : thou shouldest neither want
my means for thy relief, nor my voice for thy pre-
ferment.
Pis. Well, my good lord.
Clo. Wilt thou serve me ? For since patiently and
constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of
that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not in the course
of gratitude but be a diligent follower of mine.
Wilt thou serve me ?
Pis. Sir, I will.
Clo. Give me thy hand, here's my purse. Hast
any of thy late master's garments in thy possession ?
Pis. I have, my lord, at rny lodgings, the same
suit he wore when he took leave of my lady and
Clo. The first service thou dost me, fetch that
suit hither : let it be thy first service : go.
Pis. I shall, my lord. [Exit.
Clo. Meet thee at Milford- Haven : — I forgot to
ask him one thing : I'll remember 't anon : — Even
there, thou villain, Posthumus, will I kill thee. — I
would these garments were come. She said upon
a time, that she held the very garment of Posthu-
mus in more respect than my noble and natural
person, together with the adornment of my qualities.
With that suit upon my back, will I ravish her:
First kill him, and in her eyes ; there shall she see
my valour, which will then be a torment to her con-
tempt. She hath despised me rejoicingly, and I'll
be merry in my revenge.
Re-enter Pisanio, with the Clothes.
Be those the garments ?
Pis. Ay, my noble lord.
Clo. How long is't since she went to Milford-
Haven ?
Pis. She can scarce be there yet.
Clo. Bring this apparel to my chamber ; that is
the second thing that I have commanded thee : the
third is, that thou shalt be a voluntary mute to my
design. Be but duteous, and true preferment shall
tender itself to thee My revenge is now at Mil-
ford ; 'Would I had wings to follow it! — Come,
and be true. [Exit.
Pis. Thou bids't me to my loss: for true to thee,
Were to prove false, which I will never be.
To him that is most true — To Milford go.
And find not her whom thou pursu'st. Flow, flow^
You heavenly blessings, on her ! This fool's speed
Be cross'd with slowness ; labour be his meed !
[Exit.
Scene VI.
CYMBELINE.
7*9
SCENE VI. — Before the Cave of Belarius.
Erder Imogen, in Boy's Clothes.
Imo. I see a man's life is a tedious one ;
I have tired myself; and for two nights together
Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick,
But that my resolution helps me. — Milford,
When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee,
Thou wast within a ken : O Jove ! I think.
Foundations fly the wretched : such, I mean.
Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars told me,
I could not miss my way : Will poor folks lie.
That have afllictions on them ? knowing 'tis
A punishment, or trial ? Yes ; no wonder,
When rich ones scarce tell true: To lapse in fulness
Is sorer, than to lie for need ; and falsehood
Is worse in kings than beggars. — My dear l«)rd !
Thou art one o' the false ones : Now I think on thee.
My hunger's gone ; but even before, I was
At point to sink for food. — But what is this?
Here is a path to it : 'Tis some savage hold :
I were best not call : I dare not call : yet famine.
Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant.
l*lenty, and peace, breeds cowards ; hardness ever
Of hardiness is motlier. — Ho ! who's here ?
If any thing that's civil, speak ; if savage.
Take, or lend Ho ! — No answer? then I'll enter.
Best draw my sword : and if mine enemy
But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look on't.
Such a foe, good heavens ! \^She goes into the Cave.
Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.
Bel. You, Polydore, have prov'd best woodman 9,
and
Are master of the feast : Cadwal, and I,
Will play the cook and servant ; 'tis our match • :
The sweat of industry would dry, and die,
But for the end it works to. Come ; our stomachs
Will make what's homely, savory : Weariness
Can snore upon the flint, when restive sloth
Finds the down pillow hard — Now, peace be here.
Poor house, that keep'st thyself !
Gui. I am thoroughly weary.
Arv. I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite.
Gui. There is cold meat i' the cave ; we'll browze
on that.
Whilst what we have kill'd be cook'd.
Bel. Stay ; come not in :
[Ijooking in.
But that it eats our victuals, I should think
Here were a fairy.
Gui. What's the matter, sir ?
Bel. By Jupiter, an angel ! or, if not,
An earthly paragon ! — Behold divineness
No elder than a boy !
Enter Imogen.
Imo. Good masters, harm me not :
Before I enter'd here, I call'd ; and thought
To have begg'd, or bought, what I have took : Good
troth,
I have stolen nought ; nor would not, though I had
found
Gold strew 'd o' the floor. Here's money for my meat :
I would have left it on the board, so soon
As I had made my meal ; and parted
With prayers for Uie provider.
Gm- Money, youth?
Arv. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt !
9 Best hunter. » Agreement
As 'tis no better reckon 'd, but of those
Who worship dirty gods.
Imc I see you are angry :
Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should
Have died, had 1 not made it.
Bel. Whither bound?
Imo. To Milford- Haven, sir.
Bel. What is your name ?
Imo, Fidele, sir : I have a kinsman, who
Is bound for Italy ; he embark'd at Milford:
To whom being going, almost spent with hunger,
I am fallen in "^ tin's offence.
Bel. Pr'ythee, fair youlh,
Think us no churls ; nor measure our good minds
By this rude place we live in. Well encounter'd !
'Tis almost niglit : you shall have better cheer
Ere you depart : and thanks, to stay and eat it. —
Boys, bid him welcome.
Gui. Were you a woman, youth,
I should woo hard, but be your groom. — In honesty,
I bid for you, as I'd buy.
Arv. I'll make't my con. fort.
He is a man ; I'll love him as my brother : —
And such a welcome as I'd give to him.
After long absence, such is yours : — Most welcome !
Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends.
Imo. 'Mongst friends ""
If brothers? — 'Would it had been so, that
they
Had been my father's sons ! then had my }- Aside.
prize
Been less ; and so more equal ballasting
To thee, Posthumus.
Bel. He wrings at some distress.
Gui. 'Would I could free't !
Arv. Or I ; whate'er it be,
What pain it cost, what danger ! Gods !
BeU Hark, boys.
[ fFhisjiermg.
Imo. Great men.
That had a court no bigger than this cave.
That did attend themselves, and had the virtue
Which their own conscience seal'd them, (laying by
That nothing gift of differing multitudes,)
Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods !
I'd change my sex to be companion with them.
Since Leonatus false.
Bel. It shall be so :
Boys, we'll go dress our hunt. — Fair youth, come in :
Discourse is heavy, fasting ; when we have supp'd.
We'll mannerly demand thee of thy story.
So far as thou wait speak it.
Gui. Pray* draw near.
Arv. The night to the owl, and morn to the lark,
less welcome.
Imo. Thanks, sir.
Arv. I pray draw near. [Exeunt.
SCENE VII. — Rome.
Enter two Senators and Tribunes.
1 Sen. This is the tenour of the emperor's writ :
That since the common men are now in action
'Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians :
And that tlie legions now in Gallia are
Full weak to undertake our wars against
The fallen-oflf Britons ; that we do incite
The gentry to this businsss : He creates
Lucius pro*consul : and to you the tribunes,
' In, for inta
750
CYMRELINE.
Act I
For this immediate levy, he commands
His absolute commission. Long live Caesar !
Tri. Is Lucius general of the forces ?
2 Sen. Ay.
Tri' Remaining now in Gallia ?
1 Sen* With those legions
Which I have spoke of, whcreunto your levy
Must be supplyant : The words of your commissi
Will tie you to the numbers and the time
Of their despatch.
Tri. We will discharge our duty.
[Exeunt
I
ACT IV.
SCENE L — Wales. The Forest, near the Cave.
Enter Cloten.
Clo. I am near to the place where they should
meet, if Pisanio have mapped it truly. How fit his
garments serve me ! Why should his mistress not
fit too ? Therein T must play the workman. I dare
speak it to myself, (for it is not vain-glory, for a
man and his glass to confer, — in his own chamber,
I mean,) the lines of my body are as well drawn as
his ; no less young, more strong, not beneath him
in fortunes, beyond him in the advantage of the
time, above him in birth, alike conversant in general
services, and more remarkable in single opposi-
tions s : yet this imperseverant thing loves him in
my despite. What mortality is ! Posthumus, thy
head, which now is growing upon thy shoulders,
shall within this hour be off; thy mistress enforced ;
thy garments cut to pieces before thy face : and all
this done, spurn her home to her father : who may,
haply, be a little angry for my so rough usage ; but
my mother, having power of his testiness, shall turn
all into my commendations. My horse is tied up
safe : Out sword, and to a sore purpose ! Fortune !
put them into my hand ! This is the very descrip-
tion of their meeting-place j and the fellow dares
not deceive me. {^Exit.
SCENE U. — Before the Cave.
Filter, from the Cave, Belarius, Guiderius,
Arviragus, and Imogen.
Bel. You are not well: [To Imogen.] remain
here in the cave ;
We'll come to you after hunting.
^rv. Brother, stay here :
[To Imogen.
Are we not brothers ?
Into. So man and man should be ;
But clay and clay diflPers in dignity,
Whose dust is both alike. — I am very sick.
Gui. Go you to hunting, I'll abide with him.
Imo. So sick I am not ; yet I am not well :
But not so citizen a wanton, as
To seem to die, ere sick : So please you leave me ;
Stick to your journal ^ course : the breach of custom
Is breach of all. I am ill ; but your being by me
Cannot amend me : Society is no comfort
To one not sociable : I'm not very sick,
Since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust me here :
I'll rob none but myself; and let me die,
Stealing so poorly.
Gui. I love thee ; I have spoke it :
How much the quantity, the weight as much,
As I do love my fiather.
Bel. What? how? how?
uirv. If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me
* In single combat. ^ Keep your daily course.
In my good brother's fault : I know not why
I love this youth ; and I have heard you say,
Love's reason's without reason ; the bier at door,
And a demand, who is't shall die, I'd say,
My father, not this youth.
Bel. O noble strain ! [Jside.
0 worthiness of nature ! breed of greatness !
Cowards father cowards, and base things sire base :
Nature hatli meal, and bran ; contempt, and grace.
1 am not their father ; yet who this should be,
Doth miracle itself, lov'd before me. —
'Tis the ninth hour o' the morn.
Arv. Brother, farewell.
Imo. I wish ye sport.
Arv. You health. — So please you, sir.
Imo. [Aside.} These are kind creatures. Gods,
what lies I have heard !
Our courtiers say, all's savage, but at court :
Experience, O, thou disprov'st report !
The imperious 7 seas breed monsters ; for the dish,
Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish.
I am sick still ; heart-sick : — Pisanio,
I'll now taste of thy drug.
Gui. 1 could not stir him :
He said, he was gentle ^, but unfortunate ;
Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest.
Arv. Thus did he answer me : yet said, hereafter
I might know more.
Bel. To the field, to the field : —
We'll leave you for this time : go in, and rest.
Arv. We'll not be long away.
Bel. Pray, be not sick.
For you must be our housewife.
Imo. Well, or ill,
I am bound to you.
Bel. And so shalt be ever.
[Exit Imogen.
This youth, howe'er distress'd, appears, he hath had
Good ancestors.
Arv. How angel-like he sings !
Gui. But his neat cookery ! He cuts our roots in
characters ;
And sauc'd our broths, as Juno had been sick.
And he her dieter.
Arv. Nobly he yokes
A smiling with a sigh : as if the sigh
Was that it was, for not being such a smile ;
The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fly
From so divine a temple, to commix
With winds that sailors rail at.
Gui. I do note.
That grief and patience, rooted in him both.
Mingle their spurs 9 together.
yirv. Grow, patience !
And let the fetid elder, grief, untwine
His perishing root, with the increasing vine !
7 Imperial. " Well-born.
9 Spurs are the roots of trees.
Scene II.
CYMBELINE.
751
Bel. It is great morning. Come; away. — Who's
there ?
Enter Cloten.
Clo. I cannot find those runagates ; that villain
Hath mock'd me : — I am- faint.
Bel. Those runagates !
Means he not us ? I partly know him ; 'tis
Cloten, the son o' the queen. I fear some ambush.
I saw him not these many years, and yet
I know 'tis he : — We are held as outlaws : — Hence.
Gui. He is but one : you and my brother search
What companies are near: pray you, away ;
Let me alone with him.
\_Exeunt Bklarius and Arviraous.
Clo. Soft ! What are you
That fly me thus? some villain mountaineers?
1 have heard of such. — What slave art thou ?
Gui. A thing
More slavish did I ne'er, than answering
A slave, without a knock.
Clo. Thou art a robber,
A law-breaker, a villain : Yield thee, thief.
Gui. To who ? to thee ? What art thou ? Have
not I
An arm as big as thine ? a heart as big ?
Thy words, I grant are bigger ; for 1 wear not
My dagger in my mouth. Say, what thou art?
Why I should yield to thee?
Clo. Thou villain base,
Know'st me not by my cldthes ?
Guu No, nor thy tailor, rascal,
Who is thy grandfather ; he made those clothes,
Which, as it seems, make thee.
Clo. Thou precious varlet.
My tailor made them not.
Gui. Hence then, and thank
The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool j
I am loath to beat thee.
Clo. Tliou injurious thief,
Hear but my name, and tiemble.
Gui. What's thy name ?
Clo. Cloten, thou villain.
Gui. Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name,
I cannot tremble at it ; were't toad, or adder, spider,
'Twould move me sooner.
Clo. To thy further fear.
Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know
I'm son to the queen.
Gui. I'm sorry for't ; not seeming
So worthy as thy birth.
Clo. Art not afeard ?
Gui. Those that I reverence, those I fear; the wise :
At fools I laugh, not fear tliem.
Clo. Die the death :
When I have slain thee with my proper hand,
I'll follow those that even now fled hence,
And on the gates of Lud's town set your heads :
Yield, rustic mountaineer. \^Exeuntt Jig/Uing.
Enter Belarius and Arviragus.
Bel. No company's abroad.
jirv. None in tlie world : You did mistake him,
sure.
Bel. I cannot tell : Long is it since I saw him,
But time hath notliing blurr'd those lines of favour '
Which then he wore ; the snatches in his voice.
And burst of speaking, were as his : I am absolute,
'Twas very Cloten.
' Countenance
Arv. In this place we left them ;
I wish my brother made good time with him.
You say he is so fell.
Bel. Being scarce made up,
I mean, to man, he had not apprehension
Of roaring terrors ; for the effect of judgment
Is oft the cause of fear : But see, thy brother.
Be-enter Guiderius with Cloten'^ Head.
Gui. Tliis Cloten was a fool ; an empty purse,
There was no money in't : not Hercules
Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none :
Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne
My head, as I do his.
Bel. What hast thou done?
Gui. I am perfect, what : cut off one Cloten's head,
Son to the queen, after his own report ;
Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer; and swore,
With his own single hand he'd take us in %
Displace our heads, where (thank tlie gods !) they
grow.
And set them on Lud's town.
Bel. We are all undone.
Gui. Why, worthy father, what have we to lose.
But, that he swore to take, our lives ? The law
Protects not us : Then why should we be tender.
To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us ;
Play judge, and executioner, all himself ;
For we do fear the law ? What company
Discover you abroad ?
Bel. No single soul
Can we set eye on, but, in all safe reason.
He must have some attendants. Though his humour
Was nothing but mutation ; ay, and that
From one bad thing to worse ; not frenzy, not
Absolute madness could so far have rav'd.
To bring him here alone : Although, perhaps.
It may be heard at court, that such as we
Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time
May make some stronger head : the which he hearing,
(As it is like him,) might break out and swear
He'd fetch us in ; yet is't not probable
To come alone, either he so undertaking.
Or they so suffering : then on good ground we fcai'.
If we do fear this body hath a tail
More perilous than the head.
Arv. Let ordinance
Come as the gods foresay it : howsoe'er.
My brother hath done well.
Bel. I had no mind
To hunt this day : the boy Fidele's sickness
Did make my way long forth.
Gui. With his own sword.
Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en
His head from him : I'll throw't into tlie creek
Behind our rock ; and let it to the sea.
And tell the fishes, he's the queen's son, Cloten :
That's all I reck. 3 {ExU.
Bel. I feai* 'twill be rcvcng'd :
'Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done't ! tliough
valour
Becomes thee well enough.
Arv. 'Would I had done't.
So the revenge alone pursued me ! — Polydore,
I love thee brotherly ; but envy much,
Thou hast robb'd me of this deed: I would, revenges.
That possible strength might meet, would seek us
through.
And put us to our answer.
* Conquer, subdue. ^ Care.
752
CYMBELINE.
Act IV.
Bel. Well, 'tis done : —
We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger
Where there's no profit. I pr'ythee, to our rock ;
You and Fidele play the cooks : I'll stay
Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him
To dinner presently.
Aro. Poor sick Fidele !
I'll willingly to him : To gain his colour,
I'd let a parish of such Clotens' blood,
And praise myself for charity. \^Exit.
Bel. O thou goddess,
Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st
In these two princely boys ! They are as gentle
As ztjphyrs, blowing below the violet,
Not wagging his sweet head : and yet as rough.
Their royal blood enchaf 'd, as the rud'st wind,
That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonderful,
That an invisible instinct should frame them
To royalty unlearn'd ; honour untaught ;
Civility not seen from other ; valour,
That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop
As if it had been sow'd ! Yet still it's strange
What Cloten's being here to us portends ;
Or what his death will bring us.
Re-enter Guide rius.
Gui. Where's my brother ?
I have sent Cloten's clot-poll down the stream.
In embassy to his mother ; his body's hostage
For his return. {Solemn mudck.
Bel. My ingenious instrument !
Hark, Polydore, it sounds! But what occasion
Hath Cadwal now to give it motion ! Hark !
Gui. Is he at home ?
Bel. He went hence even now.
Gui. What does he mean? since deathof my dear'st
mother
It did not speak before. All solemn things
Should answer solemn accidents. The matter ?
Triumphs for nothing, and lamenting toys ■*,
Is jollity for apes, and grief for boys.
Is Cadwal mad ?
Re-enter Arviragus, bearing Imogen as dead, in
his arms.
Bel. Look, here he comes,
And brings the dire ocoasion in his arms,
Of what we blame him for !
Arv. The bird is dead.
That we have made so much on. I had rather
Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty.
Than have seen this.
Gui. O sweetest, fairest lily ;
My brother wears not thee one-half so well.
As when thou grew'st thyself.
Bel. O, melancholy !
Who ever yet could sound thy bottom ? find
The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare ^
Might easiliest harbour in ? — Thou blessed thing !
Jove knows what man thou mightst have made;
but I,
Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy ! —
How found you him ?
Arv. Stark 6, as you see :
Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber.
Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at : his right cheek
Reposing on a cushion.
< Trifles. * A slow-sailing, unwieldy vessel. « Stiff.
Gui. Where ?
Arv. O' the floor ;
His arms thus leagu'd : I thought, he slept ; and put
My cloufed brogues 7 from off my feet, whose rude-
ness
Answer'd my steps too loud.
Gui. Why, he but sleeps :
If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed ;
With female fairies will his tomb be haunted.
And worms will not come to thee.
Arv. With fairest flowers,
Wliilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,
I'll sweeten thy sad grave : Thou shalt not lack
The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose ; nor
The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins ; no, nor
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
Out-sweeten'd not thy breath : the rudduck 8 would.
With charitable bill (O bill, sore-shaming
Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie
Without a monument !) bring thee all this ;
Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none,
To winter-ground 9 thy corse.
Gui. Pr'ythee, have done
And do not play in wench-like words with that
Which is so serious. Let us bury him,
And not protract with admiration what
Is now due debt. — To the grave.
Arv. Say, where shall's lay him ?
Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother,
Arv. Be't so :
And let us, Polydore, though now our voices
Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the ground,
As once our mother ; use like note, and words,
Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.
Gui. Cadwal,
I cannot sing : I'll weep, and word it with thee.
Arv. We'll speak it then.
Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less : for
Cloten
Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys :
And, though he came our enemy, remember.
He was paid for that : Though mean and mighty
rotting
Together, have one dust ; yet reverence,
(That angel of the world,) doth make distinction
Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely
And though you took his life, as being our foe,
Yet bury him as a prince.
Gui. 'Pray you, fetch him hidier.
Thersites' body is as good as Ajax,
When neither are alive.
Arv. If you'll go fetch him.
We'll say our song the whilst. — Brother, begin.
[Exit Bel A RIUS.
Gui. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the
east ;
My father hath a reason for't.
Arv. 'Tis true,
Gui. Come on then, and remove him.
Arv. So, — begin.
SONG.
Gui. Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages ;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and taen thy wages :
Golden lads and girls all must.
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
7 Shoes plated with iron. ^ The red-breast.
9 Probably a corrupt reading, for, wither round thy corse.
Scene II.
CYMBELINE.
753
Airv. Fear no more the frown o' the great,
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke ;
Care no more to clothe, and eat ;
To thee the reed is as the oak :
The sce])ter, learning, physick, must
All follow this, and come to dust.
Gui. Fear no more the lightning flash,
Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone ;
Gui. Fear not slander, censure ' rash j
Arv. Thou hast finish" d joy and moan :
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign ■* to thee, and come to dust.
Gui. No exorciser harm thee !
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee I
Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear tliee !
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee !
Both. Quiet consummation have ;
And renowned be thy grave !
Re-enter Belarius, vdth the Body of Cloten.
Gui. We have done our obsequies : Come, lay
him clown.
Bel. Here's a few flowers, but about midnight,
more:
The herbs, that have on them cold dew o' the night,
Are strewings filt'st for graves. — Upon their
faces: —
You were as flowers, now witlier'd : even so
These herb'lets sliall, which we upon you strow. —
Come on, away : apart, upon our knees.
The ground, that gave them first, has them again ;
Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain,
\_Exeunt Belarius, Guiderius, and
Arviragus.
I mo. [^Awaking.'\ Yes, sir, to Milford- Haven ;
wliich is the way ? —
I thank you. — By yon bush ? — Pray, how far
thither ?
Is't possible it can be six miles yet?
I have gone all night : — I will lie down and sleep.
But, soft, no bedfellow : — O, gods and goddesses !
[Seeing the Body.
These flowers are like the pleasures of the world ;
This bloody man, the care on't. — I hope, I dream ;
For, so, I thought I was a cave-keeper.
And cook to honest-creatures ; But 'tis not so ;
Twas but a bolt 3 of nothing, shot at nothing.
Which the brain makes of fumes : Our very eyes
Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good
faith,
I tremble still with fear : But if there be
Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity
As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it !
The dream's here still : even when I wake, it is
Without me, as within me : not imagin'd, felt.
A headless man ! — The garments of Posthtimus !
I know the shape of his leg : this is his hand ;
His foot Mercurial ; his martial thigh :
The brawns of Hercules : but his jovial * face —
Murder in heaven ? — How ? — 'Tis gone. — Pi-
sanio,
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee ! Thou,
Conspir'd with that irregulous * devil, Cloten,
Hast here cut off my lord. — To write, and read.
Be henceforth treacherous. O Pisanio,
Pisanio, with his forged letters, hath
' Judgment ' Seal the fame contract. » An arrow.
* A face like Jove'a. * Lawlea, licentioua.
From this most bravest vessel of the world
Struck the main-top ! — O, Posthumus ! alas.
Where is thy head? where'sthat? Ah me ! where's
that?
Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,
And left this head on. — How should this be ? Pi-
sanio?
'Tis he, and Cloten : malice and lucre in them
Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, preg-
nant ! 6
The drug he gave me, which, he said, was precious
And cordial to me, have I not found it
Murd'rous to the senses ? That confirms it home :
This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's : O ! —
Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood.
That we the horrider may seem to those
Which chance to find us : O, my lord, my lord !
Enter Lucius, a Captain, and other Officers, and a
Soothsayer.
Cap. To them the legions garrison'd in Gallia,
After your will, have cross'd the sea : attending
You here at Milford- Haven, with your ships :
They are here in readiness.
Luc. But what from Rome ?
Cap. The senate hath stirr'd up the confiners.
And gentlemen of Italy ; most willing spirits
That promise noble service : and they come
Under the conduct of bold lachimo,
Sienna's brother.
Luc. When expect you them ?
Cap. With the next benefit o' the wind.
Luc. This forwardness
Makes our hopes fair. Command, our present
numbers
Be muster'd ; bid tlie captains look to't. — Now, sir,
What have you dream'd, of late, of this war's pur-
pose?
Sooth. Last night the very gods show'd me a vision :
(I fast, and pray'd, for their intelligence,) Thus:
I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd
From the spongy south to this part of the west,
There vanish'd in the sunbeams : which portends,
(Unless my sins abuse my divination,)
Success to the Roman host.
Luc. Dream often so,
And never false. — Soft, ho ! what trunk is here.
Without his top ? The ruin speaks, that sometime
It was a worthy building. — How ! a page ! —
Or dead, or sleeping on him ? But dead, rather :
For nature doth abhor to make his bed
With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead. —
Let's see the boy's face.
Cap. He is alive, my lord.
Luc. He'll then instruct us of this body. —
Young one.
Inform us of thy fortunes ; for, it seems,
They crave to be demanded : Who is tliis,
Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow ? Or who was he.
That, otherwise than noble nature did,
Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy interest
In this sad wreck? How came it? Who is it^
What art thou ?
Imo. I am nothing : or, if not.
Nothing to be were better. Tliis was my master,
A very valiant Briton, and a good.
That here by mountaineers lies slain : — Alas !
There are no more such masters : I may wander
From east to Occident, cry out for service,
« I. e. Til a ready, apposite eoDclasion.
3 C
754.
CYMBELINE.
Act IV.
Try many, all good, serve truly, never
Find such another master.
Luc. 'Lack, good youth !
Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining, than
Thy master in bleeding : Say, thy name.
Imo. Fidele.
Luc. Thou dost approve thyself the very same :
Thy name well fits thy faith ; tliy faith, thy name.
Wilt take thy chance with me ? I will not say,
Thou shalt be so well master'd ; but, be sure,
No less belov'd. The Roman emperor's letters,
Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner
Than thine own worth, prefer thee : Go with me.
Imo. I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please the
gods,
I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep
As these poor pickaxes 7 can dig : and when
With wild wood-leaves and weeds I have strew'd
his grave.
And on it said a century of prayers,
Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep, and sigh ;
And, leaving so his service, follow you,
So please you entertain me.
Luc. Ay, good youth ;
And rather father thee, than master thee. —
My friends,
The boy hath taught us manly duties : Let us
Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can,
And make him with our pikes and partizans
A grave : Come, arm him. — Boy, he is preferr'd
By thee to us ; and he shall be interr'd,
As soldiers can. Be cheerful ; wipe thine eyes :
Some falls are means the happier to arise. [Exeunt.
SCENE III. — A Room in Cymbeline's Palace.
Enter Cymbfxine, Lords, and Pisanio.
Ci/ni. Again; and bring me word how 'tis with
her.
A fever with the absence of her son ;
A madness, of which her life 's in danger : —
Heavens,
How deeply you at once do touch me ! Imogen,
The great part of my comfort, gone : my queen
Upon a desperate bed ; and in a time
When fearful wars point at me ; her son gone.
So needful for this present : It strikes me, past
The hope of comfort. — But for thee, fellow,
Who needs must know of her departure, and
Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee
By a sharp torture.
Pis. Sir, my life is yours :
I humbly set it at your will : But, for my mistress,
I nothing know where she remains, why gone.
Nor when she purposes return. 'Beseech your
highness.
Hold me your loyal servant.
1 Lord. Good my liege.
The day tliat she was missing, he was here :
I dare be bound he's true, and shall perform
All parts of his subjection loyally.
For Cloten, —
There wants no diligence in seeking him.
And will, no doubt, be found.
Ci/m. The time 's troublesome :
We'll slip you for a season : but our jealousy
[To PiSANIO.
Does yet depend.
1 Lord. So please your majesty,
7 Her fingers.
The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn.
Are landed on your coast ; with a supply
Of Roman gentlemoi, by the senate sent.
Ci/m. Now for the counsel of my son and queen! —
I am amaz'd with matter. ^
1 Lord. Good my liege,
Your preparation can affront 9 no less
Than what you hear of: come more, for more you're
ready :
The want is, but to put those powers in motion, \
That long to move.
Ci/m. I thank you : Let's withdraw :
And meet the time, as it seeks us. We fear not
What can from Italy annoy us ; but
We grieve at chances here. — Away. [Exeunt.
Pis. I heard no letter from my master, since
I wrote him, Imogen was slain : 'Tis strange:
Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise
To yield me often tidings ; Neither know I
What is betid to Cloten ; but remain
Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work :
Wherein I am false, I am honest; not true, to be true.
These present wars shall find I love my country,
Even to the note ' o'the king, or I'll fall in them.
All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd :
Fortune brings in some boats, that are not steer' d.
[Exit.
SCENE IV Before the Cave.
Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus
Gui. The noise is round about us.
Bel. Let us from it.
Arv. What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it
From action and adventure ?
Gui. Nay, what hope
Have we in hiding us ? this way, the Romans
Must or for Britons slay us ; or receive us
For barbarous and unnatural revolts 2
During their use, and slay us after.
Bel. Sons,
We'll higher to the mountains ; there secure us.
To the king's party there's no going : newness
Of Cloten's death (we being not known, not muster'd
Among the bands) may drive us to a render 3
Where we have liv'd ; and so extort from us
That which we've done, whose answer would be
death
Drawn on with torture.
Gui. This is, sir, a doubt.
In such a time, nothing becoming you,
Nor satisfying us.
Arv. It is not likely.
That when they hear the Roman horses neigh,
Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes
And ears so cloy'd importantly as now,
That they will waste their time upon our note '♦,
To know from whence we are.
Bel. O, I am known
Of many in the army : many years,
Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore
him
From my remembrance. And, besides, the king
Hath not deserv'd my service, nor your loves ;
Who find in my exile the want of breeding.
The certainty of this hard life ; aye hopeless
To have the courtesy your cradle promis'd,
But to be still hot summer's tanlings, and
The shrinking slaves of winter.
s Confounded by a variety of business.
1 Notice. 2 Kevolters. ^ An account.
Encounter.
Noticing ug.
Act V. Scene I.
CYMBELINE.
755
Qui. Than be so.
Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army :
I and my brother are not known ; yourself,
So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown,
Cannot be question'd.
Arv. By this sun that shines,
I'll thither : What thing is it, that I never
Did see man die? scarce ever look'd on blood,
But that of covirard hares, hot goats, and venison ?
Neyer bestrid a horse, save one, that had
A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel
Nor iron on his heel ? I am ashara'd
To look upon the holy sun, to have
The benefit of his bless'd beams, remaining
So long a poor unknown.
GuL By heavens, I'll go :
If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave,
I'll take the better care ; but if you will not.
The hazard therefore due fall on me, by
The hands of Romans !
ulrv. So say I ; Amen.
Bel. No reason I, since on your lives you set
So slight a valuation, should reserve
My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, boys :
If in your country wars you chance to die.
That is my bed too, lads, and there I'll lie :
Lead, lead. — The time seems long ; their blood
thinks scorn, {^Aside.
Till it fly out, and show them princes bom.
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I. — A Field between the British and Ro-
man Camps.
Enter Posthumus, ivith a bloody Handkerchief.
Post. Yea, bloody cloth, 1*11 keep thee; for I
wish'd
Thou shouldst be colour'd thus. You married ones.
If each of you would take this course, how many
Must murder wives much better than themselves.
For wrying * but a little — O, Pisanio !
Every good servant does not all commands :
No bond, but to do just ones. — Gods ! if you
Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never
Had liv'd to put on ^ this : so had you saved
The noble Imogen to repent ; and struck
Me, wretch, more worth your vengeance. But,
alack.
You snatch some hence for little faults ; that's love.
To have them fall no more : you some pennit
To second ills with ills, each elder worse ;
And make them dread it to the doer's thrift.
But Imogen is your own ; Do your best wills.
And make me bless'd to obey ! — I am brought
hither
Among the Italian gentry, and to fight
Against my lady's kingdom : 'Tis enough
That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress ; peace !
I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens.
Hear patiently my purpose : I'll disrobe me
Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself
As does a Briton peasant : so I'll fight
Against the part I come with ; so I'll die
For diee, O Imogen, even for whom my life
Is, every breath, a death : and thus, unknown.
Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril
Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know
More valour in me, than my habits show.
Gods put the strength o' the Leonati in me !
To sliame the guise o' the world, I will begin
The fashion, less without, and more within ! [Exit.
SCENE IL The same.
Enter, at one side, Lucius, Iachimo, and the Roman
Army; at the other side, the British Army;
I ^ EON AT us Posth:imus following it, like a paor
Soldier. They march over, and go out. Alarums.
Then enter again in skirmish, Iachimo atid Posx-
* Deviating from the right way.
> Incite, instigate.
HUMUS ; he vanquisheth and disarmeth Iachimo,
and then leaves him.
lach. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom
Takes off my manhood : I have belied a lady.
The princess of this country, and the air on't
llevengingly enfeebles me ; Or could this carl 7,
A very drudge of nature's, have subdu'd me,
In my profession? Knighthoods and honours, borne
As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn.
If that thy gentry, Britain, go before
This lout, as he exceeds our lords, the odds
Is, that we scarce are men, and you are gods. [Exit.
The Battle continues, the Britons fly ,- Cymbeline
IS taken : then enter to his rescue, Belarius,
GuiDERius, and Abviragus.
Bel. Stand, stand ! "We have the advantage of
the ground;
The lane is guarded : nothing routs us, but
The villainy of our fears.
Gui. Arv. Stand, stand, and fight !
Enter Posthumus, and seconds the Britons. They
rescue Cymbeline, and exeunt. Tlien, enter
Lucius, Iachimo, and Imogen.
Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself:
For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such
As war were hood-wink'd.
lach. 'Tis their fresh supplies.
Luc. It is a day tum'd strangely : or betimes
Let's reinforce, or fly. [Exeunt.
SCENE IIL — Another Part of the Field.
Enter Posthumus and a British Lord-
Lord. Cam'st thou from where they made the
stand ?
Post. I did :
Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.
Lord. I did.
Post. No blame be to you, sir ; for all was lost.
But that the heavens fought : The king himself
Of his wings destitute, the army broken.
And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying
Through a strait lane ; the enemy full-hearted.
Lolling the tongue witli slaughtering, having work
More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down
Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling
7 aown.
3 C 2
756
CYMBELINE.
Act V.
Merely through fear; tliat the strait path was
damm'd 8
With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living
To die with lengthen'd shame.
Lord. Where was this lane ?
Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd
with turf;
Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier, —
An honest one, I warrant ; who deserv'd
So long a breeding, as his white beard came to,
In doing this for his country ; — athwart the lane.
He, with two striplings, (lads more like to run
The country base 9, than to commit such slaughter;
Witli faces fit for masks, or rather fairer
Than those for preservation cas'd, or shame,)
Made good the passage ; cry'd to those that fled,
Our Britain's harts diejlying, not our men :
To darkness Jleet, souls that jiy backwards ! Stand ;
Or we are Romans, and will give you that
Like beasts, which you shun beastly ; and may save.
But to look back in frown : stand, stand. — These
three.
Three thousand confident, in act as many,
(For three performers are the file, when all
The rest do nothing,) with this word, Stand, stand,
Accommodated by the place, more charming.
With their own nobleness, (which could have turn'd
A distaff to a lance,) gilded pale looks,
Part, shame, part, spirit renew'd ; that some, turn'd
coward
But by example (O, a sin in war.
Foulest in the beginners !) 'gan to look
The way that they did, and to grin like lions
Upon the pikes o' the hunters. Then began
A stop i' the chaser, a retire ; anon,
A rout, confusion thick : Forthwith they fly
Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles ; slaves.
The strides they victors made : and now our cowards
(Like fragments in hard voyages,) became
The life o' the need ; having found the back-door open
Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound !
Some, slain before; some, dying ; some, their friends
O'erborne i'the former wave : ten, chas'd by one.
Are now each one, the slaughter-man of twenty :
Those, that would die or ere resist, are grown
The mortal bugs ' o' the field.
Lord. This was strange chance :
A narrow lane ! an old man, and two boys !
Post. Nay, do not wonder at it : You are made
Rather to wonder at the things you hear,
Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon't.
And vent it for a mockery ? Here is one :
Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane.
Preserved the Britons, was the Romans' bane.
Lord. Nay, be not angry, sir.
Post. 'Lack, to what end ?
Who dares not stand his foe, I'll be his friend :
For if he'll do, as he is made to do,
I know, he'll quickly fly my friendship too.
You have put me into rhyme.
Lord. Farewell, you are angry.
[Exit.
Post. Still going ? — This is a lord ! O noble
misery !
To be i' the field, and ask, what news of me !
To-day, how many would have given their honours
To have sav'd their carcasses ? took heel to do't,
** Block'd up.
9 A country game called /WMon-dar*. vulgarly prison-base.
» Bug-bears, terrors.
And yet died too ? I, in mine own woe charm'd,
Could not find death, where I did hear him groan ;
Nor feel him, where he struck: Being an ugly
monster,
*Tis strange, he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds,
Sweet words ; or hath more ministers than we
That draw his knives i' the war. — Well, I will find
him :
For being now a favourer to the Roman,
No more a Briton, I have resum'd again
The part I came in : Fight I will no more.
But yield me to the veriest hind, that shall
Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is
Here made by the Roman ; great the answer be
Britons must take ; For me, my ransom's death ;
On either side I come to spend my breath ;
Which neither here I'll keep, nor bear again,
But end it by some means for Imogen.
Enter two British Captains, and Soldiers.
1 Cap. Great Jupiter be prais'd! Lucius is taken :
'Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels.
2 Cap. There was a fourth man, in a silly habit,
That gave the affront 2 with them.
1 Caji. So 'tis reported :
But none of them can be found. — Stand ! who is
there ?
Post. A Roman ;
Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds
Had answered him.
2 Cap. Lay hands on him ; a dog !
A leg of Rome shall not return to tell
What crows have peck'd them here : He brags his
service
As if he were of note : bring him to the king.
Enter Cymbeline, attended; Belarius, Guiderius,
Arviragus, Pisanio, and Roman Captives. The
Captains present Posthumus to Cymbeline, who
delivers him over to a Gaoler: afier which, all go out.
SCENE lY.— A Prison.
Enter Posthumus, and two Gaolers,
1 Gaol. You shall not now be stolen, you have
locks upon you ;
So, graze, as you find pasture.
2 Gaol. Ay, or a stomach.
\^Exeunt Gaolers.
Post. Most welcome bondage ! for thou art a way,
I think, to liberty : Yet am I better
Than one that's sick o' the gout ; since he had rather
Groan so in perpetuity, than be cur'd
By the sure physician, death ; who is the key
To unbar these locks. My conscience ! thou art
fetter'd
More than my shanks, and wrists : You good gods,
give me
The penitent instrument, to pick that bolt.
Then free for ever ! Is't enough, I am sorry ?
So children temporal fathers do appease ;
Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent?
I cannot do it better than in gyves 3,
Desir'd, more than constrain'd : to satisfy.
If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take
No stricter render of me than my all.
I know, you are more clement than vile men.
Who of their broken debtors take a third,
A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again
On their abatement ; that's not my desire :
' Encounter. 3 Fetters.
Scene IV.
CYMBELINE.
^57
For Imogen's dear life, take mine ; and though
'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life ; you coin'd it :
'Tween man and man, they weigh not every stamp ;
Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake :
You rather mine, being yours : A nd so, great powers.
If you will take this audit, take this life,
And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen !
I'll speak to thee in silence. [He sleeps.
Solemn Mustek. Enter, as an Apparition, Sicilius
Leokatus, Father to Posthumus, an old Man,
attired like a Warrior; leading in his Hand an
ancient Matron, his Wife, and Mother to Post-
humus, with Musick before them. Then, after
other Musick, follow the two young Leonati,
Brothers to Posthumos, with wounds, as they
dud in the Wars. They circle Posthumus round,
as he lies steeping.
Sici. No more, thou thunder master, show,
Thy spite on mortal flies :
With Mars fall out, with Juno chide,
That thy adulteries
llates and revenges.
Hath my poor boy done aught but well.
Whose face I never saw ?
I died, whilst in the womb he stay'd
Attending Nature's law.
Whose father then (as men report.
Thou orphans' father art, )
Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him
From this earth-vexing smart.
Moth. Lucina lent not me her aid.
But took me in my throes :
That from me was Posthumus ript,
Came crying 'mongst his foes,
A thing of pity !
Sici. Great nature, like his ancestry,
Moulded the stuff so fair.
That he deserv'd the praise o' the world,
As great Sicilius' heir.
1 Bro. When once he was mature for man,
In Britain where was he
That could stand up his parallel ;
Or fruitful object be
In eye of Imogen, that best
Could deem his dignity ?
Moth. With marriage wherefore was he mock'd,
To be exil'd and thrown
From Leonati' seat, and cast
From her his dearest one,
Sweet Imogen ?
Sici. Why did you suffer lachimo.
Slight thing of Italy,
To taint his nobler heart and brain,
With needless jealousy ;
And to become the geek * and scorn
O' the other's villainy ?
2 Bro. For this, from stiller seats we came.
Our parents, and us twain,
That, striking in our country's cause,
Fell bravely and were slain ;
Our fealty, and Tenantius' right.
With honour to maintain.
1 Bro. Like hardiment Posthumus hath
To Cymbeline perform'd :
Then Jupiter, thou king of gods,
Why hast thou thus adjoum'd
The graces for his merits due ;
Being all to dolours tum'd ?
* The fool
Sici. Thy crystal window ope ; look out ;
No longer exercise.
Upon a valiant race, thy harsh
And potent injuries.
Moth. Since, Jupiter, our son is good.
Take off his miseries.
Sici. Peep through thy marble mansion ; help !
Or we poor ghosts will cry
To the shining synod of the rest,
Against thy deity.
2 Bro. Help, Jupiter ; or we appeal.
And from thy justice fly.
Jui'iTER descends in Thunder and Lightning, sitting
upon an Eagle : he throws a Thunder-bolt. The
Ghosts fall on their knees.
Jup. No more, you petty spirits of region low,
Offend our hearing : hush ! — How dare you,
ghosts.
Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt, you know.
Sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts ?
Poor shadows of Elysium, hence ; and rest
Upon your never- withering banks of flowers ;
Be not with mortal accidents opprest ;
No care of yours it is, you know 'tis ours.
Whom best I love, I cross ; to make my gift.
The more delayed, delighted. Be content ;
Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift :
His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent.
Our jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in
Our temple was he married. — Rise, and fade ! —
He shall be lord of lady Imogen,
And happier much by his affliction made.
This tablet lay upon his breast ; wherein
Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine ;
And so, away : no further with your din
Express impatience, lest you stir up mine. —
Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. [Ascends.
Sici. He came in thunder : his celestial breath
Was sulphurous to smell : the holy eagle
Stoop'd as to foot us : his ascension is
More sweet than our bless'd fields : his royal bird
Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak.
As when bis god is pleas'd.
All. Thteks, Jupiter !
Sici. The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd
His radiant roof : — Away ! and, to be blest.
Let us with care perform his great behest.
[Ghosts vanish.
Post. [Waking.l Sleep, thou hast been a grand-
sire, and begot
A father to me : and thou hast created
A mother and two brothers : But (O scorn !)
Gone ! they went hence so soon as they were bom.
And so I am awake. — Poor wretches that depend
On greatness' favour, dream, as I have done ;
Wake, and find nothing. — But, alas, I swerve :
Many dream not to find, neither deserve,
And yet are steep'd in favours : so am I,
That have tliis golden chance, and know not why. —
What fairies haunt this ground ? A book ? O, rare
one !
Be not, as in our fangled world, a garment
Nobler than tliat it covers : let thy eflfects
So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers.
As good as promise.
[Reads.] Jflien as a lions whelp shall, to himself
unknoum, without seeking find, and be embraced
by a piece qf tender air ; and when from a stately
3 C 3
758
CYMBELINE.
Act V.
cedar shall be lopped branches, which, being dead
many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the
old stock, and freshly grow ; then shall Postliumus
end his miseries, Britain be fortunate, and flourish
in peace and plenty.
'Tis still a dream ; or else such stuff as madmen
Tongue, and brain not : either both, or nothing ;
Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such
As sense cannot untie. Be what it is,
The action of my life is like it, which
I'll keep, if but for sympathy.
Re-enter Gaolers.
Gaol. Come, sir, are you ready for death ?
Post- Over-roasted rather : ready long ago.
Gaol. Hanging is the word, sir ; if you be ready
for that you are well cooked.
Post. So, if I prove a good repast to the spec-
tators, the dish pays the shot.
Gaol. A heavy reckoning for you, sir : But the
comfort is, you shall be called to no more payments,
fear no more tavern bills ; which are often the sad-
ness of parting, as the procuring of mirth : you
come in faint for want of meat, depart reeling with
too much drink ; sorry that you have paid too much,
and sorry that you are paid too much ; purse and
brain both empty : the brain the heavier for being
too light, the purse too light, being drawn of heavi-
ness : O ! of this contradiction you shall now be
quit. — O the charity of a penny cord ! it sums up
thousands in a trice : you have no true debitor and
creditor but it ; of what's past, is, and to come, the
discharge : — Your neck, sir, is pen, book, and
counters, so the acquittance follows.
Post. I am merrier to die, than thou art to live.
Gaol. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the
tooth -ache : But a man that were to sleep your sleep,
and a hangman to help him to bed, I think, he
would change places with his officer: for, look you,
sir, you know not which way you shall go.
Post. Yes, indeed, do I, fellow.
Gaol. Your death has eyes in 's head then ; I
have not seen him so pictured : you must either be
directed by son>e that take upon them to know j or
take upon yourself that, which I am sure you do not
know ; or jump * the after-inquiry on your own
peril : and how you shall speed in your journey's
end, I think you'll never return to tell one.
Post. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want
eyes to direct them the way I am going, but such
as wink, and will not use them.
Gaol. What an infinite mock is this, that a man
should have the best use of eyes, to see the way of
blindness ! I am sure, hanging's the way of winking.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Knock off his manacles ; bring your pri-
soner to the king.
Post. Thou bringest good news ; — I am called
to be made free.
Gaol. I'll be hanged then.
Post. Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler ; no
bolts for the dead.
[Exeunt Posthumus and Messenger.
Gaol. Unless a man would marry a gallows, and
beget young gibbets, I never saw one so prone. ^
Yet, on my conscience, there are verier knaves
deBire to live, for all he be a Roman : and there be
* Hazard. " Forward.
some of them too, that die against their wills ; so
should I, if I were one. I would we were all of
one mind, and one mind good ; O, there were de-
solation of gaolers, and gallowses ! I speak against
my present profit ; but my vnsh hath a preferment
in't. [Exeunt.
SCENE V. — Cymbeline'5 Tent.
Enter Cymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Arvira-
Gus, PisANio, Lords, Officers, and Attendants.
Cym. Stand by my side, you whom the gods have
made
Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart,
Tha^ the poor soldier, that so richly fought,
Whose rags sham'd gilded arms, whose naked breast
Stepp'd before targe 7 of proof, cannot be found :
He shall be happy that can find him, if
Our grace can make him so.
Bel. I never saw
Such noble fury in so poor a thing ;
Such precious deeds in one that promis'd nought
But beggary and poor looks.
Cym. No tidings of him ?
Pis. He hath been search'd among the dead and
living.
But no trace of him.
Cym. To my grief, I am
The heir of his reward ; which I will add
To you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain.
[To Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.
By whom, I grant, she lives ; 'Tis now the time
To ask of whence you are ; — report it.
Bel. Sir,
In Cambria are we bom, and gentlemen :
Further to boast, were neither true nor modest.
Unless I add, we are honest.
Cym. Bow your knees ;
Arise, my knights o' the battle : I create you
Companions to our person, and will fit you
With dignities becoming your estates.
Enter Cornelius, and Ladies.
There's business in these faces : — Why so sadly
Greet you our victory ? you look like Romans,
And not o' the court of Britain.
Cor. Hail, great king •
To sour your happiness, I must report
The queen is dead.
Cym. Whom worse than a physician
Would this report become ? But I consider.
By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death
Will seize the doctor too. — How ended she ?
Cor. With horror, madly dying, like her life ;
Which, being cruel to the world, concluded
Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd,
I will report, so please you : These her women
Can trip me, if I err ; who, with wet cheeks.
Were present when she finish'd.
Cym. Pr'ythee, say.
Cor. First, she confess'd she never lov'd you : only
Affected greatness got by you, not you :
Married your royalty, was wife to your place ;
Abhorr'd your person.
Cym. She alone knew this :
And, but she spoke it dying, I would not
Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.
Cor. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to
love
With such integrity, she did confess
7 Target, shield.
Scene V.
CYMBELINE.
759
Was as a scorpion to her sight ; whose life,
But that her flight prevented it, she had
Ta'en off by poison.
Cym. O most delicate fiend !
Who is 't can read a woman ? — Is there more ?
Cor. More, sir, and worse. She did confess, she
had
For you a mortal mineral ; which, being took,
Should by the minute feed on life, and, ling'ring,
By inches waste you : In which time she purpos'd.
By watching, weeping, 'tendance, kissing, to
O'ercome you with her show : yes, and in time,
(When she had fitted you with her craft,) to work
Her son into the adoption of the crown.
But failing of her end by his strange absence,
Grew shameless desperate ; open'd in despite
Of heaven and men, her purposes ; repented
The evils she hatch'd were not effected ; so,
Despairing, died.
Cym. Heard you all this, her women ?
Lady. We did so, please your highness.
Cym. Mine eyes
Were not in fault, for she was beautiful ;
Mine ears, that heard her flattery ; nor my heart,
Tliat thought her like her seeming ; it had been
vicious.
To have mistrusted her : yet, O my daughter !
That it was fdlly in me, thou may'st say.
And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all !
Enter Lucius, Iachimo, the Soothsayer, and other
Roman Prisoners, guarded ; Posthumus, behind,
and Imogen.
Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute ; that
The Britons have raz'd out, though with the loss
Of many a bold one ; whose kinsmen have made suit
That their good souls may be appeas'd with slaughter
Of you their captives, which ourself have granted ;
So, think of your estate.
Luc. Consider, sir, the chance of war : the day
Was yours by accident ; had it gone with us.
We should not, when the blood was cool, have
threaten'd
Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods
Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
May be call'd ransome, let it come : sufficeth,
A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer :
Augustus lives to think on 't : And so much
For my peculiar care. This one thing only
I will entreat ; My boy, a Briton born,
Let him be ransom 'd : never master had
A page so kind, so duteous, diligent,
So tender over his occasions, true.
So feat 8, so nurse-like : let his virtue join
With my request, which, I'll make bold, your highness
Cannot deny ; he hath done no Briton harm.
Though he have serv'd a Roman : save him, sir,
And spare no blood beside.
Cym. I have surely seen him :
His favour 9 is familiar to me. —
Boy, thou hast look'd thyself into my grace.
And art mine own. — I know not why, nor where-
fore.
To say, live, boy : ne'er thank thy master : live :
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt.
Fitting my bounty, and thy state, I'll give it ;
Yea, tiiough thou do demand a prisoner,
The noblest ta en.
Inw. I humbly thank your highness.
• Ready, dexterous. » Countenance.
Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad ;
And yet, I know, thou wilt.
Imo. No, no : alack.
There's other work in hand ; I see a thing
Bitter to me as death : your life, good master.
Must shuffle for itself.
Luc> The boy disdains me.
He leaves me, scorns me : Briefly die their joys.
That place them on the truth of girls and boys. —
Why stands he so perplex'd ?
Cym. What wouldst thou, boy ?
I love thee more and more ; think more and more
What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on?
speak.
Wilt have him live ? Is he thy kin ? thy friend ?
Imo. He is a Roman ; no more kin to me.
Than I to your highness ; who, being born your
vassal.
Am something nearer.
Cym. Wherefore ey'st him so ?
Imo. I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please
To give me hearing.
Cym. Ay, with all my heart.
And lend my best attention. What's thy name
Imo. Fidele, sir.
Cym. Thou art my good youth, my page ;
I'll be thy master: Walk with me ; speak freely.
[Cymbeline and Imogen converse apart.
Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death ?
Jrv. One sand another
Not more resembles : That sweet rosy lad.
Who died, and was Fidele : — What think you ?
Gui. The same dead thing alive.
Bel. Peace, peace ! see further ; he eyes us not ;
forbear :
Creatures may be alike : wer't he, I am sure
He would have spoke to us.
Gui. But we saw him dead.
Bel. Be silent ; let's see further.
Pis. It is my mistress :
[Adde.
Since she is living, let the time run on,
To good, or bad.
[Cymbeline and Imogen come forward.
Cym. Come, stand thou by our side ;
Make thy demand aloud. — Sir, [To Iach.] step
you forth ;
Give answer to this boy, and do it freely :
Or, by our greatness, and the grace of it.
Which is our honour, bitter torture shall
Winnow the truth from falsehood. — On, speak to
him.
Imo. My boon is, that this gentleman may rendei
Of whom he had this ring.
Post. What's that to him ?
[Aside.
Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say.
How came it yours ?
Iach. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that
Which, to be spoke, would torture thee.
Cym. How ! me ?
Iach. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that
which
Torments me to conceal. By villainy
I got this ring ; 'twas Leonatus' jewel :
Whom thou didst banish ; and (which more may
grieve thee,
As it doth me,) a nobler sir ne'er liv'd
Twiit sky and ground. Wilt tliou hear more, my
lord?
3 C 4
760
CYMBELINE.
Act V.
Cym. All that belongs to this.
lack. That paragon, thy daughter, —
For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits
Quail ' to remember, — Give me leave ; I faint.
Cym. My daughter ! what of her ? Renew thy
strength :
I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will.
Than die ere I hear more : strive man, and speak.
lach. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock
That struck the hour !) it was in Rome, (accurs'd
The mansion where !) 'twas at a feast, (O, 'would
Our viands had been poison'd ! or, at least,
Those which I heav'd to head ! ) the good Posth6mus,
(What should I say? he was too good, to be
Where ill men were ; and was the best of all
Amongst the rar'st of good ones,) sitting sadly.
Hearing us praise our loves of Italy
For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast
Of him that best could speak : for feature, laming
The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva ;
Fairness which strikes the eye :
Cym. I stand on fire :
Come to the matter.
lach. All too soon I shall,
Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. — This Post-
humus,
(Most like a noble lord in love, and one
That had a royal lover,) took his hint ;
And, not dispraising whom we prais'd, (therein
He was as calm as virtue) he began
His mistress' picture ; which by his tongue being
made.
And then a mind put in't, either our brags
Were crack'd of kitchen trulls, or his description
Prov'd us unspeaking sots.
Cym. Nay, nay, to the purpose.
lach. Your daughter's chastity. He spake of her
As she alone were pure : Whereat I, wretch !
Made scruple of his praise ; and wager'd with him
Pieces of gold, 'gainst this which then he wore
Upon his honour'd finger, to attain
In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring
By her's and mine adultery : he, true knight,
No lesser of her honour confident
Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring ;
And would so, had it been a carbuncle
Of Phoebus' wheel ; and might so safely, had it
Been all the worth of his car. Away to Britain
Post I in this design : Well may you, sir,
Remember me at court, where I was taught
Of your chaste daughter the wide difference
'Twixt amorous and villainous. Being thus quench'd
Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain
'Gan in your duller Britain operate
Most vilely ; for my 'vantage, excellent ;
And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd.
That I return'd with similar proof enough
To make the noble Leonatus mad.
By wounding his belief in her renown
With tokens thus, and thus ; averring notes
Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet,
(O, cunning, how I got it !) nay, some marks
Of secret on her person, that he could not
But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd,
I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon, —
Methinks I see him now, ■
Post. Ay, so thou dost,
[ Coming forward.
Italian fiend ! — Ah me, most credulous fool,
1 Sink into dejection.
Egregious murderer, thief, any thing
That 's due to all the villains past, in being.
To come ! — O, give me cord, or knife, or poison,
Some upright justicer ! Thou, king, send out
For torturers ingenious : it is I
That all the abhorred things o' the earth amend,
By being worse than they. I am Posthiimus,
That kill'd thy daughter : — villain-like, I lie ;
That caus'd a lesser villain than myself,
A sacrilegious thief, to do 't : — the temple
Of virtue was she ; yea, and she herself.''
Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set
The dogs o' the street to bay me : every villain
Be call'd Posthumus Leonatus ; and
Be villainy less than 'twas ! — O Imogen !
My queen, my life, my wife ! O Imogen,
Imogen, Imogen !
I mo. Peace, my lord ; hear, hear —
Post. Shall 's have a play of this ? Thou scornful
page,
There lie thy part. [^Striking her : she falls.
Pis. O, gentlemen, help, help
Mine and your mistress : — O, my lord Posthumus !
You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now : — Help, help ! —
Mine honour'd lady !
Cy77i. Does the world go round ?
Post. How come these staggers on me ?
Pis. Wake, my mistress !
Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me
To death with mortal joy.
Pis. How fares my mistress ?
Imo. O, get thee from my sight ;
Thou gav'st me poison : dangerous fellow, hence !
Breathe not where princes are.
Cym. The tune of Imogen !
Pis. Lady,
The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if
That box I gave you was not thought by me
A precious thing ; I had it from the queen.
Cym. New matter still ?
Imo. It poison'd me.
Cor. O gods ! —
I left out one thing which the queen confess'd,
Which must approve thee honest : If Pisanio
Have, said she, given his mistress that confection
Which I gave him for a cordial, she is serv'd
As I would serve a rat.
Cym. What's this, Cornelius?
Cor. The queen, sir, very oft importun'd me
To temper 3 poisons for her ; still pretending
The satisfaction of her knowledge, only
In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs
Of no esteem : I, dreading that her purpose
Was of more danger, did compound for her
A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would cease
The present power of life ; but, in short time.
All offices of nature should again
Do their due functions. — Have you ta'en of it?
Imo. Most like I did, for I was dead.
Bel. My boys.
There was our error.
Gui. This is sure, Fidele.
Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady from
you?
Think, that you are upon a rock ; and now
Throw me again. [Embracing him.
Post. Hang there like fruit, my soul,
Till the tree die !
2 Not only the temple of virtue, but virtue herself.
3 Mix, compound.
Scene V.
CYMBELINE.
761
Cym. How now my flesh, my child ?
What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this act?
Wilt thou not speak to me ?
Imo. Your blessing, sir. [Xheeling.
Bel. Though you did love this youth, I blame you
not;
You had a motive for 't.
[To GuiDERius and Arviragus.
Cym. My tears that fall,
Prove holy water on thee ! Imogen,
Thy mother's dead.
Imo. I am sorry for 't, my lord.
Cym O, she was naught ; and 'long of her it was,
That we meet here so strangely : But her son'
Is gone, we know not how nor where.
IHs. My lord,
Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord Cloten,
Upon my lady's nu'ssing, came to me
With his sword drawn ; foam'd at the mouth, and
swore.
If I disco ver'd not which way she was gone,
It was my instant death : By accident,
I had a feigned letter of my master's
Then in my pocket ; which directed him
To seek her on the mountains near to Milford ;
Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments.
Which he inforc'd from me, away he posts
With unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate
My lady's honour : what became of him,
I further know not.
Gut. Let me end the story :
I slew him there.
Q/m. Marry, the gods forfend ! *
I would not thy good deeds should from my lips
Pluck a hard sentence : pr'ythee, valiant youth.
Deny 't again.
Gui. I have spoke it, and I did it
Cym. He was a prince.
Gui. A most uncivil one : The wrongs he did me
Were nothing prince-like ; for he did provoke me
With language that would make me spurn the sea.
If it could so roar to me : I cut off 's head ;
And am right glad, he is not standing here
To tell this tale of mine.
Cym. I am sorry for thee :
By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must
Endure our law : Thou art dead.
Imo. That headless man
I thought had been my lord.
Ct/m. Bind the offender.
And take him from our presence.
Bel. Stay, sir king :
This man is better than the man he slew,
As well descended as thyself; and hath
More of thee merited, than a band of Clotens
Had ever scar for. — Let his arms alone ;
[To the Guard.
They were not bom for bondage.
Cym. Why, old soldier.
Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for,
By tasting of our wratli ? How of descent
As good as we ?
Arv. In that he spake too far.
Cym. And thou shalt die for't
Bel. We will die all three :
But I will prove, that two of us are as good
As I have given out him. — My sons, I must.
For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech,
Though, haply, well for you.
< Forbid.
ArV' Your danger is
Ours.
Gui. And our good his.
Bel. Have at it, then. —
By leave ; — Thou hadst, great king, a subject, who
Was call'd Belarius.
Cym. What of him ? he is
A banish'd traitor.
Bel. He it is, that hath
Assum'd this age : indeed, a banish'd man ;
I know not how, a traitor.
Cym. Take him hence ;
The whole world shall not save him.
Bel. Not too hot :
First pay me for the nursing of thy sons ;
And let it be confiscate all, so soon
As I have receiv'd it.
Cym. Nursing of my sons !
Bel. I am too blunt and saucy : Here's my knee ;
Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons ;
Then, spare not the old father. Mighty sir,
These two young gentlemen, that call me father,
And think they are my sons, are none of mine ;
They are the issue of your loins, my liege.
And blood of your begetting.
Cym. How ! my issue ?
Bel. So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan,
Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd :
Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment
Itself, and all my treason ; that I suffer'd.
Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes
(For such, and so they are,) these twenty years
Have I train'd up : those arts they have, as I
Could put into them ; my breeding was, sir, as
Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile,
Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children
Upon my banishment : I mov'd her to 't :
Having receiv'd the punishment before.
For that which I did then : Beaten for loyalty
Excited me to treason ; Their dear loss.
The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shap'd
Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir.
Here are your sons again ; and I must lose
Two of the sweet'st companions in the world : —
The benediction of these covering heavens
Fail on their heads like dew ! for they are worthy
To inlay heaven with stars.
Cym. Thou weep'st, and speak'st.
The service, that you three have done, is more
Unlike than this thou tell'st : I lost my children ;
If these be they, I know not how to wish
A pair of worthier sons.
Bel. Be pleas'd a while. -^
This gentleman, whom I call Polydore,
Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius ;
This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arvir^us,
Your younger princely son ; he, sir, was lapp'd
In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand
Of his queen-mother, which for more probation,
I can with ease produce.
Cym. Guiderius had
Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star ;
It was a mark of wonder.
Bel. This is he ;
Who hath upon him still that natural stamp ;
It was wise nature's end in tJie donation,
To Imj his evidence now.
Cym. O, what am I
A motlier to the birth of three ? Ne'er mother
Kejoic'd deliverance more : — Biess'd may you be,
762
CYMBELINE.
Act V.
That, after this strange starting from your orbs,
You may reign in them now ! — O Imogen,
Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.
Tmo. No, my lord ;
I have got two worlds by 't. — O my gentle brother.
Have we thus met ? O never say hereafter,
But I am truest speaker : you call'd me brother
When I was but your sister ; I you brothers,
When you were so indeed.
Ct/m. Did you e'er meet ?
Arv. Ay, my good lord.
Gui. And at first meeting lov'd ;
Continued so, until we thought he died.
Cor. By the queen's dram she swallow'd.
Cym. ' O rare instinct !
When shall I hear all through ? This fierce abridge-
ment
Hath to it circumstantial branches, which
Distinction should be rich in. ^ — Where? how liv'd
you?
And when came you to serve our Roman captive?
How parted with your brothers? how first met them?
Why fled you from the court ? and whither ? These,
And your three motives to the battle, with
I know not how much more, should be demanded;
And all the other by-dependencies.
From chance to chance ; but nor the time, nor place,
Will serve long interrogatories. See,
Posthumus anchors upon Imogen ;
And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye
On him, her brothers, me, her master ; hitting
Each object with a joy ; the counterchange
Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground.
And smoke the temple with our sacrifices. —
Thou art my brother ; So we'll hold thee ever.
[To Belarius.
Imo. You are my father too ; and did relieve me.
To see this gracious season.
Ct/m. All o'erjoy'd.
Save these in bonds ; let them be joyful too.
For they shall taste our comfort.
Imo. My good master,
I will yet do you service.
L71C. Happy be you !
Ci/m. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought.
He would have well becom'd this place, and grac'd
The thankings of a king.
Post. I am, sir.
The soldier that did company these three
In poor beseeming ; 'twas a fitment for
The purpose I then follow'd; — That I was he,
Speak, lachimo ; I had you down, and might
Have made you finish.
lach. I am down again :
[ITneeling.
But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee.
As then your force did. Take that life, 'beseech you.
Which I so often owe : but, your ring first ;
And here the bracelet of the truest princess,
That ever swore her faith.
Post. Kneel not to me ;
The power that I have on you, is to spare you ;
The malice towards you, to forgive you : Live,
And deal with others better.
C^m. Nobly doom'd :
We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law ;
Pardon 's the word to all.
■^rv. You holp us, sir,
* ». e. Which ought to be rendered distinct by an ample
narrative. ^
As you did mean indeed to be our brother ;
Joy'd are we, that you are.
Post. Your servant, princes. — Good my lord of
Rome,
Call forth your soothsayer. As I slept, methought,
Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back,
Appear'd to me, with other sprightly shows 6
Of mine own kindred : when' I wak'd, I found
Tills label on my bosom ; whose containing
Is so from sense and hardness, that I can
Make no collection of it ; let him show
His skill in the construction.
Luc. Philarmonus, — — —
Sootk. Here, my good lord.
Luc. Read, and declare the meaning.
Sooth. [Reads.] When as a lion's whelp shall, to
himself unknown, without seeking Jind, and be em-
braced by a piece of tender air ; and when from a
stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which, being
dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the
old stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus
end his miseries, Britain be fortunate, and flourish in
peace and plenty.
Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp ;
The fit and apt construction of thy name.
Being Leo-natus, doth impart so much :
The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,
[To Cymbeline.
Which we call mollis aer ; and mollis aer
We term it m,ulier : which mulier I divine.
Is this most constant wife, who, even now,
Answering the letter of the oracle,
Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd 7 about
With this most tender air.
Cym. This hath some seeming.
Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
Personates thee : and thy lopp'd branches point
Thy two sons forth : who, by Belarius stolen.
For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd.
To the majestick cedar join'd ; whose issue
Promises Britain peace and plenty.
Cym. Well,
My peace we will begin : — And, Caius Lucius,
Although the victor, we submit to Caesar,
And to the Roman empire; promising
To pay our wonted tribute, from the which
We were dissuaded by our wicked queen ;
W^hom heavens, in justice, (both on her and hers,)
Have laid most heavy hand.
Sooth. The fingers of the powers above do tune
The harmony of this peace. The vision
Which I made known to Lucius, ere the stroke
Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant.
Is full accomplish'd : For the Roman eagle,
From south to west on wing soaring aloft,
Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o' the sun
So vanish'd : which foreshow'd our princely eagle,
The imperial Caesar, should again unite
His favour with the radiant Cymbeline,
Which shines here in the west.
Cym. Laud we the gods :
And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils
From our bless'd altars ! Publish we this peace
To all our subjects. Set we forward : Let
A Roman and a British ensign wave
Friendly together : so through Lud's town march
And in the temple of great Jupiter
Our peace we'll ratify ; seal it with feasts. —
5 Ghostly appearances. ? Embraced.
Scene V.
CYMBELINE.
763
Set on there : — Never was a war did cease,
Ere bloody hands were wash'd with such a peace.
[Exeunt.
A SONG,
SUNO BY GUIDERIUS AND ARVIRAGUS OVER FIDELE,
SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD.
BY MR. WILLIAM COLLlNa
To fair Fidele'« grassy tomb.
Soft maids and village Jiinds shall bring
Each opening sweet, of earliest bloomy
And rifle all the breathing spring.
No wailing ghost shall dare appear
To vex with shrieks this quiet grove;
But shejtherd lads assemble here,
And melting virgins own their love.
No witherd witch shall here be seen.
No goblins lead their nightly crew :
The female fays shall haunt the green.
And dress thy grave with pearly devs
The red-breast oft at evening hours
Shall kindly lend his little aid,
With hoary moss, and gather' d flowers,
To deck the ground where thou art laid.
When howling winds, and beating rain,
In tempests shake the sylvan cell ;
Or midst the chase on every plain.
The tender thought on thee shall dwell.
Each lonely scene shall t/iee restore ;
For thee the tear be duly shed :
Belovd, till life could charm no more ;
And mourn d till pity's self be dead.
I
>\
n'
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
PERSONS REPRESKNTED.
Saturninus, San to the late Emperor of Rome, and
afterwards declared Emperor himself.
Bassianus, Brother to Saturninus; in love with
Lavinia.
Titus Andronicus, a noble Roman, General against
the Goths.
Marcus Andronicus, Tribune of the People; and
Brother to Titus.
Lucius, "j
MaTtius, [^'""^ ^° 'T^'"" Andronicus.
MuTIUS, J
Young Lucius, a Bot/, Son to Lucius.
PuBLius, Son to Marcus the Triune.
SCENE, Rome ; and
a noble Roman.
Sons to Tamora-
J'
^Emilius,
Alarbus,
Chiron,
Demetrius,
Aaron, a Moor, beloved by Tamora.
A Captain, Tribune, Messenger, and Clown; Ro-
mans.
Goths, and Romans.
Tamora, Queen of the Goths.
Lavinia, Daughter to Titus Andronicus.
A Nurse, and a black Child.
Kinsmen of Titus, Senators, Tribunes, Officers, Sol'
diers, and Attendants,
the Country near it.
FAiiEWEI,!., MY SONS : SEE. THAT YOD MAKE HER SDl
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
ACT I.
SCENE I. — Rome. Before the Capitol.
The Tomb of the Andronici appearing: the Tribunes
and Senators aloft, as in the Senate. Enter, belojv,
Satuhninus and his FoUoivers, on one Side ; and
Bassianus and his Fotloivers, on the other ; with
Drum and Colours.
Sat. Noble patricians, patrons of my right,
Defend the justice of my cause with arms ;
And, countrymen, my loving followers,
Plead my successive title ' with your swords ;
I am his first-born son, that was Ihe last
That ware the imperial diadem of Rome ;
Then let my father's honours live in me.
Nor wrong mine age with this indignity.
Has. Romans, — friends, followers, favourers of
my right —
1 f ever Bassianus, Caesar's son,
Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome,
Keep then this passage to the Capitol ;
And suffer not dishonour to approach
The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate.
To justice, continence, and nobility :
But let desert in pure election shine ;
And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice.
Enter Makcus Andronicus aloft, with the Crown.
Marc. Princes that strive by factions, and by
friends,
' i. e. My title to the succession.
Ambitiously for rule and empery, —
Know, that the people of Rome, for whom we stand
A special party, have by their common voice,
In election for the Roman empery,
Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius
For many good and great deserts to Rome ;
A nobler man, a braver warrior.
Lives not this day within the city walls :
He by the senate is accited - home.
From weary wars against the barbarous Goths ;
That, with his sons, a terror to our foes,
Hath yok'd a nation strong, train'd up in arms.
Ten years are spent, since first he undertook
This cause of Rome, and chastised with arms
Our enemies' pride : Five times he hath return'd
Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons
In coffins from the field ;
And now at last, laden with honour's spoils,
Returns the good Andronicus to Rome,
Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms.
Let us entreat, — By honour of his name,
Whom, worthily, you would have now succeed.
And in the Capitol and senate's right.
Whom you pretend to honour and adore, —
That you withdraw you, and abate your strength :
Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should.
Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness.
Sat. How fair the tribune speaks to calm my
thoughts !
Act I. SCENE II.
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
765
Bos. Marcus Andronicus, so do I affy
In thy uprightness and integrity,
And so I love and honour thee and thine,
My nobler brother Titus and his sons,
And her, to whom my thoughts are humbled all,
Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament.
That I will here dismiss my loving friends ;
And to my fortunes, and the people's favour.
Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd.
[Exeunt tlie Followers o^ Bassianus.
Sat. Friends, that have been thus forward in my
right,
I thank you all, and here dismiss you all ;
And to the love and favour of my country
Commit myself, my person, and the cause.
[Exeunt the Followers of Saturnimus.
Rome, be as just and gracious unto me,
As I am confident and kind to tliee. —>
Open the gates, and let me in.
Bus. Tribunes ! and me, a poor competitor.
[Sat. and Bas. go into the Capitot, and
exeunt with Senators, Marcus, ^c.
SCENE II.— The same.
Enter a Captain, and others.
Cap. Romans, make way ; the good Andronicus,
Patron of virtue, Rome's best champion,
Successful in the battles that he fights.
With honour and with fortune is return'd,
From where he circumscribed with his sword,
And brought to yoke, the enemies of Rome.
Flourish of Trumpets, ^c Enter Mutius and Mar-
Tius : after them, two Men bearing a Coffin covered
with black; then Quintus and Lucius, ^fler
them, Titus Andronicus ; and then Tamora,
with Alarbus, Chiron, Demetrius, Aaron,
and other Goths, prisoners ; Soldiers and People,
following. The Bearers set down the Coffin, and
Titus speaks.
Tit. Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning
weeds !
Lo, as the bark that hath discharg'd her fraught,
Returns with precious lading to the bay,
From whence at first she weigh'd her anchorage,
Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs.
To re-salute his country with his tears ;
Tears of true joy for his return to Rome. —
Thou great defender of this Capitol,
Stand gracious to the rites that we intend !
Romans, of five and twenty valiant sons,
Half of the number that king Priam had.
Behold the poor remains, alive, and dead !
lliese, that survive, let Rome reward with love ;
These, that I bring unto their latest home,
With burial amongst their ancestors :
Here Goths have given me leave to sheath my sword.
Titus, unkind, and careless of thine own.
Why sufTer'st thou thy sons, unburied yet.
To hover on the dreadful shore of Styx ? —
Make way to lay them by their brethren.
\The Tomb is ojtened.
There greet in silence, as the dead are wont.
And sleep in peace, slain in your country's wars!
O sacred receptacle of my joys.
Sweet cell of virtue and nobility.
How many sons of mine hast thou in store,
That thou wilt never render to me more !
Luc. Give us the proudest prisoner of the Goths,
That we may hew his limbs, and, on a pile,
Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh,
Before this earthly prison of their bones ;
That so the shadows be not unappeas'd,
Nor we disturb'd with prodigies on earth.'
Tit. I give him you ; the noblest that survives.
The eldest son of this distressed queen.
Tarn. Stay, Roman brethren ; — Gracious con-
queror.
Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed,
A mother's tears in passion * for her son :
And, if thy sons were ever dear to thee,
O, think my son to be as dear to me.
Sufliceth not, that we are brought to Rome,
To beautify thy triumphs, and return,
Captive to thee, and to thy Roman yoke ;
But must my sons be slaughter'd in the streets.
For valiant doings in their country's cause ?
O ! if to fight for king and common- weal
Were piety in tliine, it is in these.
Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood :
Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods ?
Draw near them then in being merciful :
Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge ;
Thrice noble Titus, spare my first-bom son.
Tit. Patient yourself, madam, and pardon me.
These are their brethren, whom you Goths beheld
Alive, and dead ; and for their brethren slain,
Religiously they ask a sacrifice :
To this your son is mark'd ; and die he must.
To appease their groaning shadows that are gone.
Luc. Away with him ! and make a fire straight;
And with our swords, upon a pile of wood,
Let's hew his limbs, till they be clean consum'd.
[Exeunt Lucius, Quintus, Martius,
and Mutius, with Alarbus.
Tam. O cruel, irreligious piety !
Chi. Was ever Scythia half so barbarous ?
Dem. Oppose not Scythia to ambitious Rome.
Alarbus goes to rest ; and we survive
To tremble under Titus' threatening look.
Then, madam, stand resolv'd ; but hope withal.
The self-same gods, that arm'd the queen of Troy
With opportunity of sharp revenge
Upon the Thracian tyrant in his tent.
May favour Tamora, the queen of Goths,
(When Goths were Goths, and Tamora was queen,)
To quit the bloody wrongs upon her foes.
Re-enter Lucius, Quintus, Martius, and Mu-
tius, with their Swords bloodt^.
Luc. See, lord and father, how we have perform 'd
Our Roman rites : Alarbus' limbs are lopp'd.
And entrails feed the sacrificing fire.
Whose smoke, like incense, doth perfume the sky,
Remaineth nought, but to inter our brethren.
And with loud 'larums welcome them to Rome.
Tit. Let it be so, and let Andronicus
Make this his latest farewell to their souls.
[ Trumpets sounded, and the Coffin*
laid in t/ie Tomb.
In peace and honour rest you here, my sons ;
Rome's readiest champions, repose you here.
Secure from worldly chances and mishaps !
Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells.
Here grow no inward grudges ; here are no storms,
No noise, but silence and eternal sleep :
Enter Lavinia.
In peace and honour rest you here, my sons !
' It was supposed that the ghosts of unburied people ap.
pcarcd to solicit the rites of funeral. * Sufibnng.
766
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
Act I.
Lav. In peace and honour live lord Titus long ;
My noble lord and father, live in fame !
Lo ! at this tomb my tributary tears
I render, for my brethren's obsequies ;
And at thy feet I kneel with tears of joy
Shed on the earth, for thy return to Rome :
O, bless me here vv^ith thy victorious hand.
Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud.
7VV. Kind Rome, that hast thus lovingly reserv'd
The cordial of mine age to glad my heart ! —
Lavinia, live ; outlive thy father's days.
And fame's eternal date, for virtue's praise !
Enter Marcus ANnaoNicus, Saturninus,
Bassianus, and others.
Marc. Long live lord Titus, my beloved brother,
Gracious triumpher in the eyes of Rome !
TVf. Thanks, gentle tribune, noble brother
Marcus.
Marc> And welcome, nephews, from successful
wars,
You that survive, and you that sleep in fame.
Fair lords, your fortunes are alike in all.
That in your country's service drew your swords :
But safer triumph is this funeral pomp,
That hath aspir'd to Solon's happiness 6,
And triumphs over chance, in honour's bed. —
Titus Andronicus, the people of Rome,
Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been.
Send thee by me, their tribune, and their trust,
This palliament 7 of white and spotless hue ;
And name thee in election for the empire.
With these our late-deceased emperor's sons :
Be canditntus then, and put it on.
And help to set a head on headless Rome.
Tit. A better head her glorious body fits,
Than his that shakes for age and feebleness :
What ! should I don 8 this robe, and trouble you ?
Be chosen with proclamations to-day ;
To-morrow yield up rule, resign my life,
And set abroad new business for you all ?
Rome, I have been thy soldier forty years.
And led my country's strength successfully,
And buried one-and-twenty valiant sons.
Knighted in field, slain manfully in arms.
In right and service of their noble country :
Give me a staff of honour for mine age,
But not a scepter to control the world :
Upright he held it, lords, that held it last.
Marc. Titus, thou shalt obtain and ask the empery.
Sat. Proud and ambitious tribune, canst thou
tell? —
Tit. Patience, prince Saturnine.
Sat. Romans, do me right ; —
Patricians, draw your swords, and sheath them not
Till Saturninus be Rome's emperor : —
Andronicus, 'would thou wert shipp'd to hell,
Rather than rob me of the people's hearts.
Luc. Proud Saturnine, interrupter of the good
That noble-minded Titus means to thee !
Tit. Content thee, prince ; I will restore to thee
The people's hearts, and wean them from themselves.
Bas. Andronicus, I do not flatter thee,
But honour thee, and will do till I die ;
My faction if thou strengthen with thy friends,
I will most thankful be : and thanks, to men
Of noble minds, is honourable meed.
« The maxim alluded to is, that no man can be pronounced
happy before his death.
' A robe, ^ ,-, c. Do on, put it on.
please
Tit. People of Rome, and people's tribunes here,
I ask your voices, and your suffrages ;
Will you bestow them friendly on Andronicus?
Trib. To gratify the good Andronicus,
And gratulate his safe return to Rome,
The people will accept whom he admits.
Tit. Tribunes, I thank you : and this suit I make,
That you create your emperor's eldest son,
Lord Saturnine ; whose virtues will, I hope
Reflect on Rome, as Titan's 9 rays on earth.
And ripen justice in this common- weal :
Then if you will elect by my advice.
Crown him and say, — Long live our emperor !
Marc. With voices and applause of every sort,
Patricians, and plebeians, we create
Lord Saturninus, Rome's great emperor ;
And say, — Long live our emperor Saturnine !
[J. long Flourish.
Sat. Titus Andronicus, for thy favours done
To us in our election this day,
I give thee thanks in part of thy deserts,
And will with deeds requite thy gentleness :
And, for an onset, Titus, to advance
Thy name, and honourable family,
Lavinia will I make my emperess,
Rome's royal mistress, mistress of my heart.
And in the sacred Pantheon her espouse :
Tell me, Andronicus, doth this motion
thee?
Tit. It doth, my worthy lord ; and, in this match
I hold me highly honour'd of your grace :
And here, in sight of Rome, to Saturnine, —
King and commander of our common-weal.
The wide world's emperor, — do I consecrate
My sword, my chariot, and my prisoners ;
Presents well worthy Rome's imperial lord :
Receive them then, the tribute that I owe.
Mine honour's ensigns humbled at thy feet.
Sat. Thanks, noble Titus, father of my life !
How proud I am of thee, and of thy gifts,
Rome shall record ; and, when I do forget
The least of these unspeakable deserts,
Romans, forget your fealty to me.
Tit. Now, madam, are you prisoner to an em-
peror; [To Tamora.
To him, that for your honour and your state.
Will use you nobly, and your followers.
Sat. A goodly lady trust me ; of the hue
That I would choose, were I to choose anew. —
Clear up, fair queen, that cloudy countenance ;
Though chance of war hath wrought this change of
cheer,
Thou com'st not to be made a scorn in Rome :
Princely shall be thy usage every way.
Rest on my word, and let not discontent
Daunt all your hopes ; Madam, he comforts you
Can make you greater than the queen of Goths.
Lavinia, you are not displeas'd with this ?
Lav. Not I, my lord : sith • true nobility
Warrants these words in princely courtesy.
Sat. Thanks, sweet Lavinia. — Romans, let us g
Ransomeless here we set our prisoners free :
Proclaim our honours, lords, with trump and dru
Has. Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is min
[Seizing Lavini
Tit. How, sir ? Are you in earnest then, my Ion
JSas. Ay, noble Titus ; and resolv'd withaU
To do myself this reason and this right.
[The Emperor courts Tamora in dumb shot
9 The sun. ' Since.
Scene II.
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
■67
Marc. Suum cuique is our Roman justice :
This prince in justice seizeth but his own.
Luc. And that he will, and sliall, if Lucius live.
Tit. Traitors, avaunt ! Where is tlie emperor's
guard ?
Treason, my lord ; Lavinia is surpriz'd.
Sat. Surpriz'd ! by whom ?
Bas. By him that justly may
Bear his betroth'd from all the world away.
{^Exeunt Marcus and Bassianus,
with Lavinia.
Milt. Brothers, help to convey her hence away,
And with my sword I'll keep this door safe.
[Exeunt Lucius, Quintus, and Martius.
Tit. Follow, my lord, and I'll soon bring her back.
Mut. My lord, you pass not here.
Tit. What, villain boy !
Barr'st me my way in Rome ? [Titus kilis Mutius.
Mut. Help, Lucius, help.
Re-enter Lucius.
Lnc. My lord, you are unjust ; and, more than so.
In wrongful quarrel you have slain your son.
TU. Nor tliou, nor he, are any sons of mine :
My sons would never so dishonour me :
Traitor, restore Lavinia to the emperor.
Luc. Dead, if you will : but not to be his wife,
That is another's lawful promis'd love. \^Exit.
Sat. No, Titus, no ; the emperor needs her not,
Not her, nor thee, nor any of thy stock :
I'll trust, by leisure, him that mocks me once;
Thee never, nor thy traitorous haughty sons.
Confederates all thus to dishonour me.
Was there none else in Rome to make a stale 2 of,
But Saturnine ? Full well, Andronicus,
Agree these deeds with that proud brag of thine.
That said'st, I begg'd the empire at thy hands.
Tit. O monstrous ! what reproachful words are
these ?
Sal. But, go thy ways; go, give'that changing piece
To him that flourish'd for her with his sword :
A valiant son-in-law thou shalt enjoy ;
One fit to bandy with thy lawless sons.
To ruffle ^ in the commonwealth of Rome.
Tit. These words are razors to my wounded heart.
Sat. And therefore, lovely Tamora, queen of
Goths, —
Tliat, like the stately Phoebe 'mongst her nymphs.
Dost ovcrshine the gallant'st dames of Rome, —
If thou be pleas'd with this my sudden choice,
Behold I choose thee, Tamora, for my bride.
And will create thee empress of Rome.
Sjjeak, queen of Goths, dost thou applaud my
choice ?
And here I swear by all the Roman gods, —
Sith priest and holy water are so near,
And tapers bum so bright, and every thing
In readiness for Hymeneus stand, —
I will not re-salute the streets of Rome,
Or climb my palace, till from forth this place
I lead espous'd my bride along with nie.
7am. And here, in sight of heaven, to Rome I
swear,
If Saturnine advance the queen of Goths,
She will a handmaid be to his desires,
A loving nurse, a mother to his youth.
Sat. Ascend, fair queen. Pantheon : — I^ords,
accompany
Your noble emperor, and his lovely bride,
' A stalking horse. ^ A ruffler was a bully.
Sent by the heavens for prince Saturnine,
Whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered ;
There shall we c6nsummate our spousal rites.
[^Exeunt Saturninus, and his Followers; Ta-
mora, and her Sons ; Aaron, and Goths.
Tit. I am not bid * to wait upon this bride ; —
Titus, when wert thou wont to walk alone,
Dishonour'd thus, and challenged of wrongs ?
Re-enter Marcus, Lucius, Quintus, and Martius.
Marc. O, Titus, see, O, see, what thou hast done !
In a bad quarrel slain a virtuous son.
Tit. No, foolish tribune, no : no son of mine, —
Nor thou, nor these confederates in the deed
That hath dishonour'd all our family ;
Unworthy brother, and unworthy sons !
Luc. But let us give him burial, as becomes ;
Give Mutius buiial with our brethren.
Tit. Traitors, away ! he rests not in this tomb.
This monument five hundred years hath stood,
Which I have sumptuously re-edified :
Here none but soldiers, and Rome's servitors.
Repose in fame ; none basely slain in brawls : —
Bury him where you can, he comes not here.
Marc. My lord, this is impiety in you :
My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him ;
He must be buried with his brethren.
Quin.Mart. And shall, or him we will accompany.
Tit. And shall ? What villain was it spoke that
word?
Quin. He that would vouch 't in any place but here.
Tit. What, would you bury him in my despite?
Marc. No, noble Titus; but entreat of thee
To pardon Mutius, and to bury him.
Tit. Marcus, even thou hast struck upon my crest,
And, with these boys, mine honour thou hast
wounded :
My foes I do repute you every one ;
So trouble me no more, but get you gone.
Marc. He is not with himself; let us withdraw.
Quin. Not I, till Mutius' bones be buried.
[Marcus an rf the Sons of Titus fen eel.
Marc. Brother, for in that name doth nature plead.
Quin. Father, and in that name doth nature speak.
l^it. Speak thou no more, if all the rest will speed.
Marc. Renowned Titus, more tlian half my
soul, —
Luc. Dear father, soul and substance of us all, —
Marc. Suffer thy brother Marcus to inter
His noble nephew here in virtue's nest.
That died in honour and Lavinia's cause.
Thou art a Roman, be not barbarous.
The Greeks, upon advice, did burj' Ajax
That slew himself; and wise Laertes' son
Did graciously plead for his funerals.
Let not young Mutius then, that was thy joy,
Be barr'd his entrance here.
Tit. Rise, Marcus, rise: —
The dismal'st day is this that e'er I saw.
To be dishonour'd by my sons in Rome ! —
Well, bury him, and bury me the next.
[Mutius is put into the Tomb.
Luc. There lie thy bones, sweet Mutius, with thy
friends.
Till we with trophies do adorn thy tomb !
All. No man slied tears for noble Mutius :
He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause.
Marc. My lord, — to step out of these dreary
dumps, —
4 Invited.
•768
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
Act ir.
How comes it, tliat the subtle queen of Goths
Is of a sudden thus advanc'd in Rome ?
TU. I know not, Marcus ; but, I know, it is ;
Whether by device or no, the heavens can tell :
Is she not then beholden to the man
That brought her for this high good turn so far ?
Yes, and will nobly him remunerate.
Flourish. Re-enter, at one side, Saturninus, at-
tended ; Tamora, Chiron, Demetrius, and
Aaron : at the other, Bassianus, Lavinia, and
others.
Sat. So, Bassianus, you have play'd your prize ;
Jove give you joy, sir, of your gallant bride.
JBas. And you of yours, my lord : I say no more.
Nor wish no less ; and so I take my leave.
Sat. Traitor, if Rome have law, or we have power.
Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape.
Bas. Rape, call you it, my lord, to seize my own.
My true-betrothed love, and now my wife ?
But let the laws of Rome determine all ;
Mean while I am possess'd of that is mine.
Sat. 'Tis good, sir : You are very short with us ;
But, if we live, we'll be as sharp with you.
Bas. My lord, what I have done, as best I may.
Answer I must, and shall do with my life.
Only thus much I give your grace to know,
By all the duties that I owe to Rome,
This noble gentleman, lord Titus here,
Ife in opinion, and in honour, wrong'd ;
That, in the rescue of Lavinia,
With his own hand did slay his youngest son,
In zeal to you, and highly mov'd to wrath
To be controll'd in that he frankly gave :
Receive him then to favour, Saturnine ;
That hath express'd himself, in all his deeds,
A father, and a friend, to thee, and Rome.
Tit. Prince Bassianus, leave to plead my deeds ;
'Tis thou, and those, that have dishonour'd me :
Rome and the righteous heavens be my judge,
How I have lov'd and honour'd Saturnine !
Tarn. My worthy lord, if ever Tamora
Were gracious in those princely eyes of thine.
Then hear me speak indifferently for all ;
And at my suit, sweet, pardon what is past.
Sat. What ! madam ! be dishonour'd openly,
And basely put it up without revenge ?
Tarn. Not so, my lord : The gods of Rome fore-
fend 5,
I should be author to dishonour you !
But, on mine honour, dare I undertake
For good lord Titus' innocence in all,
Whose fury not dissembled, speaks his griefs :
Then, at my suit, look graciously on him ;
Lose not so noble a friend on vain suppose.
Nor with sour looks afflict his gentle heart. —
> Aside
My lord, be rul'd by me, be won at last, •
Dissemble all your griefs and discontents:
You are but newly planted in your throne ;
Lest then the people and patricians too.
Upon a just survey, take Titus' part.
And so supplant us for ingratitude,
(Which Rome reputes to be a heinous sin,)
Yield at entreats, and then let me alone :
I'll find a day to massacre them all,
And raze their faction, and their family,
The cruel father, and his traitorous sons.
To whom I sued for my dear son's life ;
And make them know, what 'tis to let a queen
Kneel in the streets, and beg for grace in
vain. —
Come, come, sweet emperor, — come, Andronicu^
Take up this good old man, and cheer the heart
That dies in tempest of thy angry frown.
Sat. Rise, Titus, rise ; my empress hath prevail'd.
Tit. 1 thank your majesty, and her, my lord :
These words, these looks, infuse new life in me.
Tarn. Titus, I am incorporate in Rome,
A Roman now adopted happily.
And must advise the emperor for his good.
This day all quarrels die, Andronicus ; —
And let it be mine honour, good my lord.
That I have reconcil'd your friends and you. —
For you, prince Bassianus, I have pass'd
My word and promise to the emperor.
That you will be more mild and tractable. —
And fear not, lords, — and you Lavinia ; —
By my advice, all humbled on your knees.
You shall ask pardon of his majesty.
Luc. We do, and vow to heaven and to his highness.
That, what we did, was mildly, as we might,
Tend'ring our sister's honour, and our own.
Marc. That on mine honour here I do protest.
Sat. Away, and talk not ; trouble us no more
Tarn. Nay, nay, sweet emperor, we must all be
friends :
The tribune and his nephews kneel for grace ;
I will not be denied. Sweet heart, look back.
Sat. Marcus, for thy sake, and thy brother's here.
And at my lovely Tamora's entreats,
I do remit these young men's heinous faults.
Stand up.
Lavinia, though you left me like a churl,
I found a friend ; and sure as death I swore,
I would not part a bachelor from the priest.
Come, if the emperor's court can feast two brides.
You are my guest, Lavinia, and your friends j
This day shall be a love-day, Tamora.
Tit. To-morrow, an it please your majesty.
To hunt the panther and the hart with me,
With horn and hound, we'll give your grace bonjour.
Sat. Be it so, Titus, and gramercy too. \^Exeunt.
I
ACT 11.
SCENE 1.^ Before the Palace.
Enter Aaron.
Aar. Now climbeth Tamora Olympus' top.
Safe out of fortune's shot : and sits aloft,
Secure of thunder's crack, or lightning's flash ;
Advanc'd above pale envy's threat'ning reach.
6 Forbid.
As when the golden sun salutes the mom.
And, having gilt the ocean with his beams,
Gallops the zodiack in his glistering coach,
And overlooks the highest-peering hills;
So Tamora. ———
Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait.
And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown.
Then, Aaron, arm thy heart, and fit thy thoughts
Scene I.
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
769
To mount aloft with thy imperial mistress,
And mount her pitch ; whom thou in triumph long
Hast prisoner held, fetter'd in amorous chain,
And faster bound to Aaron's charming eyes.
Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus.
Away with slavish weeds, and idle thoughts !
I will be bright, and shine in pearl and gold,
To wait upon this new-made emperess.
To wait, said I ? to wanton with this queen,
This goddess, this Semiramis ; — this queen,
This syren, that will charm Rome's Saturnine,
And see his shipwreck, and his common-weal's.
Holla ! what storm is this ?
E7iter Chiron and Demetrius, braving.
Devi. Chiron,thy years want wit,thy wit wants edge,
And manners, to intrude where I am grac'd ;
And may, for aught thou know'st, affected be.
Clii. Demetrius, thou dost overween in all ;
And so in this to bear me down with braves.
'Tis not the difference of a year, or two.
Makes me less gracious, thee more fortunate :
I am as able, and as fit, as thou,
To serve, and to deserve my mistress' grace ;
And that my sword upon thee shall approve,
And plead my passions for Lavinia's love.
Aar. Clubs, clubs ! 6 these lovers will not keep
the peace.
Dem. Why, boy, although our mother, unadvis'd,
Gave you a dancing-rapier by your side.
Are you so desperate grown, to threat your friends ?
Go to ; have your lath glued within your sheath,
nil you know better how to handle it
Chi. Mean while, sir, with the little skill I have.
Full well shalt thou perceive how much I dare.
Dem. Ay, boy, grow ye so brave? [They draw,
-^o^' Why, how now, lords ?
So near the emperor's palace dare you draw.
And maintain such a quarrel openly ?
Full well I wot 7 the ground of all this grudge;
I would not for a million of gold.
The cause were known to them it most concerns :
Nor would your noble motlier, for much more.
Be so dishonour'd in the court of Rome.
For shame, put up.
^em- Not I ; till I have sheath'd
My rapier in his bosom, and withal.
Thrust these reproachful speeches down his throat.
That he hath breath'd in my dishonour here.
Chi. For that I am prepar'd and full resolv'd, —
Foul-spoken coward ! that thunder'st with thy
tongue,
And with thy weapon nothing dar'st perform.
yiar. Away, I say. —
Now by the gods, that warlike Goths adore,
This petty brabble will undo us all.
Why, lords, — and think you not how dangerous
It is to jut upon a prince's right?
What, is Lavinia then become so loose.
Or Bassianus so degenerate,
riiat for her love such quarrels may be broach'd,
"VVithout controlment, justice, or revenge?
Young lords, beware ! — an should the empress know
This discord's ground, the musick would not please.
CVji. I care not, I, knew she and all the world ;
I love Lavinia more than all the world.
Dem. Youngling, learn thou to make some meaner
choice •
Lavinia is thine elder brother's hope.
"This was the usual outcry for assisUnce, when any not
in the street happened, r Know.
Aar. Why, are ye mad ? or know ye not, in Rome
How furious and impatient they be,
And cannot brook competitors in love ?
I tell you, lords, you do but plot your deaths
By this device.
Chi. Aaron, a thousand deaths
Would I propose, to achieve her whom I love.
Aar. To achieve her ! — How ?
Dem. Why mak'st thou it so strange ?
She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd ;
She is a woman, therefore may be won ;
She is Lavinia, therefore must be lov'd.
ITiough Bassianus be the emperor's brother.
Better than he have yet worn Vulcan's badge.
jiar. Ay, and as good as Saturninus may.
T^ T-u {Aside.
Dem. Then why should he despair, that knows
to court it
With words, fair looks, and liberality ?
What, hast thou not full often struck a doe,
And borne her cleanly by the keeper's nose ?
Aar. Why, hark ye, hark ye, — And are you such
fools.
To square » for this ? Would it offend you then
That both should speed ?
Chi. I'faith, not fcie.
^ ^«^' Nor me.
So I were one.
Aar. For shame, be friends ; and join for that
you jar.
Tis policy and stratagem must do
That you affect ; and so must you resolve ;
That what you cannot, as you would, achieve,
You must perforce accomplish as you may.
Take this of me, Lucrece was not more chaste
Than this Lavinia, Bassianus' love.
A speedier course than lingering languishment
Must we pursue, and I have found the path.
My lords, a solemn hunting is in hand ;
There will the lovely Roman ladies troop :
The forest walks are wide and spacious ;
And many unfrequented plots there are,
Fitted by kind 9 for rape and villainy :
Single you thither then this dainty doe.
And strike her home by force, if not by words :
This way, or not at all, stand you in hope.
Come, come, our empress, with her sacred • wit.
To villainy and vengeance consecrate,
Will we acquaint with all that we intend ;
And she shall file our engines with advice,
Tl)at will not suffer you to square yourselves,
But to your wishes' height advance you both.
The emperor's court is like tlie house of fame.
The palace full of tongues, of eyes, of ears :
The woods are ruthless, dreadful, deaf, and dull ;
There speak, and strike, shadow'd from heaven's eye,
And revel with Lavinia.
Chi. Thy counsel, lad, smells of no cowardice.
Dem. Sit fas aut nefas, till I find a charm
To calm these fits, per Stygoy per manes vehor.
[Exennt.
SCENE II. — A Forest near Rome. A Lodge seen
at a distance. Horns, and Cry of Hounds heard.
Enter Titus Avukovicvs yunth Hunters, ^c. Mar-
cus, Lucius, QuiNTus, and Martius.
Tit. The hunt is up, the mom is bright and grey.
The fields are fragrant, and the woods are green :
• Sinn-a here ii^nxfie* accursed i a Latini»in.
3 D
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TITUS ANDRONICUS.
Acr II.
Uncouple here, and let us make a bay,
And wake the emperor and liis lovely bride,
And rouse the prince ; and ring a hunter's peal,
That all the court may echo with the noise.
Sons, let it be your charge, as it is ours,
'l''o tend the emperor's person carefully :
I have been troubled in my sleep this night,
But dawning day new comfort hath inspir'd.
Horns wind a Peal. Enter Saturninos, Tamora,
Bassianus, Lavinia, Chiron, Demetrius, and
Attendants.
Tit. Many good-morrows to your majesty ; —
Madam, to you as many and as good ! —
I promised your grace a hunter's peal.
Snt. And you have rung it lustily, my lords.
Somewhat too early for you ladies.
Lav. I say, no ;
I have been broad awake two hours and more.
Sat. Come on then, horse and chariots let us have,
And to our sport : — Madam, now shall ye see
Our Roman hunting. [To Tamora.
Marc. I have dogs, my lord.
Will rouse the proudest panther in the chase.
And climb the highest promontory top.
Tit. And I have horse will follow where the game
Makes way, and run like swallovj^s o'er the plain.
Dem. Chiron, we hunt not, we, with horse nor
hound,
But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground. {^Exeunt.
SCENE III. —A desert Part of the Forest.
Enter Aaron, with a Bag of Gold.
Aar. He that had wit, would think that I had none,
To bury so much gold under a tree.
And never after to inherit ^ it.
Let him, that thinks of me so abjectly.
Know, that this gold must coin a stratagem ;
Which, cunningly effected, will beget
A very excellent piece of villainy ;
And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest 3,
[Hides the Gold.
That have their alms out of the emjjress' chest.
Enter Tamora.
Tarn. My lovely Aaron, wherefore look 'st thou sad,
When every thing doth make a gleeful boast ?
The birds chaunt melody on every bush ;
The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun ;
The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind,
And make a checquer'd shadow on the ground :
Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit.
And — whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds,
Replying shrilly to the well-tun'd horns.
As if a double hunt were heard at once, —
Let us sit down, and mark their yelling noise :
Whiles hounds andhorns, andsweet melodious birds,
Be unto us, as is a nurse's song
Of lullaby, to bring her babe asleep.
Aar. Madam, though Venus govern your desires,
Saturn is dominator over mine ;
What signifies my deadly-standing eye,
My silence, and my cloudy melancholy ?
My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls.
Even as an adder, when she doth unroll
To do some fatal execution ?
Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand,
Blood and revenge are hammering in my head.
2 Possess. 3 Disquiet.
Hark, Tamora, — the empress of my soul.
Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee, —
This is the day of doom for Bassianus ;
His Philomel ^ must lose her tongue to-day :
Thy sons make pillage of her chastity.
And wash their hands in Bassianus' blood.
Seest thou this letter ? take it up, I pray thee.
And give the king this fatal-plotted scroll : —
Now question me no more, we are espied ;
Here comes a parcel * of our hopeful booty.
Which dreads not yet their lives' destruction.
l^am. Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life !
Aar. No more, great empress, Bassianus comes:
Be cross with him : and I'll go fetch thy sons
To back thy quarrels, whatsoe'er they be. [Exit.
Enter Bassianus and Lavinia.
Bas. Who have we here ? Rome's royal emperess,
Unfurnish'd of her well-beseeming troop ?
Or is it Dian, habited like her ;
Who hath abandoned her holy groves.
To see the general hunting in this forest ?
Tarn. Saucy controller of our private steps ?
Had I the power, that, some say, Dian had,
Thy temples should be planted presently
With horns, as was Actaeon's ; and the hounds
Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs,
Unmannerly intruder as thou art !
Lav. Under your patience, gentle emperess,
' Tis to be doubted, that your Moor and you
Are singled forth to try experiments :
Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day !
'Tis pity they should take him for a stag.
Bas. Believe me, queen, your swarth Cimmerian
Doth make your honour of his body's hue.
Why are you sequester'd from all your train ?
Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed.
And wander'd hither to an obscure plot,
Accompanied with a barbarous Moor ?
Lav. My noble lord, I pray you let us hence
And let her 'joy her raven-coloured love.
Bas. The king, my brother, shall have note of this.
Lav. Ay, for these slips have made him noted long :
Good king ! to be so mightily abus'd !
T'am. Why have I patience to endure all this ?
Enter Chiron and Demetrius.
Dcm. How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious
mother,
Why doth your highness look so pale and wan ?
Tarn. Have I not reason, think you, to look pale ?
These two have 'tic'd me hither to this place,
A barren and detested vale, you see it is :
The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean,
O'ercome with moss, and baneful misletoe.
Here never shines the sun ; here nothing breeds.
Unless the nightly owl, oi fatal raven.
And, when they show'd me this abhorred pit,
They told me, here, at dead time of the night,
A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes.
Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins ^,
Would make such fearful and confused cries.
As any mortal body, hearing it.
Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly.
No sooner had they told this hellish tale,
But straight they told me, they would bind me here
Unto the body of a dismal yew ;
And leave me to this miserable death.
* See Ovid's Metamorphoses, book vi.
* Part. <> Hedge-hogs.
II
Scene III.
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
771
I
And tlicn tlicy call'd mc foul adulteress,
Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms
Tiiat ever ear did hear to such efFect.
And, had yoU not by wondrous fortune come,
This vengeance on me had been executed :
Revenge it, as you love your motlier's life.
Or be ye not henceforth call'd my children.
Dem. This is a witness that I am thy son.
[^Stabs Bassianus.
Chi, And this for me, struck home to show my
strength. [Stabbing him likewise.
Lav. Ay, come, Semiramis, — nay, barbarous
Tamora !
For no name fits thy nature but thy own !
Tarn. Give me thy poniard ; you shall know, my
boys,
Your mother's hand shall right your mother's wrong.
Dem. Stay, madam, here is more belongs to her ;
This minion stood upon her chastity,
Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty.
And witli that painted hope braves your mightiness :
And shall she carry this unto her grave ?
Chi. Drag hence her husband to some secret hole.
Tarn. Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting.
Chi. I warrant you, madam ; we will make that
sure.
Lav. O Tamora ! Thou bear'st a woman's face
Tarn. I will not hear her speak ; away with her.
Lav. Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word.
Dem. Listen, fair madam : Let it be your glory
To see her tears : but be your heart to them.
As unrelenting flint to drops of rain.
Lav. When did the tiger's young ones teach the
dam?
O. do not learn her wrath ; she taught it thee :
The milk thou suck'dst from her, did turn to marble;
Even at thy teat tliou hadst thy tyranny. —
Yet every mother breeds not sons alike ;
Do thou entreat her shew a woman pity.
[To Chiron.
Chi. What ! wouldst thou have me prove myself
a bastard ?
Lav. 'Tis true ; the raven doth not hatch a lark :
Yet I have heard, (O could I find it now !)
The lion mov'd with pity, did endure
To have his princely paws par'd all away.
Some say, that ravens foster forlorn children,
The whilst their own birds famish in their nests :
O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no,
Nothing so kind, but something pitiful !
Tam. I know not what it means ; away with her.
Lav. O, let me teach thee : for my father's sake,
That gave thee life, when well he might have slain
thee,
He not obdurate, open thy deaf cars.
Tam. Hadst thou in person ne'er offended me,
Even for his sake am I pitiless : —
Remember, boys, I pour'd forth tears in vain.
To save your brother from the sacrifice ;
Rut fierce Andronicus would not relent.
Therefore, away with her, and use her as you will ;
Tlie worse to her, the better lov'd of me.
Lav. O Tamora, be call'd a gentle queen,
And with thine own hands kill me in this place;
For, 'tis not life, that I have begg'd so long ;
Roor I was slain, when Bassianus died.
Tam. What begg'st thou then ? fond woman, let
me go.
Lav. 'Tis death I beg ; O, keep mc from what's
worse !
And tumble mo into some loathsome pit;
Where never man's eye may behold my body:
Do this, and be a charitable murderer.
Tam. So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee.
Dem. Away, for thou hast st«iidus here too long.
Lav. No grace ? No womanhood ? Ah, beastly
creature !
The blot and enemy to our general name !
Confusion fall
Chi. Nay, then Rll stop your mouth : — Bring
thou her husband;
[Dragging off Lavinia.
This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him.
[Exeunt.
Tam. Farewell, my sons ; see that you make her
sure:
Ne'er let my heart know merry cheer indeed.
Till all the Andronici be made away. —
Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor,
And let my spleenful sons this trull deflour. [Exit.
SCENE lY. — The same.
Enter Aaron, with Quintus and Martius.
Aar. Come on, my lords ; the better foot before :
Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit.
Where 1 espy'd the panther fast asleep.
Qluin. My sight is very dull, whate'er it bodes.
Mart. And mine, 1 promise you : wer't not for
shame.
Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile.
[MxnTix^sfaUs into the Pit.
Quin. What, art thou fallen ? Wliat subtile hole
is this,
Whose mouth is cover'd with rude-growing briars ;
Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood,
As fresh as morning's dew distill'd on flowers?
A very fatal place it seems to me : —
Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall ?
Mart. O, brother, with the dismallest objdct
That ever eye, with sight, made heart lament.
Aar. [Aside.l Now will I fetch the king to find
them here ;
That he thereby may give a likely guess.
How these were tliey that made away his brother.
[Exit Aaron.
Mart. Why dost not comfort me, and help me out
From this unhallow'd and blood-stained hole ?
Quin. I am surprised with an uncouth fear :
A chilling sweat o'er-runs my trembling joints ;
My heart suspects more than mine eye can sec.
Mart- To prove thou hast a true-divining heart,
Aaron and thou look down into this den.
And see a fearful sight of blood and death.
Quin. Aaron is gone ; and my compassionate
heart
Will not permit mine eyes once to behold
The thing whereat it trembles by surmise :
O, tell me how it is ; for ne'er till now
Was I a child, to fear I know not what.
Mart. Lord Bassianus lies embrued here,
All on a heap, like to a slaughter'd lamb,
In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit.
Quin, If it be dark, how dost thou know 'tis he ?
Mart. Upon his bloody finger he doth wear
A precious ring, that lightens all the hole.
Which, like a taper in some monument.
Doth shine upon the dead man's earthy cheek«»
And shows the ragged entrails of this pit :
So pale did slxine the moon on Ryraraus,
3 D 2
772
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
Act II.
Wlien he by night lay bath'd in maiden blood.
0 brother, help me with thy fainting hand,
If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath, —
Out of this fell devouring receptacle,
As hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth.
Qiiin. Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee out ;
Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good,
1 may be pluck'd into the swallowing womb
Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus' grave.
I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink.
Mart. Nor I no strength to climb without thy
help.
Quin. Thy hand once more; I will not loose again,
Till thou art here aloft, or I below :
Thou canst not come to me, I come to thee.
[Falls in.
Enter Saturninus and Aaron.
Sat. Along with me : — I'll see what hole is here.
And what he is, that now is leap'd into it.
Say, who art thou, that lately didst descend
Into this gaping hollow of the earth?
Mart. The unhappy son of old Andronicus ;
Brought hither in a most unlucky hour,
To find thy brother Bassianus dead.
Sat. My brother dead? I know thou dost but jest;
He and his lady both are at the lodge.
Upon the north side of this pleasant chase ;
'Tis not an hour since I left him there.
Mart. We know not where you left him all alive,
But, out alas ! here have we found him dead.
Enter Tamora, loith Attendants; Titus Andro-
nicus, and Lucius.
Tarn. Where is my lord the king ?
Sat. Here, Tamora ; though griev'd with killing
grief.
Tarn. Where is thy brother Bassianus ?
Sat. Now to the bottom dost thou search my
wound ;
Poor Bassianus here lies murdered.
Tarn. Then all too late I bring this fatal writ,
[Giving a Letter.
The complot of this timeless 7 tragedy ;
And wonder greatly, that man's face can fold
In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny.
Sat. [Reads.] jln if we miss to meet him hand-
somely, —
Sweet huntsman, Bassianus 'tis, we mean, —
Do thou so much as dig the grave for him ;
Thou know'st our meaning : Look for thy reivard
Among the nettles at the elder tree.
Which overshades the mouth of that same pit.
Where ive decreed to bury Bassianus.
Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.
O, Tamora ! was ever heard the like ?
This is the pit, and this the elder tree :
Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out.
That should have murder'd Bassianus here.
Aar. My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold.
[Shoudng it.
Sat. Two of thy whelps, [To Tit.] fell curs of
bloody kind.
Have here bereft my brother of his life : —
Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison ;
There let them bide, until we have devis'd
Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them.
Tarn. What, are they in this pit? O wondrous
thing !
How easily murder is discover'd !
7 Untimely.
Tit. High emperor, upon my feeble knee
I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed.
That this fell fault of my accursed sons,
Accursed, if the fault be prov'd in them,
Sat. If it be prov'd ! you see it is apparent, —
Who found this letter ? Tamora, was it you ?
Tarn. Andronicus himself did take it up.
Tit. I did, my lord : yet let me be their bail :
For by my father's reverend tomb, I vow.
They shall be ready at your highness' will,
To answer their suspicion with their lives.
Sat. Thou shalt not bail them : see, thou follow
me.
Some bring the murder'd body, some the murderers ;
Let them not speak a word, the guilt is plain :
For, by my soul, were there worse end than death.
That end upon them should be executed.
Tarn. Andronicus, I will entreat the king;
Fear not thy sons, they shall do well enough.
Tit. Come, Lucius, come ; stay not to talk with
them. [Exeunt severally.
SCENE V. — The same.
Enter Demetrius and Chiron, with Lavinia ; her
Hands cut off, and her Tongue cut out.
Dem. So now, go tell, an if thy tongue can speak,
Who 'twas that cut thy tongue, and ravish'd thee.
Chi. Write down thy mind, bewray thy mean-
ing so ;
And, if thy stumps will let thee, play the scribe.
Dem. See, how with signs and tokens she can
scowl.
Chi. Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy
hands.
Dem. She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to
wash;
And so let's leave her to her silent walks.
Chi. An 'twere my case, I should go hang myself.
Dem. If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the
cord. [Exeunt Demetrius and Chiron.
Enter Marcus.
Marc. Who's this, — my niece, that flies away so
fast?
Cousin, a word ; Where is your husband ? —
If I do dream, 'would all my wealth would wake me !
If I do wake, some planet strike me down,
That I may slumber in eternal sleep ! —
Speak, gentle niece, what stern ungentle hands
Have lopp'd, and hew'd, and made thy body bare
Of her two branches ? those sweet ornaments.
Whose circling shadows kings have sought to sleep
in;
And might not gain so great a happiness,
As half thy love ? Why dost not speak to me ? —
Alas, a crimson river of warm blood.
Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind.
Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips.
Coming and going with thy honey breath.
But, sure, some Tereus hath deflour'd thee ;
And, lest thou shouldst detect him, cut thy tongue.
Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame !
And, notwithstanding all this loss of blood, —
As from a conduit with three issuing spouts, —
Yet do thy cheeks look red as Titan's face,
Blushing to be encounter'd with a cloud.
Shall I speak for thee ? shall I say, 'tis so ?
O, that I knew thy heart ; and knew the beast.
That I might rail at him to ease my mind !
I
Act III. Scene I.
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
773
Sorrow concealed, like an oven stopp'd,
Doth burn the heart to cinders where it is.
Fair Pliilomela, she but lost her tongue,
And in a tedious sampler sew'd her mind :
But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee ;
A craftier Tereus hast thou met withal,
And he hath cut those pretty fingers off".
That could have better sew'd than Philomel.
O, had the monster seen those lily hands
Tremble, like aspen leaves, upon a lute.
And make the silken strings delight to kiss them ;
He would not then have touch'd them for his life :
Or, had he heard the heavenly hannony,
Which that sweet tongue hath made,
He would have dropp'd his knife, and fell asleep,
As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's " feet.
Come, let us go, and make thy father blind :
For such a sight will blind a father's eye :
One hour's storm will drown the fragrant meads ;
What will whole months of tears thy father's eyes?
Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee ;
O, could our mourning ease thy misery ! [Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I. — Rome. A Street.
Enter Senators, Tribunes, and Officers of Justice,
with Martius and Quintus, bound, passing on
to the Place of Execution: Titus going be/ore,
pleading.
Tit. Hear me, grave fathers ! noble tribunes, stay !
For pity of mine age, whose youth was spent
In dangerous wars, whilst you securely slept ;
For all my blood in Rome's great quarrel shed j
For all the frosty nights that I have watch'd ;
And for these bitter tears, which now you see
Filling the aged wrinkles in my cheeks ;
Be pitiful to my condemned sons,
Whose souls are not corrupted as 'tis thought !
For two and twenty sons I never wept.
Because they died in honour's lofty bed.
For these, these tribunes, in the dust I write
[ Throning himself on the Ground.
My heart's deep languor, and my soul's sad tears.
Let my tears stanch the earth's dry appetite ;
My sons' sweet blood will make it shame and blush.
\_Eieunt Senators, Tribunes, ^c with the
Prisoners.
O earth, I will befriend thee more with rain,
That shall distil fiom these two ancient urns.
Than youthful April shall with all his showers :
In summer's drought, I'll drop upon thee still ;
In winter, with warm tears I'll melt the snow,
And keep eternal spring-time on thy face,
So thou refuse to drink my dear sons' blood.
Enter Lucius, iviih his Sword drawn.
O, reverend tribunes ! gentle aged men !
Unbind my sons, reverse the doom of death ;
And let me say, that never wept before,
My tears are now prevailing orators.
Luc. O, noble fatlier, you lament in vain ;
The tribunes hear you not, no man is by.
And you recount your sorrows to a stone.
Tit. Ah, Lucius, for thy brothers let me plead :
Grave tribunes, once more I entreat of you.
Luc. My gracious lord, no tribune hears you
speak.
TU. Why, 'tis no matter, man : if they did hear.
They would not mark me ; or, if they did mark.
All bootless to them, they'd not pity me.
Therefore I tell my sorrows to the stones ;
Who, though they cannot answer my distress.
Yet in some sort they're better tlian tlie tribunes.
For that they will not intercept my tale :
When I do weep, they humbly at my feet
Receive my tears, and seem to weep with me ;
And, were they but attired in grave weeds,
Rome could afford no tribune like to these.
A stone is soft as wax, tribunes more hard than
stones :
A stone is silent, and offendeth not ;
And tribunes with their tongues doom men to death.
But wherefore stand'st thou with thy weapon drawn ?
Luc. To rescue my two brothers from their death :
For which attempt, the judges have pronounc'd
My everlasting doom of banishment.
Tit. O happy man ! they have befriended thee.
Why, foolish Lucius, dost thou not perceive.
That Rome is but a wilderness of tigers ?
Tigers must prey ; and Rome affords no prey.
But me and mine : How happy art thou then.
From these devourers to be banished !
But who comes with our brother Marcus here ?
Enter Marcus and Lavinia.
Marc. Titus, prepare thy noble eyes to weep ;
Or, if not so, thy noble heart to break ;
I bring consuming sorrow to thine age.
Tit. Will it consume me ? let me see it then.
Marc. This was thy daughter.
2'it. Why, Marcus, so she is.
Luc. Ah me ! this object kills me !
Tit. Faint-hearted boy, arise, and look upon
her: —
Speak, my Lavinia, what accursed hand
Hath made thee handless in thy father's sight?
What fool hath added water to the sea ?
Or brought a faggot to bright-burning Troy ?
My grief was at the height before thou cam'st.
And now, like Nilus^, it disdaineth bounds. —
Give me a sword, I'll chop off my hands too ;
For they have fought for Rome, and all in vain ;
And they have nurs'd this woe, in feeding life;
In bootless prayer have they been held up,
And they have serv'd me to effectless use :
Now, all the service I require of them
Is, that the one will help to cut the other. —
'Tis well, Lavinia, that thou hast no hands ;
For hands, to do Rome service, are but vain.
Luc. Speak, gentle sister, who hath martyr'd thee?
Marc. O, that delightful engine of her thoughts.
That blab'd them with such pleasing eloquence,
Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage ;
Where, like a sweet melodious bird, it sung
Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear !
Luc. O, say thou for her, who hath dune this
deed?
Marc. O, thus I found her, straying in the park,
8 Orpheus. • The river Nile,
3 D 3
77't
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
Act III.
Seeking to hide herself, as doth the deer,
That hath receiv'd some unrecuring wound.
Tit. It was my deer, and he that wounded her,
Ilath Imrt me more, than had he kill'd me dead :
For now I stand as one upon a rock,
Environ'd with a wilderness of sea ;
Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave,
Expecting ever when some envious surge
Will in his brinish bowels swallow him.
This way to death my wretched sons are gone ;
Here stands my other son, a banish'd man ;
And here my brother, weeping at my woes ;
But that, which gives my soul the greatest spurn.
Is dear Lavinia, dearer than my soul. —
Had I but seen thy picture in this plight,
It would have madded me ; What shall I do
Now I behold thy lovely body so ?
Thou hast no hands, to wipe away thy tears ;
Nor tongue, to tell me who hath martyr'd thee :
Thy husband he is dead ; and, for his death.
Thy brothers are condemn'd, and dead by this : —
Look, Marcus ! ah, son Lucius, look on her !
When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears
Stood on her cheeks ; as doth the honey dew
Upon a gather'd lily almost wither'd.
Marc. Perchance, she weeps because they kill'd
her husband :
Perchance, because she knows them innocent.
Tit. If they did kill thy husband, then be joyful.
Because the law hath ta'en revenge on them. —
No, no, they would not do so foul a deed ;
Witness the sorrow that their sister makes. —
Gentle Lavinia, let me kiss thy lips ;
Or make some sign how I may do thee ease :
Shall thy good uncle, and thy brother Lucius,
And thou, and I, sit round about some fountain ;
Looking all downwards, to beliold our cheeks
How they are stain'd ? like meadows, yet not dry
With miry slime left on them by a flood ?
And in the fountain shall we gaze so long,
Till the fresh taste be taken from that clearness.
And made a brine-pit with our bitter tears ?
Or shall we cut away our hands, like thine ?
Or shall we bite our tongues, and in dumb shows
Pass the remainder of our hateful days ?
What shall we do ? let us that have our tongues,
Plot some device of further misery.
To make us wonder'd at in time to come.
Luc. Sweet father, cease your tears ; for, at your
grief.
See, how my wretched sister sobs and weeps.
Marc. Patience, dear niece : — good Titus, dry
thine eyes.
Tit. Ah, Marcus, Marcus ! brother, well I wot ',
Thy napkin '^ cannot drink a tear of mine.
For thou, poor man, hast drown'd it with thine own.
Luc. Ah, my Lavinia, I will wipe thy cheeks.
Tit. Mark, Marcus, mark! I understand her signs:
Had she a tongue to speak, now would she say
That to her brother which I said to thee ;
His napkin, with his true tears all bewet.
Can do no service on her sorrowful cheeks :
O, what a sympathy of woe is this ?
As far from help as limbo is from bliss !
Enter Aaron.
Aar. Titus Andronicus, my lord the emperor
Sends thee this word, — That, if thou love thy sons,
Let Marcus, Lucius, or thyself, old Titus,
1 Know 2 Handkerchief.
Or any one of you, chop off your hand,
And send it to the king : he for the same,
Will send thee hither both thy sons alive ;
And that shall be the ransome for their fault.
Tit. O, gracious emperor ! O, gentle Aaron !
Did ever raven sing so like a lark.
That gives sweet tidings of the sun's uprise ?
With all my heart, PU send the emperor
My hand :
Good Aaron, wilt thou help to chop it off?
Luc. Stay, father; for that noble hand of thine,
That hath thrown down so many enemies.
Shall not be sent : my hand will serve the turn :
My youth can better spare my blood than you ;
And therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives.
Marc. Which of your hands hath not defended
Rome,
And rear'd aloft the bloody battle-axe.
Writing destruction on the enemy's castle ?
O, none of both but are of high desert :
My hand hath been but idle ; let it serve
To ransome my two nephews from their death ;
Then have I kept it to a worthy end.
Aar. Nay, come agree, whose hand shall go along,
For fear they die before their pardon come.
Marc. My hand shall go.
Luc. By heaven, it shall not go.
Tit. Sirs, strive no more j such wither'd herbs as
these
Are meet for plucking up, and therefore mine.
Luc. Sweet father, if I shall be thought thy son,
Let me redeem my brothers both from death.
Marc. And, for our father's sake, and mother's
care,
Now let me show a brother's love to thee.
Tit. Agree between you ; 1 will spare my hand.
I-,uc. Then I'll go fetch an axe.
Marc. But I will use the axe.
{Exeunt Lucius and Marcus.
Tit. Come hither, Aaron ; I'll deceive them both ;
Lend me thy hand, and I will give thee mine.
Aar. If that be call'd deceit, I will be honest.
And never, whilst I live, deceive men so : —
But I'll deceive you in another sort.
And that you'll say, ere half an hour can pass.
[Aside.
[He cuts off Titus's Hand.
Enter Lucius and Marcus.
des-
Tit. Now, stay your strife ; what shall be,
patch'd. —
Good Aaron, give his majesty my hand :
Tell him, it was a hand that warded him
From thousand dangers ; bid him bury it ;
More hath it merited, that let it have.
As for my sons, say, I account of them
As jewels purchas'd at an easy price ;
And yet dear too, because I bought mine own.
Aar. I go, Andronicus : and for thy hand.
Look by and by to have thy sons with thee : —
Their heads, I mean O, how this villainy
[Aside.
Doth fat me with the very thoughts of it !
Let fools do good, and fair men call for grace,
Aaron will have his soul black like his face. [Exit.
Tit. O, here I lift this one hand up to heaven,
And bow this feeble ruin to the earth :
If any power pities wretched tears,
To that I call ; — What, wilt thou kneel with me ?
[To Lavinia.
Scene I.
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
775
I
Do Uien, dear heart ; for heaven shall hear our
prayers ;
Or with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin '' dim,
And stain the sun with fog, as sometime clouds,
When they do hug him in their melting bosoms.
Marc. O ! brother, speak with possibilities,
And do not break into these deep extremes.
Tit. Is not my sorrow deep, having no bottom ?
Then be my passions "♦ bottomless with them.
Marc. But yet let reason govern thy lament.
Tit. If there were reason for these miseries,
Then into limits could I bind my woes :
When heaven doth weep, doth not ihe earth o'erflow?
If the winds rage, doth not the sea wax mad,
Threat'ning the welkin with his big-swoln face ?
And wilt thou have a reason for this coil ? *
I am the sea ; hark, how her signs do blow !
She is the weeping welkin, I the earth :
Then must my sea be moved with her sighs ;
Then must my earth with her continual tears
Become a deluge, overflow 'd and drown'd.
Enter a Messenger, with two Heads and a Hand.
Mess. Worthy Andronicuj, ill art thou repaid
For that good hand thou sent'st the emperor.
Here are the heads of thy two noble sons ;
And here's thy hand, in scorn to thee sent back ;
Thy griefs their sports, thy resolution mock'd :
That woe is me to think upon thy woes,
More than remembrance of my father's death.
\_Exit.
Marc. Now let hot JEtna cool in Sicily,
And be my heart an ever-burning fire !
These miseries are more than may be borne !
To weep with them that weep, doth ease some deal,
But sorrow flouted at is double death.
Luc. Ah, that this sight should make so deep a
wound.
And yet detested life not shrink tliereat !
That ever death should let life bear his name.
Where life hath no more interest but to breathe !
[Lavinia kisses him.
Marc. Alas, poor heart that kiss is comfortless,
As frozen water to a starved snake.
Tit. When will this fearful slumber have an end ?
Marc. Now, farewell, flattery : Die, Andronicus :
.JThou dost not slumber : see, thy two sons' heads ;
Thy warlike hand ; thy mangled daughter here ;
Thy other banish'd son, with this dear sight
Struck pale and bloodless ; and thy brother, I,
Even like a stony image, cold and numb.
Ah ! now no more will I control thy griefs :
Rend oft' thy silver hair, thy other hand
Gnawing with thy teeth ; and be this dismal sight
The closing up of our most wretched eyes !
Now is a time to storm j why art thou still ?
Tit. Ha, ha, ha !
Marc. Why dost thou laugh ? it fits not witli this
hour.
Tit. Wliy, I have not another tear to shed :
Besides this sorrow is an enemy.
And would usurp upon my wat'ry eyes.
And make tliem blind with tributary tears;
Then winch way shall I find revenge's cave ?
F(>r these two heads do seem to speak to me ;
And threat me, I shall never come to bliss,
Till all these mischiefs be rcturn'd again.
Even in tlieir throats that have committed them.
Come, let me see what task I have to do.
» The sky. < Suffbrings. » Stir, buttle.
You heavy people, circle me about ;
That I may turn me to each one of you,
And swear unto my soul to right your wrongs
The vow is made. — Come, brother, take a head ;
And in this hand the other will I bear :
Lavinia, thou shalt be employed in these things ;
Bear thou my hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth.
As for thee, boy, go, get thee from my sight ;
Thou art an exile, and thou must not stay :
Hie to the Goths, and raise an army there :
And, if you love me, as I think you do,
Let's kiss and part, for we have much to do.
\ Exeunt Titus, Marcus, and Lavima.
Luc. Farewell, Andronicus, my noble father;
The woeful'st man that ever liv'd in Rome !
Farewell, proud Rome ! till Lucius come again,
He leaves his pledges dearer tlian his life.
Farewell, Lavinia, my noble sister ;
O, 'would thou wert as thou 'tofore hast been !
But now nor Lucius, nor Lavinia lives,
But in oblivion, and hateful griefs,
If Lucius live, he will requite your wrongs ;
And make proud Saturninus and his empress
Beg at the gates, like Tarquin and his queen.
Now will I to the Goths, and raise a power.
To be reveng'd on Rome and Saturnine. \^Exit.
SCENE 11. — ^ Room in Titus's House.
A Banquet set out.
Enter Titus, Marcus, Lavinia, and youvg Lucius,
a Boy.
Tit. So, so ; now sit : and look you eat no more
Than will preserve just so much strength in us
As will revenge these bitter woes of ours.
Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot ;
Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands
And cannot passionate our tenfold grief
With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine
Is left to tyrannize upon my breast ;
And when my heart, all mad with misery,
Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,
Then thus I thump it down. —
Thou map of woe, that thus dost talk in signs !
[To Lavinia.
When thy poor heart beats with outrageous beating,
Thou canst not strike it thus to make it still.
Wound it with sighing, girl, kill it with groans ;
Or get some little knife between thy teeth,
And just against thy heart make thou a hole ;
That all the tears that thy poor eyes let fall.
May run into that sink, and soaking in.
Drown the lamenting fool in sea-salt tears.
Marc. Fye, brother, fye ! teach her not thus to lay
Such violent hands upon her tender life.
Tit. How, now ! has sorrow made tlice dote
already ?
Why, Marcus, no man should be mad but I,
What violent hands can she lay on her life !
Ah, wherefore dost tliou urge the name of hands ; —
To bid iEneas tell the tale twice o'er.
How Troy was burnt, and he made miserable ?
O, handle not the theme, to talk of hands ;
I^est we remember still, that we have none. —
Fye, fye, how frantickly I square my talk !
As if we should forget we had no hands.
If Marcus did not name the word of hands!
Come, let's fall to ; and, gentle girl, eat this : —
Here is no drink ! Hark, Marcus, what slie says ;
I can interpret all her martvr'd signs ; — .
3 D 4
776
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
Act IV.
She says, she drinks no other drink but tears,
Brew'd with her sorrows, mesh'd upon her cheeks 6;
Speechless complainer, 1 will learn thy thought ;
In thy dumb action will I be as perfect,
As begging hennits in their holy prayers :
Thou shalt not sigh, nor hold thy stumps to heaven.
Nor wink, nor nod, nor kneel, nor make a sign,
But I, of these, will wrest an alphabet,
And, by still 7 practice, learn to know thy meaning.
JBoy. Good grandsire, leave these bitter deep
laments :
Make my aunt merry with some pleasing tale.
Marc. Alas, the tender boy, in passion mov'd.
Doth weep to see his grandsire's heaviness.
Tit. Peace, tender sapling ; thou art made of tears,
And tears will quickly melt thy life away. —
[Marcus strikes the DLsh with a Knife.
What dost thou strike at, Marcus, with thy knife ?
Marc. At that that I have kill'd, my lord ; a fly.
Tit. Out on thee, murderer ! thou kill'st my heart;
Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny :
A deed of death, done on the innocent,
Becomes not Titus' brother : Get thee gone ;
I see thou art not for my company.
Marc. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly.
Tit. But how, if that fly had a father and mother ?
How would he hang his slender gilded wings,
And buz lamenting doings in the air :
Poor harmless fly !
That with his pretty buzzing melody,
Came here t<f make us merry ; and thou hast kill'd
him.
Marc. Pardon me, sir ;'twas a black ill-fa vour'd fly.
Like to the empress' Moor ; therefore I kill'd him.
Tit. O, O, O,
Then pardon me for reprehending thee,
For thou hast done a charitable deed.
Give me thy knife, I will insult on him ;
Flattering myself, as if it were the Moor,
Come hither purposely to poison me. —
There's for thyself, and that's for Tamora. —
Ah, sirrah ! 9 —
Yet I do think we are not brought so low,
But that, between us, we can kill a fly,
That comes in likness of a coal-black Moor.
Marc. Alas, poor man ! grief has so wrought on
him,
He takes false shadows for true substances.
Tit. Come, take away. — Lavinia, go with me :
I'll to thy closet ; and go read with thee
Sad stories, chanced in the times of old. —
Come, boy, and go with me ; thy sight is young,
And thou shalt read, when mine begins to dazzle.
{^Exeunt.
ACT IV.
SCENE I. ^Before Titus'5 House.
Enter Titus and Marcus. Then enter young
Lucius, Lavinia running after him.
Boy. Help, grandsire, help ! my aunt Lavinia
Follows me every where, I know not why : —
Good uncle Marcus, see how swift she comes !
Alas, sweet aunt, I know not what you mean.
Marc. Stand by me, Lucius ; do not fear thine
aunt.
Tit. She loves thee, boy, too well to do thee harm.
Boy. Ay, when my father was in Rome, she did.
Marc. What means my niece Lavinia by these
signs ?
Tit. Fear her not, Lucius : — Somewhat doth she
mean :
See, Lucius, see, how much she makes of thee :
Somewhither would she have thee go with her.
Ay, boy, Cornelia never with more care
Read to her sons, than she hath read to thee,
Sweet poetry, and Tully's Orator. 8
Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus ?
Boy. My lord, I know not, I, nor can I guess,
Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her :
For I have heard my grandsire say full oft,
Extremity of griefs would make men mad ;
And I have read that Hecuba of Troy
Ran mad through sorrow : That made me to fear :
Although, my lord, I know, my noble aunt
Loves me as dear as e'er my mother did,
And would not, but in fury, fright my youth :
Which made me down to throw my books, and fly j
Causeless, perhaps ; But pardon me, sweet aunt :
And, madam, if my uncle Marcus go,
I will most willingly attend your ladyship.
•• An allusion to brewing. ^ Constant or continual practice.
* Tully's Treatise on Eloquence, entitled Orator.
Marc. Lucius, I will.
[Lavinia turns over the Books which
Lucius has let fall.
Tit. How now, Lavinia ? — Marcus, what means
this?
Some book there is that she desires to see : —
Which is it, girl, of these ? — Open them, boy. —
But thou art deeper read, and better skill'd ;
Come, and take choice of all my library,
And so beguile thy sorrow, till the heavens
Reveal the vile contriver of this deed. —
Why lifts she up her arms in sequence thus ?
Marc. I think, she means, that there was more
than one
Confederate in the fact : — Ay, more there was : —
Or else to heaven she heaves them for revenge.
Tit. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so?
Boy. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's Metamorphosis ;
My mother gave 't me.
Marc. For love of her that's gone.
Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest.
Tit. Soft ! see, how busily she turns the leaves !
Help her : —
What would she find ; — Lavinia, shall I read ?
This is the tragic tale of Philomel,
And treats of Tereus' treason, and his rape ;
And rape, I fear, was root of thine annoy.
Marc. See, brother, see ; note, how she quotes '
the leaves.
Tit. Lavinia, wert thou thus surpris'd, sweet girl,
Ravish'd and wrong'd, as Philomela was,
Forc'd in the ruthless "^, vast, and gloomy woods ? —
See, see !
Ay, such a place there is, where we did hunt,
(O, had we never, never, hunted there !)
9 This was formerly not a disrespectful expression,
' Observes. 2 ntiless.
Scene I.
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
777
Pattern'd by that the poet Iiere describes,
By nature made for murders, and for rapes.
Marc. O, why should nature build so foul a den,
Unless the gods delight in tragedies !
Tit. Give signs, sweet girl, — for here are none
but friends, —
What Roman lord it was durst do the deed :
Or slunk not Saturnine, as Tarquin erst,
That left the camp to sin in Lucrece' bed ?
Marc. Sit down, sweet niece ; — brother, sit down
by me. —
Apollo, Pallas, Jove, or Mercury,
Inspire me, that I may this treason find ! —
My lord, look here ; — Look here, L^vinia :
This sandy plot is plain ; guide, if thou canst.
This after me, when I have writ my name
Without the help of any hand at all.
[He writes his Nanie u'ith his Staffs and guides
it with his Feet and Mouth.
Curs'd be that heart, that forc'd us to this shift ! —
Write thou, good niece ; and here display, at last,
What Heaven will have discover'd for revenge :
Heaven guide thy pen to print thy sorrows plain,
That we may know the traitors, and the truth !
[Site takes the Staff in her Mouthy and guides it
with Iter Stumps, and writes.
Tit. O, do you read, my lord, wliat she hath writ ?
Stuprum — Chiron — Demetri^is.
Marc. What, what ! — the lustful sons of Tamora
Performers of this heinous, bloody deed ?
Tit. Magne Doniinator poti,
Tarn lentus audis scelera ? tarn lentus tides ?
Marc. O, calm thee, gentle lord ! although I
know.
There is enough written upon this earth.
To stir a mutiny in the mildest thoughts,
And arm the minds of infants to exclaims.
My lord, kneel down with me ; Lavinia, kneel ;
And kneel, sweet boy, the Roman Hector's hope ;
And swear with me, — as with the woeful feere^,
And father, of that chaste dishonour'd dame.
Lord Junius Brutus sware for Lucrece' rape,
That we will prosecute, by good advice.
Mortal revenge upon these traitorous Goths,
And see their blood, or die with this reproach.
Tit. 'Tis sure enough, an you knew how.
But if you hurt these bear-whelps, then beware :
The dam will wake ; and, if she wind you once.
She's with the lion deeply still in league.
And, when he sleeps, will she do what she list.
You're a young huntsman, Marcus ; let it alone ;
And, come, I will go get a leaf of brass.
And with a gad •• of steel will write these words,
And lay it by : the angry northern wind
Will blow these i^nds, like Sibyl's leaves, abroad.
And Where's your lesson then?— Boy, what say you?
Boi/. I say, my lord, that if I were a man.
Their mother's bed-chamber should not be safe
For these bad bondmen to the yoke of Rome.
Marc. Ay, that's my boy ! thy father hatli full oft
For this ungrateful country done the like.
Hot/. And uncle, so will I, an if I live.
Tit. Come, go with me into mine armoury;
I^ucius, I'll fit thee ; and withal, my boy
Shall carry from me to the empress' sons
Presents, that I intend to send them both :
Come, come; thou'ltdo thy message, wilt thou not?
Bot/. Ay, with my dagger in their bosoms, grand-
sire.
3 Husband < The point of a siniar.
Tit. No, boy, not so ; I'll teach thee another
course.
Lavinia, come : — Marcus, look to my house ;
Lucius and I'll go brave it at the court ;
Ay, marry, will we, sir : and we'll be waited on.
[Exeu7U Titus, Lavinia, and Boy.
Marc. O heavens, can you hear a good man groan,
A nd not relent, or not compassion him ?
Marcus, attend him in his ecstasy ;
That hath more scars of sorrow in his heart,
Than foe-men's marks upon his batter 'd siiield :
But yet so juh-t, tliat he will not revenge:
Revenge the heavens for old Andronicus ! [Exit.
SCENE II. — A Room in the Palace.
Enter Aaron, Chirov, and Demetrius, at one
Door : at another Door, young Lucius, and an
Attendant, unth a bundle of Weapons, and Verses
writ upon them.
Chi. Demetrius, here's the son of Lucius ;
He hath some message to deliver to us.
Aar. Ay, some mad message from his mad grand-
father.
Boy. My lords, with all the humbleness I may,
I greet your honours from Andronicus ; —
And pray the Roman gods, confound you both.
[Aside.
Dem. Gramercy *, lovely Lucius : What's the news?
Boy. That you are both decipher'd, that's the news.
For villains mark'd with rape. [Aside.] May it
please you.
My grandsire, well advis'd, hath sent by me
The goodliest weapons of his armoury,
To gratify your honourable youth,
The hope of Rome ; for so he bade me say ;
And so I do, and with his gifts present
Your lordships, that whenever you have need.
You may be armed and appointed well :
And so I leave you both, [Aside.] likebloody villains.
[Exeunt Boy and Attendant.
Dem. What's here ? A scroll ; and written round
about ?
Let's see.
Integer vitce, scelerisque fnirus,
Nbn eget Mauri jaculis, nee arcu.
Chi. O, tis a verse in Horace ; I know it well :
I read it in the grammar long ago.
Aar. Ay, just ! — a verse in Horace : — right,
you have it.
Now, what a thing it is to be an ass ! ^
Here's no sound jest ! the old man hath
found their guilt ;
And sends the weapons wrapp'd about
with lines.
That wound, beyond their feeling, to the
quick.
But were our witty empress well a-foot.
She would applaud Andronicus' conceit.
But let her rest in her unrest awhile. —
And now, young lords, was't not a happy star
Led us to Rome, strangers, and more than so,
Captives, to be advanced to this height ?
It did me good, befote the palace gate
To brave the tribune in his brother's hearing.
Dem. But me more good, to see so great a lord
Basely insinuate, and send us gifts.
Aar. Had he not reason, lord Demetrius ?
Did you not use liis daughter very friendly ?
[Flourish.
* i. c. Grand mcrci ; great thanks.
.. Aside,
778
TITUS ANDRONICUS,
Act IV.
Dem. Why dotlieemperor's trumpets flourish thus?
Chi. Belike for joy the emperor hath a son.
Dem. Soft ; who comes here ?
Enter a Nurse, with a Black-a-moor Child in her
Arms.
Nur. Good morrow, lords :
O, tell me, did you see Aaron the Moor ?
Aar. Well, more, or less, or ne'er a whit at all,
Here Aaron is : and what with Aaron now ?
Nur. O, gentle Aaron, we are all undone !
Now help, or woe betide thee evermore !
Aar. Why, what a caterwauling dost thou keep ?
What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine arms ?
Nur. O, that which I would hide from heaven's
eye.
Our empress' shame, and stately Rome's disgrace; —
She is deliver'd, lords, she is deliver'd.
Aar. To whom ?
Nur. I mean, she's brought to bed.
Aar. Well, Jove
Give her good rest ! What hath she got ?
Nur. A devil.
Aar. Why then she's the devil's dam ; a joyful
issue.
Nur. A joyless, dismal, black, and sorrowful issue:
Here is the babe, as loathsome as a toad
Amongst the fairest breeders of our clime.
The empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal.
And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's point.
Aar. Out, out, you wretch ! is black so base a
hue?
Sweet blowse, you are a beauteous blossom, sure.
Dem. Villain, what hast thou done ?
Aar. Done ! that which thou
Canst not undo.
Chi. Thou hast undone our mother.
Dem. Woe to her chance, accurs'd her loathed
choice !
Woe to the offspring of so foul a fiend !
Chi. It shall not live.
Aar. It shall not die.
Nur. Aaron, it must : the mother wills it so.
Aar. What, must it, nurse ? then let no man but I,
Do execution on my flesh and blood.
Dem. I'll broach^ the tadpole on my rapier's point;
Nurse, give it me ; my sword shall soon despatch it.
Aar. Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels up.
[ Takes Che Child from the Nurse, and draws.
Stay, murderous villains! will you kill your brother?
Now, by the burning tapers of the sky.
He dies upon my scimitar's sharp point,
That touches this my first-born son and heir !
I tell you, younglings, not Enceladus,
With all his threat'ning band of Typhon's brood.
Nor great Alcides, nor the god of war.
Shall seize this prey out of his father's hands.
What, what ; ye sanguine, shallow-hearted boys !
Ye white-lim'd walls ! ye ale-house painted signs !
Coal black is better than another hue.
In that it scorns to bear another hue :
For all the water in the ocean
Can never turn a swan's black legs to white,
Although she lave them hourly in the flood.
U'ell the empress from me, I am of age
To keep mine own ; excuse it how she can.
Dem. Wilt thou betray thy noble mistress thus ?
Aar. My mistress is my mistress; this, myself;
The vigour and the picture of my youth :
6 Spit.
This, before all the world, do I prefer ;
This, maugre 7 all the world, will I keep safe
Or some of you shall smoke for it in Rome.
Dem. By this our mother is for ever sham'd.
Chi. Rome will despise her for this foul escape.
Nur. The emperor, in his rage, will doom her death.
Chi. 1 blush to think upon this ignomy. '^
Aar. Why, there's the privilege your beauty bears :
Fye, treacherous hue ! that will betray with blushing
The close enacts and counsels of the heart !
Here's a young lad fram'd of another leer 9 :
Look how the black slave smiles upon the father ;
As who should say. Old lad, lam thine own.
He is your brother, lords ; sensibly fed
Of that self-blood that first gave life to you ;
Although my seal be stamped in his face.
Nur. Aaron, what shall I say unto the empress ?
Dem. Advise thee, Aaron, what is to be done,
And we will all subscribe to thy advice ;
Save thou the child, so we may all be safe.
Aar. Then sit we down, and let us all consult.
My son and I will have the wind of you :
Keep there : Now talk at pleasure of your safety.
[Thet/ sit on the Ground.
Dem. How many women saw this child of his?
Aar. Why so, brave lords ! when we all join in
league,
I am a lamb : but if you brave the Moor,
The chafed boar, the mountain lioness.
The ocean swells not so as Aaron storms. —
But, say again, how many saw the child ?
Nur. Cornelia the midwife, and myself.
And no one else but the deliver'd empress.
Aar. The emperess, the midwife, and yourself:
Two may keep counsel when the third's away :
Go to the empress ; tell her, this I said : —
[Stabbing her.
Weke, Weke ! — so cries a pig prepar'd to the spit.
Dem. What mean'st thou, Aaron ! Wherefore
didst thou this ?
Aar. O, lord, sir, 'tis a deed of policy :
Shall she live to betray this guilt of ours ?
A long-tongu'd babbling gossip ? no, lords, no.
And now be it known to you my full intent.
Not far, one Muliteus lives, my countryman ;
His wife but yesternight was brought to bed ;
His child is like to her, fair as you are :
Go pack ' with him, and give the mother gold.
And tell them both the circumstance of all ;
And how by this their child shall be advanc'd
And be received for the emperor's heir.
And substituted in the place of mine.
To calm this tempest whirling in the court ;
And let the emperor dandle him for his own.
Hark ye, lords, ye see, that 1 have given her phy-
sick, [Pointing to the Nurse.
And you must needs bestow her funeral ;
The fields are near, and you are gallant grooms i^
This done, see that you take no longer days.
But send the midwife presently to me.
The midwife, and the nurse well made away.
Then let the ladies tattle what they please.
Chi. Aaron, I see thou wilt not trust the air
With secrets.
Dem. For this care of Tamora,
Herself, and hers, are highly bound to thee.
[Exeunt Demetrius and Chiron bearing
the Nurse.
In spite of. " Ignominy. ^ ComploxJon.
Contrive, bargain with.
^
Scene III.
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
779
Aar. Now to the Goths, as swift as swallow flics ;
There to dispose this treasure in mine arms,
And secretly to greet the empress' friends. —
Come on, you thick-lipp'd slave, I'll bear you hence;
For it is you tliat puts us to our shifts :
I'll make you feed on berries, and on roots.
And feed on curds and whey, and suck the goat,
And cabin in a cave ; and bring you up
To be a warrior, and command a camp. \_ExU.
SCENE III. —^ Publick Place.
Enter Titus, bearing Arrows, with Letters at the
Ends of them ; with him Marcus, young Lucius,
and other Gentlemen, with Bows.
TU. Come, Marcus, come ; — Kinsman, this is
the way : —
Sir boy, now let me see your archery ;
Look ye draw home enough, and 'tis there straight :
Terras Astr<sa reliquit •'
Be you remembered, Marcus, she's gone, she's fled.
Sir, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall
Go sound the ocean, and cast your nets ;
Happily you may find her in the sea ;
Yet there's as little justice as at land : —
No ; Publius and Sempronius, you must do it ;
'Tis you must dig with mattock and with spade.
And pierce the inmost centre of the earth :
Then, when you come to Pluto's region,
I pray you, deliver him this petition :
Tell him, it is for justice, and for aid :
And that it comes from old Andronicus,
Shaken with sorrows in ungrateful Rome. —
Ah, Rome ! — Well, well ; I made thee miserable,
What time I threw the people's suffrages
On him that thus doth tyrannize o'er me. —
Go, get you gone ; and pray be careful all,
And leave you not a man of war unsearch'd ;
This wicked emperor may have shipp'd her hence,
And, kinsmen, then we may go pipe for justice.
Marc. O, Publius, is this not a heavy case,
To see thy noble uncle thus distract ?
Pub. Therefore, my lord, it highly us concerns.
By day and night to attend him carefully ;
And feed his humour kindly as we may.
Till time beget some careful remedy.
Marc. Kinsmen, his sorrows are past remedy.
Join with the Goths ; and with revengeful war
Take wreak on Rome for this ingratitude,
And vengeance on the traitor Saturnine.
Tit. Publius, how now ? how now, my masters?
What,
Have you met with her ?
Pub. No, my good lord ; but Plutus sends you
word
If you will have Revenge from hell, you shall :
Marry, for Justice, she is so employ'd.
He thinks, with Jove in heaven, or somewhere else.
So that perforce you must needs stay a time.
Tit. He doth me wrong, to feed me with delays.
I'll dive into the burning lake below,
And pull her out of Acheron by the heels. —
Marcus, we are but shrubs, no cedars we ;
No big-bon'd men, frara'd of the Cyclop's size ;
But, metal, Marcus, steel to the very back ;
Yet wrung* with wrongs, more than our backs can
bear:
And sitliS there is no justice in earth nor hell,
We will solicit heaven ; and move the gods,
' Strained. ' Since.
To send down justice for to wreak ■* our wrongs :
Come, to this gear. You are a good archer, Marcus.
{^He gives them the Arrows.
AdJovem, that's for you : — Here, ati Apolliiu^m : —
Ad Martem, that's for myself : —
Here, boy, to Pallas : — Here, to Mercury :
To Saturn, Caius, not to Saturnine, —
You were as good to shoot against tlie wind. —
To it, boy. Marcus, loose when I bid :
O' my word I have written to effect ;
There's not a god left unsolicited.
Marc. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the
court ;
We will afflict the emperor in his pride.
Tit. Now, masters, draw. [^They shoot.^ O, well
said, Lucius !
Marc. My lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon ;
Your letter is with Jupiter by this.
Tit. Why, there it goes : Jove give your lordship
joy.
Enter a Clown, with a Basket and two Pigeons.
News, news from heaven ! Marcus, the post is
come.
Sirrah, what tidings ? have you any letters ?
Shall I have justice? what says Jupiter?
Clo. Ho ! the gibbet-maker ? he says, that he
hath taken them down again, for the man must not
be hanged till the next week.
Tit. But what says Jupiter, I ask thee ?
Clo. Alas, sir, I know not Jupiter j I never
drank with him in all my life.
Tit. Why, villain, art not thou the carrier ?
Clo. Ay, of my pigeons, sir ; nothing else.
Tit. Why didst thou not come from heaven ?
Clo. From heaven ? alas, sir, I never came there.
Why, I am going with my pigeons to the tribunal
plebs, to take up a matter of brawl betwixt my
uncle and one of the emperial's men.
Marc. Why, sir, that is as fit as can be, to serve
for your oration ; and let him deliver the pigeons
to the emperor from you.
Tit. Tell me, can you deliver an oration to the
emperor with a grace?
Clo. Nay, truly, sir, I could never say grace in all
my life.
Tit. Sirrah, come hither, make no more ado.
But give your pigeons to the emperor :
By me thou shalt have justice at his hands.
Hold, hold ; — mean while, here's money for thy
charges.
Give me a pen and ink. —
Sirrah, can you with a grace deliver a supplication ?
Clo. Ay, sir.
Tit. Then here is a supplication for you. And
when you come to him, at the first approach, you
must kneel; then kiss his foot; then deliver up your
pigeons ; and then look for your reward, I'll be at
hand, sir : see you do it bravely.
Clo. I warrant you, sir ; let me alone.
Tit. Sirrah, hast thou a knife? Come, let me
see it.
Here, Marcus, fold it in the oration ;
For thou hast made it like an humble suppliant :
And when thou hast given it to the emperor.
Knock at my door, and tell me what he says.
Clo. Sir ; I will.
Tit. Come, Marcus, let's go : — Publius, follow
me. \_Exeunt.
* Revenge.
780
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
Act IV.
SCENE IV. ~ Before the Palace.
Enter Saturninus, Tamora, Chiron, Demetrius,
Lords, and others ; Saturninus wUh the Arrows
in Ids Hand, that Titus shot.
Sat. Why, lords, what wrongs are these? Was
ever seen
An emperor of Rome thus overborne,
Troubled, confronted thus : and, for the extent
Of egal 5 justice, us'd in such contempt?
My lords, you know, as do the mightful gods.
However these disturbers of our peace
Buz in the people's ears, there nought hath pass'd.
But even with law, against the wilful sons
Of old Andronicus. And what an if
His sorrows hath so o'erwhelm'd his wits,
Shall we be thus afflicted in his wreaks,
His fits, his frenzy, and his bitterness ?
And now he writes to heaven for liis redress :
See, here's to Jove, and this to Mercury ;
This to Apollo ; this to the god of war :
Sweet scrolls to fly about the streets of Rome !
What's this, but libelling against the senate,
And blazoning our injustice every where ?
A goodly humour, is it not, my lords ?
As who would say, in Rome no justice were.
But, if I live, his feigned ecstasies
Shall be no shelter to these outrages :
But he and his shall know, that justice lives
In Saturninus' health ; whom, if she sleep,
He'll so awake, as she in fury shall
Cut off the proud'st conspirator that lives.
Tarn. My gracious lord, my lovely Saturnine,
Lord of my life, commander of my thoughts.
Calm thee, and bear the faults of Titus' age,
The effects of sorrow for his valiant sons.
Whose loss hath pierc'd him deep, and scarr'd his
heart ;
And rather comfort his distressed plight,
Than prosecute the meanest, or the best,
For these contempts. Why, thus it shall become
High-witted Tamora to gloze^ with all : [Aside.
But, Titus, I have touch 'd thee to the quick.
Thy life-blood out : If Aaron now be wise.
Then all is safe, the anchor's in the port. —
Enter Clown.
How now, good fellow? wouldst thou speak with us?
Clo. Yes, forsooth, an your mistership be imperial.
Tarn. Empress I am, but yonder sits the emperor.
Clo. 'Tis he. I have brought you a letter, and a
couple of pigeons here.
[Saturninus reads the Letter.
Sat. Go, take him away, and hang him presently.
Clo. How much money must I have ?
Tarn. Come, sirrah, you must be hang'd.
Clo. Hang'd ! then I have brought up a neck to
a fair end. ^ ^ [Ejcit, guarded.
Sat. Despiteful and intolerable wrongs !
Shall I endure this monstrous villainy ?
I know from whence this same device proceeds ;
May this be borne ? — as if his traitorous sons,
That died by law for murder of our brother,
Have by my means been butcher'd wrongfully. —
Go, drag the villain hither by the hair ;
* Equal « Flatter,
Nor age, nor honour, shall shape privilege : —
For this proud mock, I'll be thy slaughter-man ;
Sly frantick wretch, that holp'st to make me great,
In hope thyself should govern Rome and me.
Enter Mmilws.
What news with thee, uEmilius ?
JEmil. Arm, arm, my lords j Rome never had
more cause !
The Goths have gather'd head ; and with a pow(
Of high resolved men, bent to the spoil.
They hither march amain, under conduct
Of Lucius, son to old Andronicus ;
Who threats, in course of this revenge, to do
As much as ever Coriolanus did.
Sat. Is warlike Lucius general of the Goths ?
These tidings nip me ; and I hang the head
As flowers with frost, or grass beat down with storms.
Ay, now begin our sorrows to approach :
' Tis he the common people love so much ;
Myself hath often over-heard them say,
(When I have walked like a private man,)
That Lucius' banishment was wrongfully,
And they have wish'd that Lucius were their emperor.
Tarn. Why should you fear? is not your city
strong ?
Sat. Ay, but the citizens favour Lucius ;
And will revolt from me, to succour him.
Tarn. King, be thy thoughts imperious 7 like thy
name.
Is the sun dimm'd, that gnats do fly in it ?
The eagle suffers little birds to sing.
And is not careful what they mean thereby ;
Knowing that with the shadow of his wings,
He can at pleasure stint 8 their melody :
Even so mayst thou the giddy men of Rome.
Then cheer thy spirit : for know, thou emperor,
I will enchant the old Andronicus,
With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous.
Than baits to fish, or honey stalks to sheep ;
When as the one is wounded with the bait.
The other rotted with delicious feed.
Sat. But he will not entreat his son for us.
Tarn. If Tamora entreat him, then he will :
For I can smooth, and fill his aged ear
With golden promises ; that were his heart
Almost impregnable, his old ears deaf.
Yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue —
Go thou before, be our ambassador. [To ^milius.
Say, that the emperor requests a parley
Of warlike Lucius, and appoint the meeting.
Even at his father's house, the old Andronicus.
Sat. ^milius, do this message honourably :
And if he stand on hostage for his safety.
Bid him demand what pledge will please him best.
JEmil. Your bidding shall I do eflfectually.
[Exit ^Emilius.
Tarn. Now will I to that old Andronicus ;
And temper him with all the art I have.
To pluck proud Lucius from the warlike Goths.
And now, sweet emperor, be blithe again.
And bury all thy fear in my devices.
Sat. Then go successfully, and plead to him.
[Exeunt,
7 Imperial 8 stop.
had^
i
I
Act V. Scene I.
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
781
ACT V.
SCENE I. —Plains near Rome.
Enter Lucius, and Goths, toilh Drum and Colours.
Luc. Approved warriors, and my faithful friends,
I have received letters from great Rome,
Which signify what hate they bear their emperor,
And how desirous of our sight they are.
Therefore, great lords, be, as your titles witness.
Imperious, and impatient of your wrongs;
And, wherein Rome hath done you any scath 9,
Let him make treble satisfaction.
1 Golh. Brave slip, sprung from the great Andro-
nicus,
Whose name was once our terror, now our comfort;
Whose high exploits, and honourable deeds,
Ingrateful Rome requites with foul contempt.
Be bold in us : we'll follow where thou lead'st, —
Like stinging bees in hottest summer's day,
Led by their master to the flower'd fields, —
And be aveng'd on cursed Tamora.
Goths. And, as he saith, so say we all with him,
Luc. I humbly thank him, and I thank you all.
But who comes here, led by a lusty Goth ?
Enter a Goth, leading Aaron, wUh his Child in his
Arms.
2 Goth. Renowned Lucius, from our troops I
stray'd,
To gaze upon a ruinous monastery ;
And as I earnestly did fix mine eye
Upon the wasted building, suddenly
I heard a child cry underneath a wall :
I made unto the noise ; when soon I heard
The crying babe controll'd with this discourse :
Peace, tawny slave ; half me, and half thy dam !
Did not thy hue hewray whose brat thou art.
Had nature lent thee but thy mother s look.
Villain thou mightst have been an emperor :
Peace, villain, peacei — even thus he rates the babe,—
For I jnust bear thee to a trusty Goth ;
Who, when he hiows thou art the emjrress* babe,
Will hold thee dearly for thy mother's sake.
With this, my weapon drawn, I rush'd upon him,
Surpriz'd him suddenly ; and brought him hither,
To use as you think needful of the man.
Luc. O worthy Goth I this is the incarnate devil
That robb'd Andronicus of his good hand :
This is the pearl that pleas'd your empress' eye ' ;
Say, wall-ey'd slave, whither wouldst thou convey
This growing image of thy fiend-like face ?
Why dost not speak? What! deaf? No; notaword?
A halter, soldiers ; hang liim on this tree,
And by his side his fruit of bastardy.
uiar. Touch not the boy, he is of royal blood.
Luc. Too like tlie sire for ever being good. —
First, hang the child, that he may see it sprawl ;
A sight to vex the father's soul withal.
Get me a ladder.
[A Ladder brought, which Aaron is
obliged to ascend
Aar. Lucius, save the cliild ;
And bear it from me to the emperess.
9 Harm.
> Alluding to the proverb, " A black man is a pearl in a fair
woman's eve."
If thou do this, I'll show thee wond'rous things,
That highly may advantage thee to hear :
If thou wilt not, befall what may befall,
I'll speak no more ; But vengeance slay you all !
Luc- Say on ; and, if it please me which thou
speak'st,
Thy child shall live, and 1 will see it nourish'd.
Aar. An if it please thee? why, assure thee,
Lucius,
'Twill vex thy soul to hear what I shall speak ;
For I must talk of murders, rapes, and massacres,
Acts of black night, abominable deeds,
Complots of mischief, treason ; villainies
Ruthful to hear, yet piteously perfonn'd :
And this shall all be buried by my death,
Unless thou swear to me, my child shall live.
Liic. Tell on thy mind ; I say, thy child shall live.
Aar. Swear, that he shall, and then I will begin.
Luc. Who should 1 swear by ? thou believ'st no
god;
That granted, how canst thou believe an oath ?
Aar. What if I do not ? as, indeed, I do not :
Yet, — for I know thou art religious.
And hast a thing within thee, called conscience ;
With twenty idle tricks and ceremonies.
Which I have seen the careful to observe, —
Tlierefore I urge thy oath ; — And thou shalt vow
By that same god, what god soe'er it be.
That thou ador'st and hast in reverence, —
To save my boy, to nourish, and bring him up ;
Or else I will discover nought to thee.
Luc. Even by my god, 1 swear to thee, I will.
Aar. First, know thou, I'm his father by the
empress.
Luc. O most insatiate, luxurious woman !
Aar. Tut, Lucius! this was but a deed of charity,
To that which thou shalt hear of me anon,
'Twas her two sons that murder'd Bassianus :
They cut thy sister's tongue, and ravish'd her,
And cut her hands ; and trimm'd her as thou saw'st.
Luc. O, detestable villain ! call'st thou tliat trim-
ming?
Aar. Why, she was wash'd, and cut, and trimm'd ;
and 'twas
Trim sport for them that had the doing of it.
Luc O, barbarous, beastly villains, like thyself!
Aar. Indeed, I was their tutor to instruct them ;
That wanton spirit had they from their mother,
As sure a card as ever won the set :
That bloody mind, I think, they learn 'd of me,
As true a dog as ever fought at head. —
Well, let my deeds be witness of my worth.
I train'd tliy brethren to that guileful hole.
Where the dead corpse of Bassianus lay :
I wrote the letter that thy father found.
And hid the gold within the letter mention'd,
Confederate with the queen, and her two sons :
And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue.
Wherein I had no stroke of mischief in it ?
I play'd the cheater for thy father's hand ;
And when I had it, drew myself apart.
And almost broke my heart with extreme laughter.
I pry'd me through the crevice of a wall.
When, for his hand, he had his two sons' heads ;
'8^
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
Act V.
Beheld liis tears, and laiigh'd so lieartily,
That both mine eyes were rainy like to his ;
And when I told the empress of this sport,
Slie swounded almost at my pleasing tale,
And, for my tidings, gave me twenty kisses.
Goth. What ! canst thou say all this, and never
blush ?
Aar. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is.
Luc. Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds?
Aar. Ay, that I had not done a thousand more.
Even now I curse the day, (and yet, I thmk.
Few come within the compass of my curse,)
Wherein I did not some notorious ill :
As kill a man, or else devise his death ;
Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself:
Set deadly enmity between two friends ;
Make poor men's cattle break their necks ;
Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night.
And bid the owners quench them with their tears.
Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves.
And set them upright at their dear friends' doors,
Even when their sorrows almost were forgot ;
And on their skins, as on the bark of trees.
Have with my knife carved in Roman letters,
I^et not your sorrow die, though I am dead.
Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things,
As willingly as one would kill a fly :
And nothing grieves me heartily indeed,
But that I cannot do ten thousand more.
Luc. Bring down the devil ; for he must not die
So sweet a death, as hanging presently.
Aar. If there be devils, 'would I were a devil.
But to torment you with my bitter tongue !
Luc. Sirs, stop his mouth, and let him speak no
more.
Enter a Goth.
Goth. My lord, there is a messenger from Rome,
Desires to be admitted to your presence,
Luc. Let him come near. —
Enter iEMiLius.
Welcome, ^milius, what's the news from Rome ?
jEmil. Lord Lucius, and you princes of the Goths,
The Roman emperor greets you all by me :
And, for he understands you are in arms.
He craves a parley at your father's house.
Willing you to demand your hostages,
And they shall be immediately deliver'd
1 Goth. What says our general ?
Luc. ^milius, let the emperor give his pledges
Unto my father and my uncle Marcus,
And we will come. — March away. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. — Rome. Before Titus's House.
Enter Tamora, Chiron, and Demetrius, disguised.
Tarn. Thus, in this strange and sad habiliment,
I will encounter with Andronicus j
And say, I am Revenge, sent from below.
To join with him, and right his heinous wrongs.
Knock at his study, where, they say, he keeps,
To ruminate strange plots of dire revenge ;
Tell him. Revenge is come to join with him.
And work confusion on his enemies. [They knock.
Enter Titus above.
Tit. Who doth molest my contemplation ?
Is it your trick, to make me ope the door ;
That so my sad decrees may fly away.
And all my study be to no effect?
You are deceiv'd ; for what I mean to do.
See here, in bloody lines I have set down ;
And what is written shall be executed.
Tarn. Titus, I am come to talk with thee.
Tit. No ; not a word : How can I grace my talk.
Wanting a hand to give it action ?
Thou hast the odds of me, therefore no more.
Tarn. If thou didst know me, thou wouldst talk
with me.
Tit. I am not mad ; I know thee well enough :
Witness this wretched stump, these crimson lines ;
Witness these trenches, made by grief and care ;
Witness the tiring day, and heavy night ;
Witness all sorrow, that I know thee well
For our proud empress, mighty Tamora ;
Is not thy coming for my other hand ?
2'aw. Know thou, sad man, I am not Tamora ;
She is thy enemy, and I thy friend :
I am Revenge ; sent from the infernal kingdom.
To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind.
By working wreakful vengeance on thy foes.
Come down, and welcome me to this world's light ;
Confer with me of murder and of death :
There's not a hollow cave, or lurking-place.
No vast obscurity, or misty vale.
Where bloody murder, or detested rape.
Can couch for fear, but I will find them out ;
And in their ears tell them my dreadful name.
Revenge, which makes the foul offender quake.
Tit. Art thou Revenge ? and art thou sent to me,
To be a torment to mine enemies ?
Tarn. I am ; therefore come down, and welcome
me.
Tit. Do me some service, ere I come to thee.
Lo, by thy side where Rape and Murder stand ;
Now give some 'surance that thou art Revenge,
Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot wheels ;
And then I'll come, and be thy waggoner.
And whirl along with thee about the globes.
Provide thee proper palfries, black as jet.
To hale thy vengeful waggon swift away.
And find out murderers in their guilty caves :
And, when thy car is loaden with their heads,
I will dismount, and by the waggon wheel
Trot, like a servile footman all day long ;
Even from Hyperion's rising in the east.
Until his very downfall in the sea.
And day by day I'll do this heavy task.
So thou destroy Rapine and Murder there.
Tarn. These are my ministers, and come with me.
Tit. Are they thy ministers ? what are they call'd ?
Tarn. Rapine, and Murder ; therefore called so,
'Cause they take vengeance on such kind of men.
Tit. Good heaven, how like the empress' sons
they are !
And you, the empress ! But we worldly men
Have miserable, mad, mistaking eyes.
0 sweet Revenge, now do I come to thee :
And, if one arm's embracement will content thee,
1 will embrace thee in it by and by.
[Exit Titus, from above*
Tarn. This closing with him fits his lunacy :
Whate'er I forge, to feed his brain-sick fits.
Do you uphold and maintain in your speeches.
For now he firmly takes me for Revenge ;
And, being credulous in this mad thought,
I'll make him send for Lucius, his son ;
And, whilst I at a banquet hold him sure.
Scene II.
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
783
I'll find some cunning practice out of hand,
To scatter and disperse the giddy Goths,
Or at the least, make them his enemies.
See, here he comes, and I must ply my theme.
Enter Titus.
Tit. Long have I been forlorn, and all for thee :
Welcome, dread fury, to my woful house; —
Rapine, and Murder, you are welcome too :
How like the empress and her sons you are !
Weii are you fitted, had you but a Moor : —
Could not all hell aflbrd you such a devil : —
For, well I wot, the empress never wags,
But in her company there is a Moor ;
And would you represent our queen aright.
It were convenient )ou had such a devil : —
13ut welcome, as you are. What shall we do ?
Tarn. What wouldst thou have us do, Andronicus?
I)em. Show me a murderer, I'll deal with him.
Chi. Show me a villain, that hath done a rape,
And I am sent to be reveng'd on him.
Tarn. Show me a thousand, that have done thee
wrong,
And I will be revenged on them all.
Tit. Look round about the wicked streets of
Rome ;
And when thou find'st a man that's like thyself,
Good Murder, stab him ; he's a murderer. —
Go thou with him ; and when it is thy hap.
To find another that is like to thee.
Good Rapine, stab him ; he is a ravisher. —
Go thou with them ; and in the emperor's court
There is a queen, attended by a Moor ;
Well mayst thou know her by thy own proportion,
For up and down she doth resemble thee ;
1 pray thee, do on them some violent death,
They have been violent to me and mine.
Tarn. Well hast thou lesson'd us ; this shall we do.
But would it please thee, good Andronicus,
To send for Lucius, thy thrice valiant son.
Who leads towards Rome a band of warlike Goths,
And bid him come and banquet at thy house :
When he is here, even at thy solemn feast,
I will bring in the empress and her sons,
The emperor himself, and all thy foes ;
And at thy mercy shall they stoop and kneel,
And on them shalt thou ease thy angry heart.
What says Andronicus to this device ?
Tu. Marcus, my brother ! — 'tis sad Titus calls.
Enter Marcus.
Go, gentle Marcus, to thy nephew Lucius ;
Thou shalt inquire him out among the Gotlis :
Bid him repair to me, and bring with him
Some of the chiefest princes of the Gotlis ;
Bid him encamp his soldiers where they are :
Tell him, the emperor and the empress too
least at my house : and he shall feast with them.
This do thou for my love ; and so let him,
As he regards his aged father's life.
Marc. This will I do, and soon return again. [Exit-
Tarn. Now will I hence about thy business,
And take my ministers along with me.
Tit. Nay, nay, let Rape and Murder stay with
me;
Or else I'll call my brother back again.
And cleave to no revenge but Lucius.
Tarn. [To her Sons.] What say you, boys? will
you abide with him,
Whiles I go tell my lord the emperor,
How I have govcm'd our determin'd jest?
Yield to his humour, smooth and speak him fair.
And tarry with him, till I come again.
2'it. I know them all, though they suppose me
mad ;
And will o er-reach them in their own devices
[jlsifle.
Dem. Madam, depart at pleasure, leave us here.
Tam. Farewell, Andronicus : Revenge now goes
To lay a complot to betray thy foes.
[Exit Tamoua.
Tit. I know, thou dost ; and, sweet Revenge,
farewell.
Chi. Tell us, old man, how shall we be employ'd ?
7'it. Tut, I have work enough for you to do. —
Publius, come hither, Caius, and Valentine !
Enter Publius, and others.
Pub. What's your will ?
Tit. Know you these two ?
Fub. Th' empress' sons,
I take them, Chiron and Demetrius.
Tit. Fye, Publius, fye ! thou art too much de-
ceiv'd ;
The one is Murder, Rape is the other's name :
And therefore bind them, gentle Publius ;
Caius and Valentine, lay hands on them :
Oft have you heard me wish for such an hour,
And now I find it ; therefore bind them sure ;
And stop their mouths, if they begin to cry.
[Exit TiTus. — Publius, <^c. lay hold on
Chiron and Demetrius.
Chi. Villains, forbear : we are the empress' sons.
Pub. And therefore do we what we are com-
manded. —
Stop close tlieir mouths, let them not speak a word :
Is he sure bound ? look, that you bind them fast.
Re-enter Titus Andronicus, with Lavinia ; she
bearing a Bason^ and lie a Knife.
Tit. Come, come, Lavinia ; look, thy foes are
bound ; —
Sirs, stop their mouths, let them not speak to me ;
But let them hear what fearful words I utter. —
O villains, Chiron and Demetrius !
Here stands the spring whom you have stain'd with
mud;
This goodly summer with your winter mix'd
You kill'd her husband ; and, for that vile fault.
Two of her brothers were condemn'd to death :
My hand cut off, and made a merry jest :
Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that, more
dear
Than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity.
Inhuman traitors, you constrain'd and forc'd,
What would you say, if I should let you speak ?
Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace.
Hark, wretches, how I mean to martyr you.
This one hand yet is left to cut your throats ;
Whilst that Lavinia 'tween her stumps doth hold
The bason, that receives your guilty blood.
You know, your mother means to feast with me,
And calls herself, Revenge, and tliinks me mad, —
Hark, villains; I will grind your bones to dust.
And with your blood and it, I'll make a paste ;
And of tlie paste a coffin ^ I will rear.
And make two pasties of your shameful heads ;
And bid that stnunpet, your unhallow'd dam,
3 Crust of a raised pic.
784
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
Act V.
Like to the cartli, swallow her own increase.
This is the feast tliat I have bid her to,
And tliis the banquet she shall surfeit on ;
'For worse than Philomel you us'd my daughter,
And worse than Progne I will be reveng'd :
And now prepare your throats, — Lavinia, come,
[He cuts their Throats.
Receive the blood : and, when that they are dead.
Let me go grind their bones to powder small.
And with this hateful liquor temper it ;
And in that paste let their vile heads be bak'd.
Come, come, be every one officious
To make this banquet ; which I wish may prove
More stern and bloody than the Centaurs' feast.
So, now bring them in, for I will play the cook.
And see them ready 'gainst their mother comes.
[Exeunt, bearing the dead Bodies.
SCENE III ^ Pavilion, with Tables, ^c
Enter Lucius, Marcus, and Goths, with Aaron,
Prisoner.
Luc. Uncle Marcus, since 'tis my father's mind.
That I repair to Rome, I am content.
1 Goth. And ours, with thine, befall what fortune
will.
Luc. Good uncle, take you in this barbarous
Moor,
This ravenous tiger, this accursed devil ;
Let him receive no sustenance, fetter him.
Till he brought unto the empress' face,
J'or testimony of her foul proceedings ;
And see the ambush of our friends be strong :
I fear, the emperor means no good to us.
Aar. Some devil whisper curses in mine ear.
And prompt me, that my tongue may utter forth
The venomous malice of my swelling heart !
Luc, Away, inhuman dog, unhallow'd slave ! —
Sirs, help our uncle to convey him in. —
[Exeunt Goths with Aaron. Flourish.
The trumpets show the emperor is at hand.
Enter Saturninus and Tamora, ivith Tribunes,
Senators, and others.
Sat. What, hath the firmament more suns than
one?
Luc. What boots it 3 thee, to call thyself a sun ?
Marc. Rome's emperor, and nephew, break the
parle ;
These quarrels must be quietly debated.
The feast is ready which the careful Titus,
Hath ordain'd to an honourable end.
For peace, for love, for league, and good to Rome :
Please you, therefore, draw nigh, and take your
places.
Sat. Marcus, we will.
[Hautboys sound. The Company sit doivn
at Table.
Enter Titus dressed like a Cook, Lavinia, veiled,
Young Lucius, and others. Titus places the
Dishes on the Table.
Tit. Welcome, my gracious lord : welcome, dread
queen ;
Welcome, ye warlike Goths ; welcome, Lucius ;
And welcome all : although the cheer be poor,
'Twill fill your stomachs ; please you eat of it.
Sat. Why art thou thus attir'd, Andronicus ?
Tit. Because I would be sure to have all well.
To entertain your highness, and your empress.
* Of what advantage is it ?
Tarn. We are beholden to you, good Andronicus.
Tit. An if your highness knew my heart, you
were.
My lord the emperor, resolve me this ;
Was it well done of rash Virginius,
To slay his daughter with his own right hand.
Because she was enforc'd, stain'd, and deflour'd ?
Sat. It was, Andronicus.
T\t. Your reason, mighty lord !
Sat. Because the girl should not survive her
shame,
And by her presence still renew his sorrows.
Tit. A reason mighty, strong, and effectual ;
A pattern, precedent, and lively warrant.
For me, most wretched, to perform the like : —
Die, die, Lavinia, and thy shame with thee ;
[He kills Lavinia.
And, with thy shame, thy father's sorrow die !
Sat. What hast thou done, unnatural, and unkind ?
Tit. Kill'd her, for whom my tears have made
me blind.
I am as woful as Virginius was :
And have a thousand times more cause than he
To do this outrage ; — and it is now done.
Sat. What, was she ravish'd ? tell, who did the
deed.
Tit. Will't please you eat? will't please your
highness feed ?
Tarn. Why hast thou slain thine only daughter
thus ?
Tit. Not I ; 'twas Chiron and Demetrius :
They ravish'd her, and cut away her tongue.
And they, 'twas they, that did her all this wrong.
Sat. Go, fetch them hither to us presently.
Tit. Why, there they are both, baked in that pye ;
Whereof their mother daintily hath fed.
Eating the flesh that she herself hath bred
'Tis true, 'tis true; witness my knife's siiarp point.
[Killing Tamora.
Sat. Die, frantick wretch, for this accursed deed.
[Killing TiTUs.
Luc. Can the son's eye behold his father bleed ?
There's meed for meed, death for a deadly deed.
[Kills Saturninus. A great Tumult. The
People in confusion disperse. Marcus,
Lucius, and their Partisans, ascend the
Steps before Titus's House.
Marc. You sad-fac'd men, people and sons of
Rome,
By uproar sever' d, like a flight of fowl
Scatter'd by winds and high tempestuous gusts,
O, let me teach you how to knit again
This scatter'd corn into one mutual sheaf.
These broken limbs again into one body.
Sen. Lest Rome herself be bane unto herself;
And she, whom mighty kingdoms court' sy to.
Like a forlorn and desperate cast-away,
Do shameful execution on herself.
But if my frosty signs and chaps of age.
Grave witnesses of true experience.
Cannot induce you to attend my words, —
Speak, Rome's dear friend; [To Lucius.] as erst
our ancestor,
When with his solemn tongue he did discourse.
To love-sick Dido's sad attending ear.
The story of that baleful burning night.
When subtle Greeks surpriz'd king Priam's Troy ;
Tell us what Sinon hath bewitch'd our ears,
Or who hath brouglit the fatal engine in.
That gives our Troy, our Rome, the civil wound.
Scene III.
TITUS ANDRONICUS.
785
My heart is not compact of flint, nor steel ;^
Nor can I utter all our bitter grief,
But floods of tears will drown my oratory.
And break my very utterance ; even i' the time
When it should move you to attend me most.
Lending your kind commiseration :
Here is a captain, let him tell the tale ;
Your hearts will throb and weep to hear him speak.
Luc> Then, noble auditory, be it known to you,
That cursed Chiron and Demetrius
Were they that murdered our emperor's brother ;
And they it were that ravish'd our sister :
For their fell faults our brothers were beheaded ;
Our father's tears despis'd ; and basely cozen'd
Of that true hand, that fought Rome's quarrel out.
And sent her enemies unto the grave.
Lastly, myself unkindly banished,
The gates shut on me, and tum'd weeping out,
To beg relief among Rome's enemies ;
Who drown 'd their enmity in my true tears.
And op'd their arms to embrace me as a friend ;
And I am the turn'd-forth, be it known to you.
That have preserv'd her welfare in my blood ;
And from her bosom took the enemy's point,
Sheathing the steel in my advent'rous body.
Alas ! you know, I am no vaunter, I ;
My scars can witness, dumb although they are.
That my report is just, and full of truth.
But, soft ; methinks, I do digress too much,
Citing my wortliless praise : O, pardon me ;
For when no friends are by, men praise themselves.
Marc. Now is my turn to speak ; behold this child.
\^Pointing to the Child in the arms of an Attendant.
Of this was Tamora deliver'd ;
The issue of an irreligious Moor,
Chief architect and plotter of these woes :
The villain is alive in Titus* house.
Wretch that he is, to witness this is true.
Now judge, what cause had Titus to revenge
These wrongs, unspeakable, past patience,
Or more than any living man could bear.
Now you have heard the truth, what say you, Ro-
mans?
Have we done aught amiss ? Show us wherein,
And, from the place where you behold us now,
The poor remainder of Andronici
Will, hand in hand, all headlong cast us down.
And on the ragged stones beat forth our brains.
And make a mutual closure of our house.
Speak, Romans, speak ; and, if you say, we shall,
Lo, hand in hand, Lucius and I will fall.
jEmil. Come, come, thou reverend man of Rome,
And bring our emperor gently in thy hand,
Lucius our emperor ; for well I know.
The common voice do cry, it shall be so.
Rom. [Several speak.] Lucius, all hail; Rome's
royal emperor !
Lucius, ^-c descend.
Marc. Go, go into old Titus' sorrowful house ;
[To an Attendant.
And hither hale that misbelieving Moor,
To be adjudg'd some direful slaughtering death,
As punishment for his most wicked life.
Rom. [Several speak."] Lucius, all hail ; Rome's
gracious governor !
Luc. Thanks, gentle llomans ; May I govern so.
To heal Rome's harms, and wipe away her woe !
But, gentle people, give me aim awhile, —
For nature puts me to a heavy task ; — -
Stand all aloof : — but, uncle, draw you near,
To shed obsequious tears upon this trunk :
0 take this warm kiss on thy pale cold lips.
[Kisses Titus.
These sorrowful drops upon thy blood-stain'd face,
The last true duties of thy noble son !
Marc. Tear for tear, and loving kiss for kiss,
Thy brother Marcus tenders on tliy lips :
O, were the sum of these that I should pay
Countless and infinite, yet would I pay them.
JLmc. Come hither, boy ; come, come, and learn
of us
To melt in showers : Thy grandsire lov'd thee well :
Many a time he danc'd thee on his knee.
Sung thee asleep, his loving breast thy pillow ;
Many a matter hath he told to thee,
Meet, and agreeing with thine infancy ;
In that respect then, like a loving child.
Shed yet some small drops from thy tender spring.
Because kind nature doth require it so :
Friends should associate friends in grief and woe :
Bid him farewell ; commit him to the grave ;
Do him that kindness, and take leave of him.
Boy. O grandsire, grandsire ! even with all my
heart
Would I were dead so you did live again ! —
Good heaven, I cannot speak to him for weeping ;
My tears will choke me^ if I ope my mouth.
Unter Attendants, with Aaron.
1 Rom. You sad Andronici, have done with woes;
Give sentence on this execrable wretch.
That hath been breeder of these dire events.
Luc. Set him breast-deep in earth, and famish
him.
There let him stand, and rave and cry for food ;
If any one relieves or pities him.
For the offence he dies. This is our doom :
Some stay, to see him fasten'd in the earth.
Aar. O, why should wrath be mute, and fury
dumb?
1 am no baby, I, that, with base prayers,
I should repent the evils I have done ;
Ten thousand, worse than ever yet I did.
Would I perform, if I might have my will ;
If one good deed in all my life I did,
I do repent it from my very soul.
Luc. Some loving friends convey the emperor
hence,
And give him burial in his father's grave :
My father, and Lavinia, shall forthwith
Be closed in our household's monument.
As for tliat heinous tiger, Tamora,
No funeral rite, nor man in mournful weeds,
No mournful bell shall ring her burial ;
But throw her forth to beasts, and birds of prey :
Her life was beast-like, and devoid of pity ;
And, being so, shall have like want of pity.
See justice done to Aaron, that vile Moor,
By whom our heavy haps had their beginning :
Then, afterwards, to order well the state ;
That like events may ne'er it ruinate. \_Exeunt.
3 E
c;
A
(/
1
^
KING LEAR.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
Lear, King o/" Britain,
King of France.
Duke of Burgundy.
Duke of Cornwall.
Duke of Albany.
Earl of Kent.
Earl of Gloster.
Edgar, Son to Gloster.
Edmund, Bastard Son to Gloster
Cukan, a Courtier.
Old Man, Tenant to Gloster.
Physician.
Fool.
Oswald, Steward to Goneril.
Jin Officer, employed by Edmund.
Gentleman, Attendant on Cordelia.
A Herald.
Servants to Cornwall.
GoNERlL,
Reg A
Cordelia
RIL, ~j
ELIA, J
Daughters to Lear.
Knights attending on the King, Officers, Messengers.
Soldiers, and Attendants.
SCENE, Britain.
I
HOW DOBS MT ROYAL 'LORD? HOW FARES TODR MAJESTY?
KING LEAR.
ACT I.
SCENE I. — A Room of State in King Lear's
Palace.
Enter Kent, Gloster, and Edmund.
Kent. I thought, the king had more affected the
duke of Albany, than Cornwall.
Glo. It did always seem so to us : but now, in
the division of the kingdom, it appears not which
of the dukes he values most ; for equalities are so
weigh'd that curiosity • in neither can make choice
of either's moiety.-
Kent. Is this your son, my lord ?
Glo. His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge :
I have so often blush'd to acknowledge him, that
now I am brazed to it. Do you smell a fault ?
Kent. I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue
of it being so proper.
Glo. But I have, sir, a son, by order of law, some
year elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my
account : — Do you know this noble gentleman,
Edmund ?
Edm. No, my lord.
Glo. My lord of Kent : remember him hereafter
as my honourable friend.
Edm. My services to your lordship.
Kent. I must love you, and sue to know you
better.
Edm. Sir, I shall study deserving.
Glo. He hath been out nine years, and away he
shall again : — The king is coming.
{Trumpets sound tvithin.
' Most scrujmlous nicety. 2 part or division.
Enter Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril,
Regan, Cordelia, a7id Attendants.
Lear. Attend the lords of France and Burgundy,
Gloster.
Glo. I shall, my liege.
[Exeunt Gloster and Edmund.
Lear. Meantime we shall express our darker
purpose.
Give me the map there. — Know, that we have
divided.
In three, our kingdom : and 'tis our fast intent
To shake all cares and business from our age :
Conferring them on younger strengths, while we
Unburden'd crawl toward death. — Our son of
Cornwall,
And you, our no less loving son of Albany, a
We have this hour a constant will to publish "
Our daughters' several dowers, that future strife
May be prevented now. The princes, France and
Burgundy,
Great rivals in our youngest daughter's love.
Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn,]
And here are to be answer'd. — Tell me, my daugh-
ters,
(Since now we will divest us, both of rule,
Interest of territory, cares of state,)
Which of you, shall we say, doth love us most ?
That we our largest bounty may extend
Where merit doth most challenge it. — Goneril,
Our eldest-born, speak first.
Gon. Sir, I
Do love you more than words can wield the matter, '
Act I. Scene I.
KING LEAR.
787
Dearer than eye-sight, space and liberty ;
Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare ;
No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour :
As much as child e'er lov'd, or father found.
A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable ;
Beyond all manner of so much I love you.
Cor. What shall Cordelia do ? love and be silenti
[Jdde.
Lear. Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,
With shadowy forests and with champains ' rich'd,
With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads-.
We make thee lady : To thine and Albany's issue
Be this perpetual. — What says our second daughter,
Our dearest Regan, wife to Cornwall ? Speak.
Reg. I am made of that self metal as my sister.
And prize me at her worth. In my true hqart
I find, she names my very deed of love ;
Only she comes too short, — that I profess
Myself an enemy to all other joys.
Which the most precious square •• of sense possesses ;
And find, I am alone felicitate *
In your dear highness* love.
Cor. Then poor Cordelia ! [Aside.
And yet not so ; since, I am sure, my love's
More richer than my tongue.
Lear. To thee, and thine hereditary ever,
Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom :
No less in space, validity 6, and pleasure.
Than that confirm'd on Goneril. — Now, our joy.
Although the last, not least; to whose young love
The vines of France, and milk of Burgundy,
Strive to be interess'd : what can you say, to draw
A third more opulent than your sisters ? Speak.
Cur. Nothing, my lord.
Lear. Nothing?
Cor. Nothing.
Lear. Nothing can come of nothing : speak again.
Cor. Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
My heart into my mouth : I love your majesty
According to my bond ; nor more nor less.
Lear. How, how, Cordelia? mend your speech
a little,
Lest it may mar your fortunes.
Cor. Good, my lord.
You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me : I
Return those duties back as are right fit.
Obey you, love you, and most honour you.
Why have my sisters husbands, if they say.
They love you, all ? Haply, when I shall wed.
That lord, whose hand must take my plight, shall
carry
Half my love with him, half my care, and duty :
Sure, I shall never marry like my sisters.
To love my father all.
Lear. But goes this with thy heart ?
Cor. Ay, good my lord.
Lear. So young, and so untender ?
Cor. So young, my lord, and true.
Lear. Let it be so, — Thy truth then be thy dower :
For, by the sacred radiance of the sun ;
The mysteries of Hecate, and the night ;
By all the operations of the orbs.
From whom we do exist, and cease to be ;
Here I disclaim all my paternal care,
Propinquity 7, and property of blood.
And as a stranger to my heart and me
Hold thee, from this ^ for ever. The barbarous
Scythian,
* Afade hajipy.
B From this time.
s Open plains.
6 Value.
* Comprehension.
7 Kindred.
Or he that makes his generation 9 messes
To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom
Be as well neighbour'd, pitied, and reliev'd,
As thou my sometime daughter.
ITent. Good my liege, —
Lear. Peace, Kent !
Come not between the dragon and his wrath :
I lov'd her most, and thought to set my rest
On her kind nursery. — Hence, and avoid my
sight! — [To Cordelia.
So be my grave my peace, as here I give
Her father's heart from her ! — Call France ; — Who
stirs ?
Call Burgundy. — Cornwall, and Albany,
With my two daughters* dowers digest this third :
Let pride, which she calls plainness, marry her.
I do invest you jointly with my power,
Pre-eminence, and all the large eflTects
That troop with majesty. — Ourself, by monthly
course,
With reservation of an hundred knights.
By you to be sustain'd, shall our abode
Make with you by due turns. Only we still retain
The name, and all the additions ' to a king ;
The sway.
Revenue, execution of the rest,
Beloved sons, be yours : which to confirm,
This coronet part between you. [Giving the Crown.
Kent. Royal Lear,
Whom I have ever honour'd as my king,
Lov'd as my father, as my master follow'd,
As my great patron thought on in my prayers, —
Lear. The bow is bent and drawn, make from the
shaft.
Kent. Let it fall rather, though the fork invade
The region of my heart : be Kent unmannerly,
When Lear is mad. What wouldst thou do, old man ?
Think'st thou, that duty shall have dread to speak,
When power to flattery bows ? To plainness ho-
nour's bound.
When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom ;
And, in thy best consideration, check
This hideous rashness : answer my life my judg-
ment,
Thy youngest daughter does not love thee least ;
Nor are those empty-hearted, whose low sound
Reverbs* no hoUowness.
Lear. Kent, on thy life, no more.
Kent. My life I never held but as a pawn
To wage against thine enemies ; nor fear to lose it.
Thy safety being the motive.
Lear. j _^^ Out of my sight •
ne eye.
Lea^^fm, by Apollo, -»-
Keii^^ - Now, by Apollo, king.
Thou sweaj'stthy gods in vain.
Lear. O, vassal, miscreant !
[Laying his Hand on his Sword.
AU). Com. Dear sir, forbear.
Kent. Do;
Kill thy physician, and the fee bestow
Upon the foul disease. Revoke thy gift ;
Or whilst I can vent clamour from my throat*
I'll tell thee, thou dost evil.
Lear. Hear me, recreant !
On thine allegiance hear me ! —
Since thou hast sought to make us break our vow,
> Titles.
s The mark to shoot at
3 E 2
» His children.
' Reverberates.
788
KING LEAR.
Act I.
(Which we durst never yot,) and, with strain'd pride,
To come betwixt our sentence and our power ;
(Which nor our nature nor our place can bear,)
Our potency make good, take thy reward.
Five days we do allot thee, for provision
To shield thee from diseases of the world :
And, on the sixth, to turn thy hated back
Upon our kingdom : if, on the tenth day following.
Thy banish'd trunk be found in our dominions.
The moment is thy death : Away ! By Jupiter,
This shall not be revok'd.
Kent. Fare thee well, king : since thus thou wilt
appear.
Freedom lives hence, and banishment is here. —
The gods to their dear shelter take thee, maid,
[To Cordelia.
That justly think 'st, and hast most rightly said ! —
And your large speeches may your deeds approve,
[To Regan and Goneril.
That good effects may spring from words of love. —
Thus Kent, O princes, bids you all adieu ;
He'll shape his old course in a country new. {Exit.
Re-enter Gloster ; with France, Burgundy,
and Attendants.
Glo. Here's France and Burgundy, my noble lord.
Lear. My lord of Burgundy,
We first address towards you, who with this king
Hath rivall'd for our daughter ; What, in the least,
Will you require in present dower with her,
Or cease your quest of love ?
Bur. Most royal majesty,
I crave no more than hath your highness ofFer'd,
Nor will you tender less.
Lear. Right noble Burgundy,
When she was dear to us, we did hold her so ;
But now her price is fall'n : Sir, there she stands ;
If aught within that little, seeming substance,
Or all of it, with our displeasure piec'd.
And nothing more, may fitly like your grace,
She's there, and she is yours.
Bur. I know no answer.
I.enr. Sir,
Will you, with those infirmities she ewes'*,
Unfriended, new-adopted to our hate,
Dower'd with our curse, and stranger'd with our oath.
Take her, or leave her ?
Bur. Pardon me, royal sir ;
Election makes not up on such conditions.
Lear. Then leave her, sir ; for, by the power
that made me,
I tell you all her wealth. — For you, great king,
[To France.
I would not from your love make such a stray.
To match you where I hate ; therefore beseech you
To avert your liking a more worthier way.
Than on a wretch whom nature is asham'd
Almost to acknowledge hers.
France. This is most strange !
That she, that even but now was your best object,
The argument of your praise, balm of your age,
Most best, most dearest, should in this trice of time
Commit a thing so monstrous, to dismantle
So many folds of favour ! Sure, her offence
Must be of such unnatural degree,
That monsters it, or your fore-vouch'd affection
Fall into taint : which to believe of her,
Must be a faith, that reason without miracle
Could never plant in me.
4 Owns, is possessed of.
Cor. I yet beseech your majesty,
(If for 5 I want that glib and oily art.
To speak and purpose not ; since what I well in-
tend,
I'll do't before I speak,) that you make known
It is no vicious blot, murder, or foulness.
No unchaste action or dishonour'd step.
That hath depriv'd me of your grace and favour : ^h
But even for want of that, for which I am richer ; fl|
A still-soliciting eye, and such a tongue ^E^
That I am glad I have not, though not to have it,
Hath lost me in your liking.
Lear. Better thou
Hadst not been bom, than not to have pleas'd me
better.
France. Is it but this ? a tardiness in nature.
Which often leaves the history unspoke.
That it intends to do ? — My lord of Burgundy,
What say you to the lady ? Love is not love,
When it is mingled with respects, that stand
Aloof from the entire point. Will you have her ?
She is herself a dowry.
Bur. Royal Lear,
Give but that portion which yourself propos'd,
And here I take Cordelia by the hand,
Duchess of Burgundy.
Lear. Nothing : I have sworn ; I am firm.
Bur. I am sorry then, you have so lost a father.
That you must lose a husband.
Cor. Peace be with Burgundy !
Since that respects of fortune are his love,
I shall not be his wife.
France. Fairest Cordelia, thou art most rich,
being poor ;
Most choice, forsaken : and most lov'd, despis'd !
Thee and thy virtues here I seize upon :
Be it lawful, I take up what's cast away.
Gods, gods ! 'tis strange, that from dieir cold'st
neglect
My love should kindle to inflam'd respect
Thy dowerless daughter, king, thrown to my chance.
Is queen of us, of ours, and our fair France :
Not all the dukes of wat'rish Burgundy
Shall buy this unpriz'd precious maid of me. —
Bid them farewell, Cordelia, though unkind :
Thou losest here, a better where to find.
Lear. Thou hast her, France : let her be thine ;
for we
Have no such daughter, nor shall ever see
That face of hers again : — Therefore be gone,
Without our grace, our love, our benizon. ^ —
Come, noble Burgundy.
{Flourish. Exeunt Lear, Burgundy, Corn-
wall, Albany, Gloster, and Attendants.
France. Bid farewell to your sisters.
Cor. The jewels of our father, with wash'd eyes
Cordelia leaves you ; I know you what you are ; JH I
And, like a sister, am most loath to call ^^H I
Your faults, as they are nam'd. Use well our
father :
To your professed bosoms I commit him :
But yet, alas ! stood I within his grace,
I would prefer him to a better place.
So farewell to you both.
Gon. Prescribe not us our duties.
Reg. Let your stuc
Be, to content your lord ; who hath receiv'd you
At fortune's alms. You have obedience scanted,
And well are worth the want that you have wanted.
* Because. « Blessing.
Scene II.
KING LEAR.
789
Cor. Time shall unfuld what plaited cunning
hides ;
Who cover faults, at last shame them derides.
Well may you prosper !
France. Come, my fair Cordelia.
[^Exeunt France and Cordelia.
Gon. Sister, it is not a little I have to s:iy, of
wliat most nearly appertains to us both. I think,
our father will hence to-night.
Reg. That's most certain, and with you; next
month with us.
Gon. You see how full of changes his age is : the
observation we have made of it hath not been little :
he always lov'd our sister most; and with what
poor judgment he hath now cast her off appears too
lieg. 'Tis the infirmity of his age : yet he hath
ever but slenderly known himself.
Gon. The best and soundest of his time hath
been but rash ; then must we look to receive from
his age, not alone the imperfections of long-en-
grafted condition 7, but therewithal, the unruly
waywardness that infirm and cholerick years bring
with them.
Keg. Such unconstant starts are we like to have
from him, as this of Kent's banishment.
Gon. There is further compliment of leave-taking
between France and him. Pray you, let us hit
together : If our father carry authority with such
dispositions as he bears, this last surrender of his
will but offend us.
Reg. We shall further think of it.
Gon. We must do something, and i' the heat.
{^Exeunt.
SCENE U. — A Hall in the Earl of Gloster'5
Castle.
Enter Edmund, with a Letter.
Edm. Thou, nature, art my goddess ; to thy law
My services are bound : Wherefore should I
Stand in the plague of custom ; and permit
The curiosity ^ of nations to deprive me,
For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines
l>ag of a brother ? Why bastard ? wherefore base ?
When my dimensions are as well compact,
My mind as generous, and my shape as true,
As honest madam's issue ? Why brand they us
With base? with baseness? bastardy? Well then,
I^egitimate Edgar, I must have your land :
Our father's love is to the bastard Edmund,
As to the legitimate : Fine word, — legitimate !
Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed.
And my invention thrive, Edmund the base
Sliall top the legitimate. I grow ; I prosper ; —
Now, gods, stand up for bastards !
Enter Glostkr.
Glo. Kent banish'd thus ! And France in choler
parted !
And the king gone to-night ! subscrib'd 9 his power !
Confin'd to exhibition ! > All this done
Upon the gad ! ^ Edmund ! How now ? what
new s ?
Edm. So please your lordship, none,
[PtUting up the Letter.
Glo. Why so earnestly seek you to put up that
letter?
" Qualities of mind. «■ The nicety of civi» Institution.
" Yielded, surrendered. ' Allowance. * Suddenly.
Edm. I know no news, my lord.
Glo. What paper w ere you reading ?
Edin. Nothing, my lord.
Glo. No? What needed then tliat terrible des-
patch of it into your pocket? the quality of nothing
hath not such need to hide itself. Let's see : Come,
if it be nothing I shall not need spectacles.
Edm. I beseech you, sir, pardon me : it is a letter
from my brother, that I have not all o'er read ; for
so much as I have perused, 1 find it not fit for your
over- looking.
Glo. Give me the letter, sir.
Edm. I shall offend, either to detain or give it.
The contents, as in part I understand tliem, are to
blame.
Glo. Let's see, let's see.
Edm. I hope, for my brother's justification, he
wrote this but as an essay ^ or taste of my virtue.
Glo. [Reads.] This policy, and reverence of age^
makes the world bitter to the best of our times; keeps
our fortunes from us, till our oldness cannot relish
them. I begin to find an idle and fond'* bondage in
the oppression of aficd tyranny ; who sways, not as
it hath power, but as it is suffered. Come to me, that
of this I may speak more. If our father would sleep
till I waked him, you should e?ijoy half his revenue for
ever, and live the beloved of your brother, Edgar, —
Humph — Conspiracy ! — Sleej) till I waked him —
you should enjoy half his revenue. — My son Edgar !
Had he a hand to write this? a heart and brain to
breed it in ? — When came this to you ? Who brought
it?
Edm. It was not brought me ; my lord, there's
the cunning of it ; I found it thrown in at the case-
ment of my closet.
Glo. You know the character to be your brotlier's ?
Edm. If the matter were good, my lord, I durst
swear it were his ; but in respect of that, I would
fain think it were not.
Glo. It is his.
Edm. It is his hand, my lord ; but, I hope, his
heart is not in the contents.
Glo. Hath he never heretofore sounded you in
this business ?
Edm. Never, my lord : But I have often heard
him maintain it to be fit, that, sons at perfect age,
and fathers declining, the father should be as ward
to the son, and the son manage his revenue.
Glo. O villain, villain ! — His very opinion in the
letter ! — Abhorred villain ! Unnatural, detested,
brutish villain ! worse than brutish ! — Go, sirrah,
seek him ; I'll apprehend him: — Abominable vil-
lain ! — Where is he ?
Edm. I do not well know, my lord. If it shall
please you to suspend your indignation against my
brother, till you can derive from him better testi-
mony of his intent, you shall run a certain course ;
where *, if you violently proceed against him, mis-
taking his pur^jose, it would make a great gap iu
your own honour, and shake in pieces the heart of
his obedience. I dare pawn down my life for him,
that he hath writ this to feel my affection to your
honour, and to no other pretence of danger.
Glo. Think you so?
Edm. If your honour judge it meet, I will place
you where you shall hear us confer of tliis, and by
an auricular assurance have your satisfaction ; and
that without any further delay than this verj evening.
Glo. He cannot be such a monster.
3 Trial. * Weak and foolish. » Whcrea*.
S E 3
790
KING LEAR.
Act I.
Edm. Nor is not, sure.
Glo. To his father, that so tenderly and entirely
loves him. — Heaven and earth ! — Edmund, seek
him out ; wind me into him, I pray you : frame the
business after your own wisdom : I would unstate
myself, to be in a due resolution.
Edmt I will seek him, sir, presently ; convey 6
the business as I shall find means, and acquaint you
withal.
Glo. These late eclipses in the sun and moon
portend no good to us : Though the wisdom of
nature can reason it thus and thus, yet nature finds
itself scourged by the sequent 7 effects : love cools,
friendship falls off, brothers divide : in cities, mu-
tinies ; in countries, discord ; in palaces, treason ;
and the bond cracked between son and father.
This villain of mine comes under the prediction;
there's son against father : the king falls from bias
of nature ; there's father against child. We have
seen the best of our time : Machinations, hollow-
ness, treachery, and all ruinous disorders, follow us
disquietly to our graves ! — Find out this villain,
Edmund, it shall lose thee nothing ; do it carefully :
— And the noble and true-hearted Kent banished !
his offence, honesty ! Strange ! strange ! \_Exit.
Edm. This is the excellent foppery of the world !
that when we are sick in fortune (often the surfeit
of our own behaviour), we make guilty of our dis-
asters, the sun, the moon, and the stars : as if we
were villains by necessity ; fools, by heavenly
compulsion ; knaves, thieves, and treachers^, by
spherical predominance ; drunkards, liars, and adul-
terers, by an enforced obedience of planetary in-
fluence ; and all that we are evil in, by a divine
thrusting on : An admirable evasion of man, to lay
his ill disposition to the charge of a star ! Edgar —
Enter Edgar.
and pat he comes, like the catastrophe of the old
comedy : My cue is villainous melancholy, with a
sigh like Tom o' Bedlam. — O, these eclipses do
portends these divisions ! fa, sol, la, mi. 9
Edg. How now, brother Edmund ? What serious
contemplation are you in ?
Edm. I am thinking, brother, of a prediction I
read this other day, what should follow these
eclipses.
Edg. Do you busy yourself with that ?
Edm. I promise you, the effects he writes of,
succeed unhappily ; as of unnaturalness between
the child and the parent ; death, dearth, dissolu-
tions of ancient amities ; divisions in state, menaces
and maledictions against king and nobles ; needless
diffidences, banishment of friends, dissipation of
cohorts ', nuptial bi'eaches, and I know not what.
Edg. How long have you been a sectary astrono-
mical ?
Edm. Come, come: when saw you my father
last?
Edg. Why, the night gone by.
Edm. Spake you with him ?
Edg. Ay, two hours together.
Edm^ Parted you in good terms ? Found you no
displeasure in him, by word or countenance ?
Edg. None at all.
Edm. Bethink yourself, wherein you may have
offended him : and at my entreaty, forbear his pre-
" Manage. ' Following. ^ Traitors.
8 These sounds are unnatural and offensive in niusick.
' For cohorts some editors read courts.
sence, till some little time hath qualified the heat of
his displeasure ; which at this instant so rageth in
him, that with the mischief of your person it would
scarcely allay.
Edg. Some villain hath done me wrong.
Edm. That's my fear. I pray you, have a con-
tinent 2 forbearance, till the speed of his rage goes
slower ; and, as I say, retire with me to my lodging,
from whence I will fitly bring you to hear my lord
speak : Pray you, go ; there's my key : — If you
do stir abroad, go armed.
Edg. Armed, brother ?
Edm. Brother, I advise you to the best : go armed;
1 am no honest man, if there be any good meaning
towards you : I have told you what I have seen and
heard, but faintly ; nothing like the image and
horror of it : Pray you, away.
Edg. Shall I hear from you anon ?
Edm. I do serve you in this business. —
[Exit Edgar.
A credulous father, and a brother noble,
Whose nature is so far from doing harms,
That he suspects none ; on whose foolish honesty
My practices ride easy ! — I see the business. —
Let me, if not by birth, have lands by wit :
All with me's meet, that I can fashion fit. [ExU.
SCENE III. —A Room in the Duke of Albany'*
Palace.
Enter Goneril and Steward.
Gon. Did my father strike my gentleman for
chiding of his fool ?
Stew. Ay, madam.
Gon. By day and night ! he wrongs me ; every
hour
He flashes into one gross crime or other.
That sets us all at odds : I'll not endure it :
His knights grow riotous, and himself upbraids us
On every trifle : — When he returns from hunting,
I will not speak with him ; say, I am sick : —
If you come slack of former services.
You shall do well ; the fault of it I'll answer.
Stew. He's coming, madam ; I hear him.
[Horns within.
Gon. Put on what weary negligence you please.
You and your fellows ; I'd have it come to question ;
If he dislike it, let him to my sister,
Whose mind and mine, I know, in that are one.
Not to be over-rul'd. Idle old man.
That still would manage those authorities.
That he hath given away ! — Now, by my life,
Old fools are babes again ; and must be us'd
With checks, as flatterers, — when they are seen
abus'd.
Remember what I have said.
Stew. Very well, madam.
Gon. And let his knights have colder looks among
you;
What grows of it, no matter ; advise your fellows so :
I would breed from hence occasions, and I shall.
That I may speak. — I'll write straight to my sister,
To hold my very course : — Prepare for dinner.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.— /; Hall in the same. «
Enter Kent, disguised. M
Kent. If but as well I other accents borrow,
That can my speech diffuse 3, my good intent
'^ Temperate, ' Disorder, disguise.
Scene IV.
KING LEAR.
791
May carry through itself to that full issue
For which I raz'd < my likeness. — Now, banish*d
Kent,
If thou canst serve where thou dost stand condemn'd,
( So may it come ! ) thy master, whom thou lov'st.
Shall find thee full of labours.
Horns within. Enter Leak, Knights, and Attendants.
Lear. Let me not stay a jot for dinner : go, get
it ready. [Exit an Attendant.'] How now, what art
thou?
JTent. A man, sir.
Lear. What dost thou profess? What wouldst
thou with us ?
J^e7l^ I do profess to be no less than I seem ; to
serve him truly, that will put me in trust ; to love
him that is honest ; to converse with him that is
wise, and says little ; to fear judgment ; to fight,
when I cannot choose ; and to eat no fish.
Lear. What art thou ?
ITent. A very honest-hearted fellow, and as poor
as the king.
Lear. If thou be as poor for a subject, as he is
for a king, thou art poor enough. What would'st
thou?
ITent. Service.
Lear. Who wouldst thou serve.
£ent. You.
Lear. Dost thou know me, fellow ?
JTenf. No, sir ; but you have that in your coun-
tenance, which I would fain call master.
Lear. What's that?
Xieiit. Authority.
iear. What services canst thou do?
ITent. I can keep honest counsel, ride, run, mar a
curious tale in telling it, and deliver a plain message
bluntly : that which ordinary men are fit for, I am
qualified in ; and the best of me is diligence.
Lear. How old art thou ?
JTent. Not so young, sir, to love a woman for
singing ; nor so old, to dote on her for any thing :
I have years on my back forty-eight.
Lear. Follow me ; thou shalt serve me : if I like
thee no worse after dinner, I will not part from thee
yet. — Dinner, ho, dinner ! — Where's my knave ?
my fool ? Go you, and call my fool hither :
Enter Steward.
You, you, sirrah, where's my daughter ?
Stetv. So please you, — [Exit.
Lear. What says the fellow there ? Call the clot-
poll back Where's my fool, ho ? — I think the
world's asleep. — How now, where's that mongrel ?
Kni^lit. He says, my lord, your daughter is not
well.
Lear. Why came not the slave back to me, when
I call'd him ?
Knight. Sir, he answer'd me in the roundest
manner, he would not.
Lear. He would not !
Knight. My lord, I know not what the matter is ;
but, to my judgment, your highness is not enter-
tain'd with that ceremonious affection as you were
wont ; there's a great abatement of kindness ap-
pears, as well in Uje general dependants, as in the
duke himself also, and your daughter.
Lenr. Ha ! say'st thou so?
Knight. I beseech you, pardon me, my lord, if
I be mistaken ; for my duty cannot be silent, when
I think your highness is wrong'd.
4 Effaced.
Lear. Thou but remember'st me of mine own
conception ; I have perceived a most faint neglect
of late ; which I have rather blamed as mine own
jealous curiosity ^, than as a very pretence ^ and
purpose of unkindness : I will look further into't.
— But where's my fool ? I have not seen him this
two days.
Knight. Since my young lady's going into France,
sir, the fool hath much pin'd away.
Lear. No more of that ; I have noted it well.—
Go, you, and tell my daughter I would speak with
her. — Go you, call hither my fool. —
Re-enter Steward.
O, you sir, you sir, come you hither : Who am I, sir?
Stew. My lady's father.
Lear. My lady's father ! my lord's knave : you
slave ! you cur !
Stew. I am none of this, my lord ; I beseech you,
pardon me.
Lear. Do you bandy looks with me, you rascal ?
[Striking him.
Stew. I'll not be struck, my lord.
Kent. Nor tripped neither ; you base foot-ball
player. [ Tripping up his Heels.
Lear. I thank thee, fellow ; thou servest me, and
1*11 love thee.
Kent. Come, sir, arise, away; I'll teach you
differences ; away, away : If you will measure your
lubber's length again, tarry : but away ; go to :
Have you wisdom ? so. [Pushes the Steward out.
Lear. Now, my friendly knave, I thank thee :
there's earnest of thy service. [ Giving Kent Money.
Enter Fool.
Fool. Let me hire him too ; — Here's my cox-
comb. [Giving Kent his Cap.
Lear. How now, my pretty knave? how dost
thou?
Fool. Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.
Kent. Why, fool?
Fool. Why, for taking one's part that is out of
favour : Nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind
sits, thou'lt catch cold shortly : There, take my
coxcomb : Why, this fellow has banish'd two of his
daughters, and did the third a blessing against his
will ; if thou follow him, thou must needs wear my
coxcomb. — How now, nuncle ? 'Would I had two
coxcombs, and two daughters !
Lear. Why, my boy?
Fool. If I gave them all my living, I'd keep my
coxcombs myself: There's mine; beg another of
thy daughters.
Lear. Take heed, sirrah ; the whip.
Fool. Truth's a dog that must to kennel ; he
must be whipp'd out, when Lady, the brach 7, may
stand by the fire.
Lear. A pestilent gall to me !
Fool. Sirrah, }'ll t^tch thee a speech.
Lear. Do.
FooL Mark it, nuncle : —
Have more than thou showestt
Speak less than thou fmowest.
Lend less than thou owest •,
Ride more than thou goest.
Learn more than thou trowcU 5,
Set less than thou throwest ;
And thou sfialt have more
Than two tens to a score.
^ Punctilious jealoiuy.
" Ownett, posseuest
« Design.
» Bclievest
3 £ 4
1 Bitch.hound.
792
KING LEAR.
Act I.
Lear. This is nothing, fool.
Fool. Then 'tis like the breath of an unfee'd
lawyer ; you gave me nothing for't : Can you make
no use of nothing, nuncle ?
Lear. Why, no, boy j nothing can be made out
of nothing.
Fool. Pr'ythee, tell him, so much the rent of
his land comes to ; he will not believe a fool.
[To Kent.
Lear. A bitter fool !
Fool. Dost thou know the difference, my boy,
between a bitter fool and a sweet fool ?
Lear. No, lad ; teach me.
Fool. Thai lord, that counselVd thee.
To give away thy land.
Come place him here by me, ——
Or do thou for him stand :
The sweet and bitter fool
Will presently appear ;
The one in motley here.
The other found out there.
Lear. Dost thou call me fool, boy ?
Fool. All thy other titles thou hast given away ;
that thou wast born with.
Kent. This is not altogether fool, my lord.
Fool. No, 'faith, lords and great men will not let
me ; if I had a monopoly out, they would have part
on't : and ladies too, they will not let me have all
fool to myself J they'll be snatching. — Give me an
egg, nuncle, and I'll give thee two crowns.
Lear. What two crowns shall they be ?
Fool. Why, after I have cut the egg i' the middle,
and eat up the meat, the two crowns of the egg.
When thou clovest thy crown i' the middle and
gavest away both parts, thou borest thine ass on
thy back over the dirt : Thou hadst little wit in thy
bald crown, when thou gavest thy golden one away.
If I speak like myself in this, let him be whipp'd
that first finds it so.
Fools had ne'er less grace ' in a year ; [Singing.
For wise men are grown foppish ;
And know not how their wits to wear.
Their manners are so ajnsh.
Lear. When were you wont to be so full of
songs, sirrah ?
Fool. I have used it, nuncle, ever since thou
madest thy daughters thy mother.
Then they for sudden joy did weep, [Singing.
And I for sorrow sung.
That such a king should j)lay bo-peep.
And go the fools among.
Pr'ythee, nuncle, keep a schoolmaster that can teach
thy fool to lie ; I would fain learn to lie.
Lear. If you lie, sirrah, we'll have you whipp'd.
Fool. I marvel, what kin thou and thy daughters
are : they'll have me whipp'd for speaking true,
thou'lt have me whipp'd for lying ; and, sometimes,
I am whipp'd for holding my peace. I had rather
be any kind of thing, than a fool : and yet I would
not be thee, nuncle ; thou hast pared thy wit o' both
sides, and left nothing in the middle : Here comes
one o* the parings.
Enter Goneril.
Lear. How now, daughter ! what makes that
frontlet 2 on ? Methinks, you are too much of late
i' the frown.
' Favour.
' Part of a woman's head-dress, to which Lear compares her
frowning brow
Fool. Thou wast a pretty fellow, when thou
hadst no need to care for her frowning ; now thou
art an O 3 without a figure : I am better than thou
art now ; I am a fool, thou art nothing. — Yes, for-
sooth, I will hold my tongue ; so your face [To Gon.]
bids me, though you say nothing. Mum, mum.
He that keeps nor crust nor crum
Weary of all, shall want sotne. —
That's a sheal'd peascod. ^ [Pointing to Lear.
Gon. Not only, sir, this your all-licens'd fool,
But other of your insolent retinue.
Do hourly carp and quarrel ; breaking forth
In rank and not-to-be-endured riots. Sir,
I had thought, by making this well known unto you,
To have found a safe redVess ; but now grow fearful.
By what yourself too late have spoke and done,
That you protect this course, and put it on
By your allowance ^ ; which if you should, the fault
Would not 'scape censure, nor the redresses sleep ;
Which, in the tender of a wholesome weal fi,
Might in their working do you that offence,
Which else were shame, that then necessity
Will call discreet proceeding.
Fool. For you trow, nuncle.
The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long.
That it had its head bit off by its young.
So, out went the candle, and we were left darkling.
Lear. Are you our daughter ?
Gon. Come, sir, I would, you would make use of
that good wisdom whereof I know you are fraught 7;
and put away these dispositions, which of late trans-
form you from what you rightly are.
Fool. May not an ass know when the cart draws
the horse?
Lear. Does any here know me ? — Why this
is not Lear : does Lear walk thus ? speak thus ?
Where are his eyes? Either his notion weakens,
or his discernings are lethargied. — Sleeping or
waking ? — Ha ! sure 'tis not so. — Who is it that
can tell me who I am ? — Lear's shadow ? I would
learn that ; for by the marks of sovereignty, know-
ledge, and reason, I should be false persuaded I had
daughters.
Fool. Which they will make an obedient father,
Lear. Your name, fair gentlewoman ?
Gon. Come, sir;
This admiration is much o' the favour 8
Of other your new pranks. I do beseech you
To understand my purposes aright :
As you are old and reverend, you should be wise ;
Here do you keep a hundred knights and squires :
Men so (Ssorder'd, so debauch'd, and bold.
That this our court, infected with their manners.
Shows like a riotous inn. The shame doth speak
For instant remedy : Be then desir'd
By her, that else will take the thing she begs,
A little to disquantity your train ;
And the remainder, that shall still depend 9,
To be such men as may besort your age.
And know themselves and you.
Lear. Darkness and devils ! —
Saddle my horses ; call my train together. —
Degenerate bastard ! I'll not trouble thee ;
Yet have I left a daughter.
Gon. You strike my people ; and your disorder'd
rabble
Make servants of their betters.
3 A cipher. < A mere husk which contains nothing.
5 Approbation. ^ -wrell governed state.
7 Stored. « Complexion. 9 Continue in service.
Scene IV.
KING LEAR,
793
Enter Albany.
Lear. Woe, that too late repents, — O, sir, are
you come ?
Is it your will? [To Alb.] Speak, sir Prepare
my horses?
Ingratitude ! thou marble-hearted fiend,
More hideous, when thou show'st thee in a child.
Than the sea-monster !
Alb. Pray, sir, be patient.
Lear. Detested kite ! thou liest : [ To Goneril.
My train are men of choice and rarest parts,
That all particulars of duty know ;
And in the most exact regard support
The worships of their name. — O most small fault,
How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show !
Which, like an engine ', wrench'd my frame of na-
ture
From the fix'd place ; drew from my heart all love,
And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear !
Beat at this gate that let thy folly in,
[Striking his Head.
And thy dear judgment out ! — Go, go, my people.
Alb. My lord, I am guiltless, as I am ignorant
Of what hath mov'd you.
Lear. It may be so, my lord. — Hear, nature,
hear;
Dear goddess, hear ! Suspend thy purpose, if
Thou didst intend to make this creature fruitful !
Into her womb convey sterility !
Dry up in her the organs of increase ;
And from her derogate 2 body never spring
A babe to honour her ! If she must teem,
Create her child of spleen ; that it may live.
And be a thwart disnatur'd torment to her !
Let it stamp wrinkles in her brow of youth ;
With cadent 3 tears fret channels in her cheeks ;
Turn all her mother's pains, and benefits.
To laughter and contempt ; that she may feel
How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is
To have a thankless child ! — Away, away ! [Exit.
Alb. Now, gods, that we adore, whereof comesthis?
Gon. Never afflict yourself to know the cause j
But let his disposition have that scope
That dotage gives it.
Re-enter Lear.
Lear. What, fifty of my followers, at a clap !
Within a fortnight?
Alb. What's the matter, sir ?
Lear. I'll tell thee j — Life and death ! I am
asham'd
That thou hast power to shake my manhood thus :
[To GONERIL.
That these hot tears, wliich break from me perforce.
Should make tliee worth them. — Blasts and fogs
upon thee !
The untented * woundings of a father's curse
Pierce every sense about thee ! — Old fond eyes,
Beweep this cause again, Pll pluck you out;
And cast you, with the waters that you lose.
To temper clay. — Ha ! is it come to this?
I^et it be so : — Yet have I left a daughter,
Who, I am sure, is kind and comfortable ;
When she shall hear this of thee, with her nails
She'll flay thy wolfish visage. Thou shalt find,
'Diat I'll resume the shape which thou dost think
I have cast oflf for ever ; thou shalt, I warrant thee.
[Exeunt Lear, Kent, and Attendants.
• The rack.
3 Falling.
' Degraded
* Undressed.
Gon. Do you mark that, my lord ?
Alb. I cannot be so partial, Goneril,
To the great love I bear you, —
Gon. Pray you, content. — What, Oswald, ho J
You, sir, more knave than fool, after your master.
[To the Fool.
Eool. Nuncle Lear, nuncle Lear, tarry, and take
the fool with thee.
AJbx, when one has caught her, *
And such a daughter,
Should sure to the slaughter,
If my cap would buy a halter ;
So the fool follows after. [Exit.
G<m. This man hath had good counsel : — A
hundred knights !
'Tis politick, and safe, to let him keep
At point ^ a hundred knights. Yes, that on every
dream,
Each buz, each fancy, each complaint, dislike,
He may enguard his dotage with their powers,
And hold our lives in mercy Oswald, I say ! —
Alb. Well, you may fear too far.
Gon. Safer than trust :
Let me still take away the arms I fear.
Not fear still to be taken. I know his heart :
What he hath utter'd, I have writ my sister ;
If she sustain him and his hundred knights.
When I have show'd the unfitness, — How now,
Oswald ?
Enter Steward.
What, have you writ that letter to my sister?
Stew. Ay, madam.
Gon* Take you some company, and away to
horse :
Inform her full of my particular fear ;
And thereto add such reasons of your ovrn.
As may compact it more. Get you gone ;
And hasten your return. [Exit. Stew.] No, no, my
lord.
This milky gentleness, and course of yours.
Though I condemn it not, yet, under pardon,
You are much more attask'd ^ for want of wisdom.
Than prais'd for harmful mildness.
Alb. How far your eyes may pierce, I cannot tell ;
Striving to better, oft we mar what's welL
Gon. Nay, then —
Alb. Well, well ; the event. [Exeunt.
SCENE V Court before the same.
Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool.
Lear. Go you before to Gloster with these letters :
acquaint my daughter no further with any thing
you know, than comes from her demand out of the
letter : If your diligence be not speedy, I shall be
there before you.
Kent. I will not sleep, my lord, till I have deli-
vered your letter. [Exit.
Fool. If a man's brains were in his heels, were't
not in danger of kibes ?
Lear. Ay, boy.
Fool. Then, I pr'ythee, be merry ; thy wit shall
not go slip-shod.
Lear. Ha, ha, ha !
Fod. Shalt see, thy other daughter will use thee
kindly : for though she's as like this as a crab is like
an apple, yet I can tell what I can tell.
* Armed.
Liable to reprehension.
794
KING LEAR.
Act II.
Lear. Why, what canst thou tell, my boy ?
Fool. She will taste as like this, as a crab does to
a crab. Thou canst tell, why one's nose stands i'
tlie middle of his face ?
Lear. No.
Fool. Why, to keep his eyes on either side his
nose ; that what a man cannot smell out, he may
spy into.
Lear. I did her wrong : —
Fool. Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell ?
Lear. No.
Fool. Nor I neither ; but I can tell why a snail
has a house.
Lear. Why?
Fool. Why, to put his head in ; not to give it
away to his daughters, and leave his horns without
a case.
Lear. I will forget my nature, — So kind a
father ! — Be my horses ready ?
Fool. Thy asses are gone about 'em. The reason
why the seven stars are no more than seven, is a
pretty reason.
Lear. Because they are not eight?
Fool. Yes, indeed : Thou wouldest make a good
fool.
Lear. To take it again perforce ! — Monster in-
gratitude !
Fool. If thou wert my fool, nuncle, I'd have thee
beaten for being old before thy time.
Lear. How 's that ?
Fool. Thou shouldst not have been old, before
thou hadst been wise.
Lear. O let me not be mad, not mad, sweet hea-
ven ! Keep me in temper ; I would not be mad ! —
Enter Gentleman.
How now ! Are the horses ready ?
Gent. Ready, my lord.
Lear. Come, boy.
{^Exeunt.
ACT 11.
SCENE I. —A Court within the Castle of the Earl
of Gloster.
Enter Edmund and Curan, meeting.
Edm. Save thee, Curan.
Cur. And you, sir. I have been with your fa-
ther ; and given him notice, that the duke of Corn-
wall, and Regan his duchess, will be here with him
to-night.
Edm. How comes that ?
Cur. Nay, I know not : You have heard of the
news abroad ; I mean, the whispered ones, for they
are yet but ear-kissing arguments ?
Edm. Not I ; 'Pray you, what are they ?
Cur. Have you heard of no likely wars toward,
'twixt the dukes of Cornwall and Albany ?
Edm. Not a word.
Cur. You may then, in time. Fare you well, sir.
[Exit.
Edm, The duke be here to-night? The better !
Best!
This weaves itself perforce into my business !
My father hath set guard to take my brother ;
And I have one thing, of a queazy 7 question,
Which I must act: — Briefness, and fortune,
work ! —
Brother, a word ; descend : — Brother, I say ;
Enter Edgar.
My father watches : — O sir, fly this place ;
Intelligence is given where you are hid ;
You have now the good advantage of the night : —
Have you not spoken 'gainst the duke of Cornwall ?
He's coming hither ; now, i' the night, i' the haste.
And Regan with him ; Have you nothing said
Upon his party 'gainst the duke of Albany ?
Advise 8 yourself.
Edg. I am sure on't, not a word.
Edm. I hear my father coming, — Pardon me : —
In cunning, I must draw my sword upon you : —
Draw : Seem to defend yourself : Now quit you
well.
Delicate.
8 Consider, recollect yourself.
Yield : — come before my father ; — Light, ho
here ! —
Fly, brother ; — Torches ! torches ! — So farewell. —
\^Exit Edgar,
Some blood drawn on me would beget opinion
[ Wounds his Arm.
Of my more fierce endeavour: I have seen drunkards
Do more than this in sport. — Father ! father !
Stop, stop ! No help ?
Enter Gloster, and Servants with Torches,
Glo. Now, Edmund, where's the villain ?
Edm. Here stood he in the dark, his sharp sword
out.
Mumbling of wicked charms, conjuring the moon
To stand his auspicious mistress : —
Glo. But where is he ?
Edm. Look, sir, I bleed.
Glo. Where is the villain, Edmund ?
Edm. Fled this way, sir. When by no means he
could —
Glo. Pursue him, ho ! — Go after. — \_Exit Serv.]
By no means, — what ?
Edm. Persuade me to the murder of your lordship;
But that I told him, the revenging gods
' Gainst parricides did all their thunders bend ;
Spoke, with how manifold and strong a bond
The child was bound to the father ; — Sir, in fine,
Seeing how loathly opposite I stood
To his unnatural purpose, in fell motion.
With his prepared sword, he charges home
My unprovided body, lanc'd mine arm :
But when he saw my best alarum'd spirits.
Bold in the quarrel's right, rous'd to the encounter.
Or whether gasted 9 by the noise I made,
Full suddenly he fled.
Glo. Let him fly far :
Not in this land shall he remain uncaught ;
And found — Despatch. — The noble duke my
master.
My worthy arch ' and patron, comes to-night :
By his authority I will proclaim it.
That he, which finds him, shall deserve our thanks,
9 Frighted. » Chief.
d
Scene I.
KING LEAR.
795
Bringing the murderous coward to the stake ;
He, that conceals him, death.
Edm. When I dissuaded him from his intent.
And found him pight^ to do it, witli cursts speech
I threaten'd to discover him : He replied,
Thou unpossessing bastard ! dost thou think,
If I would stand against thee, would the reposal
Of any trust, virtue, or worth, in thee
Make thy words faith'd ? No : what I should deny,
{As this I would ; ay, though thou didst produce
My very character,) I'd turn it all
To thy suggestion, plot, and damned practice :
And thou must make a dullard of the world,
If they not thought the profits of my death
Were very pregnant and poteritial spurs
To make thee seek it.
Glo. Strong and fasten'd villain !
Would he deny his letter ? — I never got him.
[ Trumj)ets within.
Hark, the duke's trumpets ! I know not why be
comes : —
All ports I'll bar ; the villain shall not 'scape ;
The duke must grant me that : besides, his picture
I will send far and near, that all the kingdom
May have due note of him ; and of my land,
Loyal and natural boy, I'll work the means
To make thee capable. *
Enter Cornwali-, Regan, and Attendants.
Com. How now, my noble friend ? since I came
hither,
(Which I can call but now,) I have heard strange
news.
Reg. If it be true, all vengeance comes too short,
Which can pursue the offender. How dost, my lord ?
Glo. O, madam, my old heart is crack'd, is crack 'd !
Reg. What, did my father's godson seek your life ?
He whom my father nam'd ? your Edgar ?
Glo. O, lady, lady, shame would have it hid !
Reg. Was he not companion with the riotous
knights
That tend upon my father ?
Glo. I know not, madam :
It is too bad, too bad. —
Edm. Yes, madam, he was.
Reg. No marvel then, though he were ill affected ;
'Tis they have put him on the old man's death.
To have the waste and spoil of his revenues.
I have this present evening from my sister
Been well inform'd of them ; and with such cautions.
That, if they come to sojourn at my house,
I'll not be there.
Com. Nor I, assure thee, Regan. —
Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father
A child-like office.
Edm. "Twas my duty, sir.
Glo. He did bewray his practice * ; and receiv'd
This hurt you see, striving to apprehend him.
Com. Is he pursued ?
Glo. Ay, my good lord, he is.
Com. If he be taken, he shall never more
Be fear'd of doing harm : make your own purpose.
How in my strength you please. — For you, Ed-
mund,
Whose virtue and oliedience doth this instant
So much commend itself, you shall be ours;
Natures of such deep trust we shall much need ;
You we first seize on.
2 Pitchetl, fixed. » Severe, harsh.
* ». e. Capable of succeeding to my land.
* Wicked purpose.
Edm. I shall serve you, sir,
Truly, however else.
Glo. For him, I thank your grace.
Com. You know not why we came to visit you,—
Reg. Thus out of season ; threading dark-ey'd
night.
Occasions, noble Gloster, of some poize <',
Wherein we must have use of your advice : —
Our father he hath writ, so hath our sister,
Of differences, which I best thought it fit
To answer from our home ; the several messengers
From hence attend despatch. Our good old friend,
Lay comforts to your bosom ; and bestow
Your needful counsel to our business,
Which craves the instant use.
Glo. I serve you, madam :
Your graces are right welcome. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. — Before Gloster'a Cattle,
Enter Kent and Steward, severally.
Stew. Good dawning to thee, friend : Art of the
house ?
ITent. Ay.
Stew. Where may we set our horses ?
ITent. V the mire.
Stew. Pr'ythee, if thou love me, tell me.
ITent. I love thee not.
Stew. Why, then I care not for thee.
ITent. If I had thee in Lipsbury pinfold, I would
make thee care for me.
Stew. Why dost thou use me thus? I know thee
not.
JTen/. Fellow, I know thee.
Stew. What dost thou know me for ?
I^ent. A knave ; a rascal, an eater of broken
meats ; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-
suited, hundred-pound, worsted-stocking knave ; a
lily-liver'd, action-taking knave ; a glass-gazing,
superserviceable, finical rogue; one-trunk-inherit-
ing slave ; nothing but the composition of a knave,
beggar, and coward : one whom I will beat into
clamorous whining, if thou deny'st the least syllable
of thy addition. 7
Stew. Why, what a monstrous fellow art thou,
thus to rail on one, that is neither known of thee,
nor knows thee ?
ICent. What a brazen-faced varlet art thou, to
deny thou know'st me ? Is it two days ago, since I
tripp'd up thy heels, and beat thee, before the king ?
Draw, you rogue : for, though it be night, the moon
shines ; I'll make a sop o' the moonsliine of you :
Draw, you barber-monger, draw.
[Drauing his sivord.
Stew. Away ; I have nothing to do with thee.
ITent. Draw, you rascal : you come with letters
against the king ; and take vanity » the puppet's
part, against the royalty of her father : Draw, you
rogue, or I'll so carbonado your shanks : — draw, you
rascal ; come your ways.
Stew. Help, ho ! murder ! help !
ITent. Strike, you slave ; stand, rogue, stand ;
you neat slave, strike. [Beating hinu
Stew. Help, ho I murder ! murder !
Enter Edmund, Cornwall, Regan, Glostek, and
Servants.
Edm. How now ? What's the matter ? Part.
Kent. With you, goodman boy, if you please ;
come, I'll flesh you ; come on, young master.
« Weight ' Title*. " A character in the old moralities.
796
KING LEAR.
Act II
Glo. Weapons ! arms ! What's the matter here ?
Corn. Keep peace, upon your lives ;
He dies, that strikes again : What is the matter ?
Beg. The messengers from our sister and the king.
Corn. What is your difference? speak.
Stew. I am scarce in breath, my lord.
JCent. No marvel, you have so bestirr'd your
valour. You cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in
thee ; a tailor made thee.
Cor7i. Thou art a strange fellow : a tailor make
a man ?
ITent. Ay, a tailor, sir ; a stone-cutter, or a painter,
could not have made him so ill, though they had
been but two hours at the trade.
Corn. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel ?
Stew. This ancient ruffian, sir, whose life I have
spar'd,
At suit of his grey beard, —
ITent. Thou zed ! thou unnecessary letter ! —
My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this
unbolted 9 villain into mortar, and daub the wall
with him. — Spare my grey beard, you wagtail !
Corn. Peace, sirrah !
You beastly knave, know you no reverence ?
ITent. Yes, sir ; but anger has a privilege.
Corn. Why art thou angry ?
ITent. That such a slave as this should wear a
sword.
Who wears no honesty. Such smiling rogues as
these,
Like rats, oft bite the holy cords atwain
Which are too intrinse ' t' unloose : smooth every
passion
That in the natures of their lords rebels ;
Bring oil to fire, snow to their colder moods ;
Renege % affirm, and turn their halcyons beaks
With every gale and vary of their masters.
As knowing nought, like dogs, but following. —
A plague upon your epileptic visage !
Smile you my speeches, as I were a fool ?
Goose, if I had you upon Sarum plain,
I'd drive ye cackling home to Camelot.'*
Corn. What, art thou mad, old fellow ?
Glo. How fell you out ?
Say that.
Kent. No contraries hold more antipathy.
Than I and such a knave.
Corn. Why dost thou call him knave ? What's his
offence ?
JTent. His countenance likes me not.
: Corn. No more, perchance, does mine, or his, or
hers.
JTent. Sir, 'tis my occupation to be plain j
I have seen better faces in my time,
Than stands on any shoulder that I see
Before me at this instant.
Corn. This is some fellow,
Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth affect
A saucy roughness ; and constrains the garb,
Quite from his nature : He cannot flatter, he ! —
An honest mind and plain, — he must speak truth :
And they will take it, so ; if not, he's plain.
These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness
Harbour more craft, and more corrupter ends.
Than twenty silly ducking observants.
That stretch their duties nicely.
9 Unrefined. i Perplexed. 2 Disown.
3 The bird called the king-fisher, which, when dried and
hung up by a thread, is supposed to turn his bill to the point
from whence the wind blows.
* In Somersetshire, where are bred great quantities of geese.
ITent. Sir, in good sooth, in sincere verity.
Under the allowance of your grand aspect.
Whose influence, like the wreath of radiant fire
On flickering Phoebus' front, —
Corn. What mcan'st by this ?
ITent. To go out of my dialect, which you dis-
commend so much. I know, sir, I am no flatterer :
he that beguiled you, in a plain accent, was a plain ^^
knave ; which, for my part, I will not be, though I |^H
should win your displeasure to entreat me to it. hB
Com. What was the offence you gave him ?
Stew. Never any :
It pleas'd the king his master, very late.
To strike at me, upon his misconstruction ;
When he, conjunct, and flattering his displeasure,
Tripp'd me behind : being down, insulted, rail'd,
And put upon him such a deal of man,
That worthy 'd him, got praises of the king
For him attempting who was self-subdu'd ;
And, in the fleshment of this dread exploit,
Drew on me here.
ITent. None of these rogues, and cowards.
But Ajax is their fool.*
Corn. Fetch forth the stocks, ho !
You stubborn ancient knave, you reverend braggart.
We'll teach you
ITent. Sir, I am too old to learn :
Call not your stocks for me : I serve the king ;
On whose employment I was sent to you :
You shall do small respect, show too bold malice
Against the grace and person of my master,
Stocking his messenger.
Com. Fetch forth the stocks :
As I've life and honour, there shall he sit till noon.
Reg. Till noon ! till night,^my lord ; and all night
too.
JTent. Why, madam, if I were your father's dog.
You should not use me so.
Reg. Sir, being his knave, I will.
[Stocks brought out.
Corn. This is a fellow of the self-same colour
Our sister speaks of: — Come, bring away the stocks.
Glo. Let me beseech your grace not to do so :
His fault is much, and the good king his master
Will check him for't : your purpos'd low correction
Is such, as basest and contemned'st wretches.
For pilferings and most common trespasses.
Are punish'd with : the king must take it ill.
That he's so slightly valued in his messenger.
Should have him thus restrain'd.
Corn. I'll answer that.
Reg. My sister may receive it much more worse.
To have her gentleman abus'd, assaulted,
For following her affairs. — Put in his legs. —
[Kent is put in the Stocks.
Come, my good lord ; away.
[Exeunt Regan and Cornwall,
Glo. I am sorry for thee, friend ; 'tis the duke's
pleasure.
Whose disposition, all the world well knows.
Will not be rubb'd, nor stopp'd : I'll entreat for
thee.
JTent. Pray, do not, sir ; I have watch'd, and
travell'd hard ;
Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle.
A good man's fortune may grow out at heels :
Give you good morrow !
Glo. The duke's to blame in this : 'twill be ill
taken. [Exit.
5 i. e. Ajax is a fool to them.
Scene IV.
KING LEAR.
■97
JTent. Good king, that must approve the common
saw ! 6
Thou out of heaven's benediction com'st
To the warm sun I
Approach, tliou beacon to this under globe,
That by thy comfortable beams I may
Peruse this letter ! — Nothing almost sees mi rack s.
But misery ; — I know 'tis from Cordelia;
VVlio hath most fortunately been inform'd
Of my obscured course ; and shall find time
From this enormous state, — seeking to give
IjOsscs their remedies : — All weary and o'erwatch'd,
'J^ake vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold
This shameful lodging.
Fortune^ good night ; smile once more ; turn thy
wheel ! [Jle sleeps.
SCENE III. — A Part of the Heath.
Enter Edgar.
Edg. I heard myself proclaim'd :
And, by the happy hollow of a tree,
Escap'd the hunt. No port is free ; no place,
That guard, and most unusual vigilance,
Does not attend my taking. While I may 'scape,
I will preserve myself : and am bethought
To take the basest and most poorest shape,
lliat ever penury, in contempt of man,
Brought near to beast ; my face I'll grime with filth;
Blanket my loins : elf 7 all my hair in knots ;
And with presented nakedness outface
The winds, and persecutions of the sky.
The country gives me proof and precedent
Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices,
Strike in their numb'd and mortifi'd bare arms
Pins, wooden pricks 8, nails, sprigs of rosemary ;
And with this horrible object, from low farms.
Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes and mills,
Sometime with lunatic bans^, sometime with prayers,
Enforce their charity. — Poor Turlygood ! poor Tom !
That's something yet ; — Edgar I nothing am.
[ExU.
SCENE IV. — Before Gloster's Castle.
Enter Lear, Fool, and Gentleman.
Lear. 'Tis strange, that they should so depart
from home.
And not send back my messenger.
Gciit. As I learn'd,
The night before there was no purpose in them
Of this remove.
Kent. Hail to thee, noble master !
Lear. How !
Mak'st thou this shame thy pastime?
Kent. No, my lord.
Fool. Ha, ha ; look ! he wears cruel ' garters !
Horses are tied by the heads ; dogs and bears, by
the neck ; monkies by the loins ; and men by the
legs : when a man is over-lusty at legs, then he
wears wooden nether stocks.^
Lear. What's he, tliat hatli so much thy place
mistook
To set tliee here?
Kent. It is both he and she,
Your son and daughter.
Lear. No.
Kent. Yes.
fi Saying or proverb.
" Hair tlius knotted was supposed to be the work of elves
and fairies in the night
8 Skewers. 9 Curses.
• A quibble on crrtir/, worstrd.
8 The old word for stockings.
Lenr. No, I say.
Kent. I say, yea.
Lear. No, no ; they would not.
Kent. Yes, they have.
Lear. By Jupiter, I swear, no.
Kent. By Juno, I swear, ay.
Lear. They durst not do't.
They could not, would not do't ; 'tis worse than
murder,
To do upon respect such violent outrage :
Resolve me, with all modest haste, which way
Thou might'st deserve, or they impose, this usage,
Coming from us.
Kent. My lord, when at their home
I did commend your highness' letters to them,
Ere I was risen from tlie place that show'd
My duty kneeling, came there a reeking post,
Stew'd in his haste, half breathless, panting forth
From Goneril his mistress, salutations ;
Deliver'd letters, spite of intermission,
Which presently they read : on whose contents.
They summon'd up their meiny 3, straight took
horse ;
Commanded me to follow, and attend
The leisure of their answer : gave me cold looks :
And meeting here the other messenger.
Whose welcome, I perceiv'd, had poison'd mine,
(Being the very fellow that of late
Display'd so saucily against your highness,)
Having more man than wit about me, drew :
He raised the house with loud and coward cries :
Your son and daughter found this trespass worth
The shame which here it suffers.
Fool. Winter s not gone yet, if the wild geese fly
that way.
Fathers, that wear rags.
Do make their children blind ;
But fathers, that bear bags,
Shall see their children kind.
But, for all this, thou shalt have as many dolours^
for thy daughters, as thou canst tell in a year.
Lear. O, how tliis mother ^ swells up toward my
heart!
Hysterica passio / down, thou climbing sorrow.
Thy element's below ! — Where is this daughter ?
Kent. With the earl, sir, here within.
Lear. Follow me not ;
Stay here. [Exit.
Gent. Made you no more offence than what you
speak of?
Kent. None.
How chance the king comes with so small a train ?
Fool. An thou hadst been set i' the stocks for tliat
question, thou hadst well deserved it.
Kent. Why, fool!
Fool. We'll set thee to school to an ant, to teacH
thee there's no labouring in the winter. Let go thy
hold, when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it
break thy neck with following it ; but the great one
that goes up the hill, let him draw thee after. When
a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine
again ; I would have none but knaves follow it,
since a fool gives it.
That, sir, which serves and seeks for gain^
yind foUotvs biUforfomi,
Will pack, when it begins to rain^
And leai>e thee in the storm.
9 People, train or retinue.
* A quibble between dolours and dollars.
^ The disease railed the mother.
798
KING LEAR.
Act II.
£ut I will lan-y, the fool ivUl stay,
And let the ivise manjly.
The knave turns fool, that runs away ;
The fool no knave, perdy.
Kent. Where learned you this, fool ?
Fool. Not i' the stocks, fool.
Re-enter Lear, with Gloster.
Lear, Deny to speak with me ? They are sick ?
they are weary ?
They have travell'd hard to-night ? Mere fetches ;
The images of revolt and flying off"!
Fetch me a better answer.
Glo. My dear lord,
You know the fiery quality of the duke j
How unremoveable and fix'd he is
In his own course.
Lear. Vengeance ! plague ! death ! confusion !
Fiery ? what quality ? Why, Gloster, Gloster,
I'd speak with the duke of Cornwall, and his wife.
Glo. Well, my good lord, I have inform'd them so.
Lear. Inform'd them ! Dost thou understand me,
man?
Gh. Ay, my good lord.
Lear. The king would speak with Cornwall ; the
dear father
Would with his daughter speak, commands her
service :
Are they inform'd of this? My breath and
blood! —
Fiery ? the fiery duke ? — Tell the hot duke that —
No, but not yet : — may be he is not well :
Infirmity doth still neglect all oflice,
Whereto our health is bound ; we are not ourselves.
When nature, being oppress'd, commands the mind
To suffer with the body : I'll forbear ;
And am fallen out with my more headier will.
To take the indispos'd and sickly fit
For the sound man. — Death on my state ! wherefore
[^Lookirig on Kent.
Should he sit here? This act persuades me.
That this remotion 6 of the duke and her
Is practice 7 only. Give me my servant forth :
Go, tell the duke and his wife, I'd speak with them,
Now, presently : bid them come forth and hear me,
Or at their chamber door I'll beat the drum,
Till it cry— Sleep to death.
Glo. I'd have all well betwixt you. \^Exii.
Lear. O me, my heart, my rising heart ! — but,
down.
Fool. Cry to it, nuncle, as the cockney did to the
eels, when she put them i' the paste alive ; she rapp'd
'em o' the coxcombs with a stick, and cry'd, Down,
wantons, down: 'Twas her brother, that in pure
kindness to his horse, buttered his hay.
Fnter Cornwall, Regan, Gloster, and Servants.
/-.ear. Good morrow to you both.
CoT^. Hail to your grace !
[Kent is set at liberty.
Reg. I am glad to see your highness.
Lear. Regan, I think you are ; I know what
reason
I have to think so : if thou shouldst not be glad,
I would divorce me from thy mother's tomb.
Sepulchring an adultress. — O, are you free ?
[To Kent.
Some other time for that. — Beloved Regan,
« Removing from their own house.
7 Artifice.
Thy sister's naught : O, Regan, she hath tied
Sharp-tooth'd unkindness, like a vulture here. —
[Points to his Heart.
I can scarce speak to thee ; thou 'It not believe.
Of how deprav'd a- quality. — O, Regan !
Reg. I pray you, sir, take patience ; I have hope,
You less know how to value her desert.
Than she to scant her duty.
Lear. Say, how is that ?
Reg. I cannot think, my sister in the least
Would fail her obligation : If, sir, perchance,
She have restrained the riots of your followers,
'Tis on such ground, and to such wholesome end,
As clears her from all blame.
Lear. My curses on her !
^eg. O, sir, you are old ;
Nature in you stands on the very verge
Of her confine : you should be rul'd, and led
By some discretion, that discerns your state
Better than you yourself : Therefore, I pray you.
That to our sister you do make return ;
Say, you have wrong'd her, sir.
Lear. Ask her forgiveness ?
Do you but mark how this becomes the house » :
Bear daughter, I confess that I am old;
Age is unnecessary: on my knees I beg, [Kneeling.
That you II vouchsafe me raiment, bed, and food.
Reg. Good sir, no more ; these are unsightly
tricks :
Return you to my sister.
Lear. Never, Regan :
She hath abated me of half my train ;
Look'd black upon me ; struck me with her tongue,
Most serpent-like, upon the very heart :
All the stor'd vengeances of heaven fall
On her ingrateful top ! Strike her young bones.
You taking airs, witly lameness !
Corn. ^ Fye, fye, fye !
Lear. You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding
flames
Into her scornful eyes ! Infect her beauty,
You fen-suck'd fogs, drawn by the powerful sun.
To fall and blast her pride !
I^eg. O the blest gods !
So will you wish on me, when the rash mood's on.
Lear. No, Regan, thou shalt never have my curse ;
Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give
Thee o'er to harshness ; her eyes are fierce, but thine
Do comfort, and not burn : 'Tis not in thee
To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train,
To bandy hasty words, to scant my sizes 9,
And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt
Against my coming in : thou better know'st
The oflices of nature, bond of childhood,
Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude ;
Thy half o' the kingdom hast thou not forgot.
Wherein I thee endow'd.
Reg' Good sir, to the purpose.
[Trumpets within.
Lear. Who put my man i' the stocks ?
Com. What trumpet's that ?
Enter Steward.
Reg. I know't, my sister's: this approves her
letter.
That she would soon be here.. — Is your lady come ?
Lear. This is a slave, whose easy borrow 'd pride
Dwells in the fickle grace of her he follows : —
Out, varlet, from my sight !
8 The order of families. 9 Contract my allowances
Scene IV.
KING LEAR.
799
Com. What means your grace ?
Lear. Who stock'd my servant ? Regan, I have
good hope
Thou didst not know oft. — Who comes here ? O
heavens.
Enter Goneril.
If you do love old men, if your sweet sway
Allow • obedience, if yourselves are old,
Make it your cause ; send down, and take my part ! —
Art not asham'd to look upon tliis beard? —
[To GONKRIL.
O, Regan, wilt thou take her by the hand ?
Gon. Why not by the hand, sir? How have I
offended ?
All's not offence, that indiscretion finds.
And dotage terms so.
Lear. O, sides, you are too tough !
Will you yet hold?— How came my man i'the stocks?
Com. I set him there, sir : but his own disorders
Deserv'd much less advancement
Lear. You! did you?
Reg. I pray you, father, being weak, seem so.
If, till the expiration of your month.
You will return and sojourn with my sister.
Dismissing half your train, come then to me ;
I ani now from home, and out of that provision
Which shall be needful for your entertainment.
Lear. Return to her, and fifty men dismiss'd ?
No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose
To wage against the enmity o' the air ;
To be a comrade with the wolf and owl,
Necessity's sharp pinch ! — Return with her?
Why, the hot-blooded France, that dowerless took
Our youngest bom, I could as well be brought
To knee his tlu-one, and, squire-like, pension beg
To keep base life afoot : — Return with her?
Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter 2
To this detested groom. [Looking on the Steward.
Gon, At your choice, sir.
Lear. I pr'ythee, daughter, do not make me mad ;
I will not trouble thee, my child ; farewell :
We'll no more meet, no more see one another :
But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my daughter ;
Or, rather, a disease that's in my flesh.
Which I must needs call mine : but I'll not cliide ;
Let shame come when it will, I do not call it :
I do not bid the thunder-bearer shoot.
Nor tell tales of thee to high-judging Jove :
Mend when thou canst ; be better at thy leisure :
I can be patient ; I can stay with Regan,
I, and my hundred knights.
^^S'^ Not altogether so, sir ;
I look'd not for you yet, nor am provided
For your fit welcome : Give ear, sir, to my sister ;
For those that mingle reason with your passion.
Must be content to think you old, and so
But she knows what she does.
Lear. Is this well spoken now ?
Reg. I dare avouch it, sir : What, fifty followers ?
Is it not well ? What should you need of more ?
Yea, or so many ? sith 3 that both charge and danger
Speak 'gainst so great a number? How, in one
house,
Should many people, under two commands,
Hold amity ? Tis hard ; almost imi>ossible.
Gon. Why might not you, my lord, receive at-
tendance
From those that she calls servants, or from mine ?
' Approve.
• A horse that carries necessaries on a journey. » Since.
Reg. Why not, my lord? If then they chanc'd
to slack you,
We could control them : If you will come to me,
(For now I spy a danger,) I entreat you
To bring but five and twenty ; to no more
Will I give place or notice.
Lear. I gave you all —
Reg' And in good time you gave it.
Lear. Made you my guardians, my depositaries ;
But kept a reservation to be follow'd
With such a number : What, must I come to you
With five and twenty, Regan ? said you so ?
Reg. And speak it again, my lord ; no more with
me.
Lear. Those wicked creatures yet do look well-
favour'd.
When others are more wicked ; not being the worst.
Stands in some rank of praise : — I'll go with thee ;
[To Goneril.
Ihy fifty yet doth double five and twenty,
And thou art twice her love.
^^^' Hear me, my lord ;
What need you five and twenty, ten, or five.
To follow in a house, where twice so many
Have a command to tend you ?
Reg' What need one ?
Lear. O, reason not the need : our basest beggars
Are in the poorest thing superfluous :
Allow not nature more than nature needs,
Man's life is cheap as beast's : thou art a lady ;
If only to go warm were gorgeous.
Why, nature needs not what thou gorgeous wear'st.
Which scarcely keeps thee warm. — But, for true
need, —
You heavens, give me that patience, patience I need !
You see me here, you gods, a poor old man.
As full of grief as age ; wretched in both !
If it be you that stir these daughters' hearts
Against their father, fool me not so much
To bear it tamely ; touch me with noble anger !
O, let not women's weapons, water-drops.
Stain my man's cheeks ! No, you unnatural hags,
I will have such revenges on you both.
That all the world shall — I will do such things, —
What they are yet, I know not ; but they shall be
The terrors of the earth. You think, I'll weep ;
No, I'll not weep : —
I have full caue of weeping ; but this heart
Shall break into a hundred thousands flaws,
Or ere I'll weep : — O, fool, I shall go mad !
[Exeunt Lear, Glo.ster, Kent, and FooL
Corn. Let us withdraw, 'twill be a storm.
[Storm heard at a distance.
J\eg. This house
Is little ; the old man and his people caimot
Be well bestow'd.
Go7^ 'Tis his own blame ; he hath put
Himself from rest, and must needs taste his folly.
Reg. For his particular, I'll receive him gladly,
But not one follower.
Gon. So am I purpos'd.
Where is my lord of Gloster ?
Re-enter Gloster.
Com. Follow'd the old man forth ; — he is re-
tum'd.
Glo. The king is in high rage.
Com. Whither is he going ?
Gh. He calls to horse; but will I know not
whither.
800
KING LEAR.
Act hi.
Com. 'Tis best to give him way ; he leads himself.
Gon. My lord, entreat liim by no means to stay.
GlO' Alack, the night comes on, and the bleak
winds
Do sorely ruffle ; for many miles about
There's scarce a bush.
Reg. O, sir, to wilful men,
The injuries that they themselves procure,
Must be their schoolmasters : Shut up your doors ;
He is attended with a desperate train ;
And what they may incense 7 him to, being apt
To have his ear abus'd, wisdom bids fear.
Corn. Shut up your doors, my lord ; 'tis a wild
night :
My Regan counsels well : come out o' the storm.
\^Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE J. ^ A Heath.
A Storm is heard, with Thunder and Lightning.
Enter Kent, and a Gentleman, meeting.
Kent. Who's here, beside foul weather ?
Gent. One minded like the weather, most un-
quietly.
Kent. I know you ; Where's the king ?
Gent. Contending with the fretful element :
Bids the wind blow the earth into the sea.
Or swell the curled waters 'bove the main,
That things might change, or cease : tears his white
hair:
Which the impetuous blasts, with eyeless rage.
Catch in their fury, and make nothing of:
Strives in his little world of man to out-scorn
The to-and-fro-conflicting wind and rain.
This night, wherein tlie cub-drawn bear 4 would
couch.
The lion and the belly-pinched wolf
Keep their fur dry, unbonneted he runs,
And bids what will take all.
Kent. But who is with him ?
Gent. None but the fool ; who labours to out-jest
His heart-struck injuries.
Kent. Sir, I do know you ;
And dare, upon the warrant of my heart.
Commend a dear thing to you. There is division.
Although as yet the face of it be cover'd
With mutual cunning, 'twixt Albany and Cornwall ;
Who have Tas who have not, that their great stars
Thron'd and set high ?) servants, who seem no less j
Which are to France the spies and speculations
Intelligent of our state ; what hath been seen.
Either in snuffs and packings ^ of the dukes ;
Or the hard rein which both of them have borne
Against the old kind king : or something deeper.
Whereof, perchance, these are but furnishings ^ : —
But, true it is, from France there comes a power
Into this scatter'd kingdom ; who already.
Wise in our negligence, have secret feet
In some of our best ports, and are at point
To show their open banner. — Now to you :
If on my credit you dare build so far
To make your speed to Dover, you shall find
Some that will thank you, making just report
Of how unnatural and bemadding sorrow
The king hath cause to 'plain.
I am a gentleman of blood and breeding ;
And from some knowledge and assurance, offer
This office to you.
Gent. I will talk further with you.
Kent. No, do not.
For confirmation that I am much more
* Whose dugs are drawn dry by its young.
^ Stmffis are dislikes, and packings underhand contrivances.
6 Samples.
Than my out wall, open this purse, and take
What it contains : If you shall see Cordelia,
(As fear not but you shall,) show her this ring;
And she will tell you who your fellow is
That yet you do not know. Fie on this storm !
I will go seek the king,
Gent. Give me your hand : Have you no more
to say?
Kent. Few words, but to effect, more than all yet ;
That, when we have found the king, (in which your
pain
That way ; I'll this ;) he that first lights on him.
Holla the other. ^Exeunt severally.
SCENE II. — Another Part of the Heath.
Storm continues.
Enter Lear and Fool.
Lear. Blow, wind, and crack your cheeks ! rage !
blow !
You cataracts, and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the
cocks !
You sulphurous and thought-executing 8 fires,
Vaunt couriers 9 to oak-cleaving thunder-bolts.
Singe my white head ! And thou, all-shakingthunder.
Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world !
Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once,
That make ingrateful man !
Fool. O nuncle, court holy-water ' in a dry house
is better than this rain-water out o'door. Good
nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters' blessing ; here's
a night pities neither wise men nor fools.
Lear. Rumble thy belly -full ! Spit, fire ! spout,
rain!
Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters :
I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness,
I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children,
You owe me no subscription '^ ; why then let fall
Your horrible pleasure ; here I stand your slave,
A poor infirm, weak, and depis'd old man : —
But yet I call you servile ministers.
That have with two pernicious daughters joiu'd
Your high engender'd battles 'gainst a head
So old and white as this. O ! O ! 'tis foul !
Fool. He that has a house to put his head in, ha
a good head-piece.
The man that 7nakes his toe
What he his heart should make.
Shall of a corn cry woe,
And turn his sleep to ivake.
— for there was never yet fair woman, but she mad«^
mouths in a glass.
7 Instigate.
8 Quick as thought. 9 Avant couriers, French.
1 A proverbial phrase {ox fair words. ^ Obedience.
Scene III.
KING LEAR.
801
Enter Kent.
Lear. No, I will be the pRttcrn of all patience, I
will say nothing.
Kent. Alas, sir, are you here ? tilings that love
night.
Love not such nights as these : the wrathful skies
Gallow 3 the very wanderers of the dark.
And make them keep their caves. Since I was man,
Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder,
Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never
Remember to have heard : man's nature cannot carry
The affliction, nor the fear.
Lear. Let the great gods.
That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads,
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,
That hast within thee undivulged crimes,
Unwhipp'd of justice : Hide thee, thou bloody hand ;
Thou perjur'd, and thou simular * man of virtue
Thou art incestuous : Caitiff, to pieces shake.
That under covert and convenient seeming
Hast practis'd on man's life : — Close pent-up guilts.
Rive your concealing continents, and cry
These dreadful summoners grace. ^ — I am a man.
More sinn'd against, than sinning.
Kent. Alack, bare-headed !
Gracious my lord, hard by here is a hovel ;
Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the tempest ;
Repose you tliere : while I to this hard house,
(More hard than is the stone whereof 'tis rais'd ;
Which even but now, demanding after you,
Denied me to come in,) return, and force
Their scanted courtesy.
Lear. My wits begin to turn, —
Come on, my boy.: How dost, my boy ? Art cold ?
I am cold myself. — Where is this straw, my fellow ?
The art of our necessities is strange,
Tliat can make vile things precious. Come, your
hovel.
Poor fool and knave, I have one part in my heart
That's sorry yet for thee.
Fool. He thai has a little tiny tuit, —
JVith heigh, ho, the wind and the rain, —
Must make content with his fortunes Jit ;
For the rain it rainelh every day. 6
Lear. True, my good boy Come, bring us to
this hovel. {Exeunt Lear and Kent.
Fool. I'll speak a prophecy ere I go:
When priests are more in word than matter;
When brewers mar their malt with water;
When every case in law is right ;
No squire in debt, nor no poor knight ;
When slanders do not live in tongues;
Nor cutptirses come not to throngs ;
Then shall the realm of Albion
Come to great confusioru
Then comes the time, tvho lives to see't,
That going shall be us'd with feet.
Tliis prophecy Merlin shall make ; for I live before
his time. [Exit.
SCENE IIL — ^ Room in Gloster'* Castle.
Enter G looter and Edmund.
Glo. Alack, alack, Edmund, I like not this un-
natural dealing : When I desired their leave that I
' Scare or frighten. •♦ Counterfeit > Favour
8 Part of the clown'i gong in Twelfth Night.
might pity him, they took from me the use of mine
own house ; charged me on pain of their perpetual
displeasure, neither to speak of him, entreat for him,
nor any way sustain him.
Edm. Most savage, and unnatural !
Glo. Go to ; say you nothing : There is division
between the dukes ; and a worse matter than that :
I have received a letter this night; — 'tis dangerous
to be spoken; — I liave locked the letter in my
closet : these injuries the king now bears will be
revenged home ; there is part of a power already
footed : we must incline to the king. I will seek
him, and privily relieve him : go you, and maintain
talk with the duke, that my charity be not of him
perceived : If he ask for me, I am ill, and gone to
bed. If I die for it, as no less is threatened me,
the king my old master must be relieved. There is
some strange thing toward, Edmund ; pray you, be
careful. [Exit.
Edm. This courtesy, forbid thee, shall the duke
Instantly know ; and of that letter too : —
This seems a fair deserving, and must draw me
That which my father loses ; no less than all :
The younger rises, when the old doth fall. [Exit.
SCENE IV. —A Part of the Heath, with a Hovel.
Enter Lear, Kent, and Fool.
Kent. Here is the place, my lord ; good my lord,
enter ;
The tyranny of the open night's too rough
For nature to endure. [Storm still.
Lear, Let me alone.
Kent. Good my lord, enter here.
Lear. Wilt break my heart ?
Kent. I'd rather break mine own : Good my lord,
enter.
Lear. Thou think'st 'tis much, that this conten-
tious storm
Invades us to the skin : so 'tis to thee ;
But where the greater malady is fix'd.
The lesser is scarce felt. Thou'dst shun a bear :
But if thy flight lay toward the raging sea,
Thou'dst meet the bear i' the mouth. When the
mind's free.
The body's delicate : the tempest in my mind
Doth from my senses take all feeling else.
Save what beats there. — Filial ingratitude !
Is it not as this mouth should tear this hand.
For lifting food to 't ? — But I will punish home : —
No, I will weep no more. — In such a night
To shut me out ! — Pour on ; I will endure :
In such a night as this ! O Regan, Goneril ! —
Your old kind father, whose frank heart gave all, —
O, that way madness lies ; let me shun that :
No more of that. —
Kent. Good my lord, enter here.
Lear. Pr'ythee, go in thyself; seek tliine own
ease ;
This tempest will not give me leave to ponder
On things would hurt me more. — But I'll go in:
In, boy ; go first. ^ [To the Fool.] You houseless
poverty, —
Nay, get thee in. I'll pray, and then I'll sleep. —
[ Fool goes in.
Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are.
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm.
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides.
Your loop'd, and window'd raggedness, defend you
From seasons such as these ? O, I have ta'en
3 F
802
KING LEAR
Act III.
Too little care of this ! Take physick, pomp ;
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel ;
That thou may'st shake the superflux to them,
And show the heavens more just.
Edg. [IVithin.] Fathom and half, fathom and
half! Poor Tom !
[ The Fool runs out from the Hovel.
Fool. Come not in here, nuncle, here's a spirit.
Help me, help me !
J^ent. Give me thy hand. — Who's there ?
Fool, A spirit, a spirit ; he says his name's poor
Tom.
JTent. What art thou that dost grumble there
i' the straw ?
Come forth.
Enter Edgar, disguised as a Madman.
Edg. Away ! the foul fiend follows me ! —
Through the sharp hawthorn blows the cold wind. —
Humph ! go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.
Lear. Hast thou given all to thy two daughters ?
And art thou come to this?
Edg. Who gives any thing to poor Tom ? whom
the foul fiend hath led through fire and through
flame, through ford and whirlpool, over bog and
quagmire ; that hath laid knives under his pillow,
and halters in his pew ; set ratsbane by his por-
ridge ; made him proud of heart, to ride on a bay
trotting-horse over four-inched bridges, to course
his own shadow for a traitor : — Bless thy five wits !
Tom's a-cold, — O, do de, do de, do de. — Bless
thee from whirlwinds, star-blasting, and taking ! 7
Do poor Tom some charity, whom the foul fiend
vexes : There could I have him now, — and there,
— and there, — and there again, and there.
\_Storm, continues.
Lear. What, have his daughters brought him to
this pass ? —
Coiild'st thou save nothing ? Didst thou give them
all?
Fool. Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had
been all shamed.
Lear. Now, all the plagues that in the pendulous
air
Hang fated o'er men's faults, light on thy daughters !
Kent. He hath no daughters, sir.
Lear. Death, traitor ! nothing could have sub-
dued nature
To such a lowness, but his unkind daughters. —
Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers
Should have thus little mercy on their flesh ?
Judicious punishment ! 'twas this flesh begot
Those pelican daughters.
Edg. Pillicock sat on pillicock's hill ; —
Halloo, halloo, loo, loo !
Fool. This cold night will turn us all to fools and
madmen.
Edg. Take heed o' the foul fiend : obey thy pa-
rents ; keep thy word justly ; swear not ; commit
not with man's sworn spouse; set not thy sweet
heart on proud array : Tom's a-cold.
Lear. What hast thou been ?
Edg. A serving-man, proud in heart and mind ;
that curled my hair ; wore gloves in my cap 8 ; swore
as many oaths as I spake words, and broke them in
the sweet face of heaven : Wine loved I deeply ;
dice dearly ; False of heart, light of ear, bloody of
7 To take is to blast, or strike with malignant influence.
8 It was the custom to wear gloves in the hat, as the favour
of a mistress.
hand : Hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greedi-
ness, dog in madness, lion in prey. Let not the
creaking of shoes, nor the rustling of silks, betray
thy poor heart to women: Keep thy pen from
lenders' books, and defy the foul fiend. — Still
through the hawthorn blows the cold wind : Says
suum, mun, ha no nonny, dolphin my boy, my boy,
sessa ; let him trot by. [Storm still continues.
Lear. Why, thou wert better in thy grave, than
to answer with thy uncovered body this extremity
of the skies. — Is man no more than this ? Con-
sider him well : Thou owest the worm no silk, the
beast no hide, the sheep no wool, the cat no per-
fume:— Ha! here three of us are sophisticated I
— Thou art the thing itself: unaccommodated man
is no more but such a poor, bare, forked animal as
thou art. — Off, off, you lendings : — Come ; un-
button here. [Tearing off his Clothes.
Fool. Pry'thee, nuncle, be contented ; this is a
naughty night to swim in. — Look, here comes a
walking fire.
Edg. This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet : he
begins at curfew, and walks till the first cock ; he
gives the web and the pin 9, squints the eye, and
makes the hare-lip : mildews the white wheat, and
hunts the poor creature of earth.
Saint Withold ' footed thrice the wold "";
He met the night-mare^ and her nine-fold j
Bid her alight,
And her troth plight,
And, aroint thee 3, witch, aroint thee >
Kent. How fares your grace?
Enter Gloster, with a Torch.
Lear. What's he ?
Kent. Who's there ? What is't you seek ?
Glo. What are you there ? Your names ?
Edg. Poor Tom ; that eats the swimming frog,
the toad, the tadpole, the wall-newt, and the water •* j
that in the fury of his heart, when the foul fiend
rages, swallows the old rat, and the ditch-dog;
drinks the green mantle of the standing-pool ; who
is whipped from tything to tything ^, and stocked,
punished, and imprisoned; who hath had three
suits to his back, six shirts to his body, horse to ride,
and weapon to wear.
But mice, and rats, and such small deer.
Have been Tom^s food for seven long year.
Beware my follower : — Peace, Smolkin 6 ; peace,
thou fiend !
Glo. What, hath your grace no better company ?,
Edg. The prince of darkness is a gentleman;!
Modo he's call'd, and Mahu.7
Glo. Our flesh and blood, my lord, is grown so vile, ;
That it doth hate what gets it.
Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold.
Glo. Go in with me ; my duty cannot suffer
To obey in all your daughter's hard commands :
Though their injunction be to bar my doors,
And let this tyrannous night take hold upon you j
Yet have I ventur'd to come seek you out.
And bring you where both fire and food is ready.
9 Diseases of the eye.
1 A saint said to protect his devotees from the disease called
the night-mare.
2 Wild downs, so called in various parts of England.
3 Avaunt. ■* i.e. The water-newt.
5 A tything is a division of a county.
6 Name of a spirit.
The chief devil
Scene V.
KING LEAR.
803
Lear. First let me talk with this pliilosopher. —
What is the cause of thunder ?
Keyit. Good my lord, take his offer ;
Go into the house.
Lear. I'll talk a word with this same learned
Theban. —
What is your study ?
Edg. How to prevent the fiend, and to kill ver-
min.
Lear. Let me ask you one word in private.
KeiU. Importune him once more to go, my lord ;
His wits begin to unsettle.
Glo. Can'st thou blame him ?
His daughters seek his death : — • Ah, that good
Kent ! —
He said it would be thus : — Poor banish'd man ! —
Thou say'st, the king grows mad ; I'll tell thee,
friend,
I am almost mad myself : I had a son,
Now outlaw'd from my blood ; he sought njy life.
But lately, very late; I lov'd him, friend, —
No father his son dearer : true to tell thee,
\ Storm continues.
The grief hath craz'd my wits. What a night's this !
I do beseech your grace, —
Lear. O, cry you mercy :
Noble philosopher, your company.
Eclg, Tom's a-cold.
Glo. In, fellow, there, to the hovel ; keep thee
warm.
Lear. Come, let's in all.
Kent. ITiis way, my lord.
Lear. With him ;
I will keep still with my philosopher.
Kent. Good my lord, soothe him ; let him take
the fellow.
Glo. Take him you on.
Kent. Sirrah, come on ; go along with us.
Lear. Come, good Athenian.
Glo. No words, no words :
Hush.
Edg. ChUd 8 Rordand to the dark tower came.
His word was still, — Fie, f oh, andfum,
I smell the blood of a British man-
[Exeunt.
SCENE V. — ^ Room in Gloster'5 Caitle.
Enter Cornwall and Edmund.
Com. I will have my revenge, ere I depart his
house.
Edm. How, my lord, I may be censured, that
nature thus gives way to loyalty, something fears
me to think of.
Corn. I now perceive, it was not altogether your
brother's evil disposition made him seek his death ;
but a provoking merit, set a-work by a reproveable
badness in himself.
Edm. How malicious is my fortune, that I must
repent to be just ! This is the letter he spoke of,
which approves him an intelligent party to the ad-
vantages of France. O heavens ! that this treason
were not, or not I the detector !
Com. Go with me to the duchess.
Edm. If the matter of this paper be certain, you
have mighty business in hand.
Com. True, or false, it hath made thee earl of
Gloster. Seek out where thy father is, that he may
be ready for our apprehension.
8 Child is an old term for knight
Edm. [Aside."] If I find him comforting the king,
it will stuff his suspicion more fully. — I will per-
severe in my course of loyalty, though the conflict
be sore between that and my blood.
Corn. I will lay trust upon thee ; and thou shalt
find a dearer father in my love. [Exeunt.
SCENE VI A Chamber in a Farm- House,
adjoining the Castle.
Enter Gloster, Lear, Kent, Fool, and Edgar.
Glo. Here is better than the open air; take it
thankfully ; I will piece out the comfort with what
addition I can : I will not be long from you.
Kent. All the power of his wits has given way to
his impatience : — The gods reward your kindness !
[Exit Gloster.
Edg. Frateretto calls me; and tells me, Nero is
an angler in the lake of darkness. Pray, innocent 5*,
and beware the foul fiend.
Fool. Pr'ythee, nuncle, tell me, whether a mad-
man be a gentleman, or a yeoman?
Lear. A king, a king !
Fool. No ; he's a yeoman, that has a gentleman
to liis son : for he's a mad yeoman, that sees his
son a gentleman before him.
Lear. To have a thousand with red burning spits
Come hissing in upon them : —
Edg. ITie foul fiend bites my back.
Fool. He's mad, that trusts in the tameness of a
wolf.
Lear. It shall be done, I will arraign them
straight : —
Come, sit thou here, most learned justicer; —
[To Edgar.
Thou, sapient sir, sit here. [To the Fool,] — Now,
you she foxes ! —
Edg. Look, where he stands and glares ! —
Wantest thou eyes at trial, madam ?
Come o'er the bourn ', Bessy, to vie : —
Fool. She dares not come over to thee.
Edg. The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the
voice of a nightingale. Hopdajice cries in Tom's
belly for two white herring. Croak not, black
angel ; I have no food for thee.
Kent. How do you, sir? Stand you not so
amaz'd :
Will you lie down and rest upon the cushions ?
Lear. I'll see their trial first : — Bring in the
evidence. —
Thou robed man of justice, take thy place ;
[To Edgar.
And thou, his yoke-fellow of equity, [To the Fool.
Bench by his side : — You are of the commission,
Sit you too. [ To Kent.
Edg. Let us deal justly.
Sleepest, or wakest thov^ jolly sltepherd9
Thy sheep be in the corn ;
And for one blast of thy minikin mouthf
Thy sheep sJiall take no harm.
Pur ! the cat is grey.
Lear. Arraign her first ; 'tis Goncril. I here
take my oath before this honorable assembly, she
kicked the poor king her father.
FooL Come hither, mistress ; Is your name Go-
neril?
» Adrtrcssed to the Fool, who were ancicmJy railed
Innoccntx. ' Brook, or rivulet
3 F 2
804
KING LEAR.
Act III.
Lear. She cannot deny it.
Fool. Cry your mercy, I took you for a joint-
stool.
Lear. And here's another, whose warp'd looks
proclaim
What store her heart is made of. — Stop her there !
Arms, arms, sword, fire ! — Corruption in the place !
False justicer, why hast thou let her 'scape ?
Edg. Bless thy five wits !
Kent. O pity ! — Sir, where is the patience now,
That you so oft have boasted to retain ?
Edg. My tears begin to take his part so much.
They'll mar my counterfeiting. \^Aside.
Lear. The little dogs and all,
Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, see, they bark at me.
Edg. Tom will throw his head at them : —
A vaunt, you curs !
Be thy mouth or black or white.
Tooth that poisons if it bite ;
Mastiff, greyhound, mongrel grim.
Hound, or spaniel, brach, or lym ^ ;
Or bobtail tike, or trundle-tail;
Tom will make them weej) and wail :
For, uith throwing thus my head.
Dogs leap the hatch, and all arejled.
Do de, do de. Sessa. Come, march to wakes and
fairs, and market towns : — Poor Tom, thy horn is dry.
Lear. Then let them anatomize Regan, see what
breeds about her heart : Is there any cause in na-
ture that makes these hard hearts ? — You, sir, I
entertain you for one of my hundred ; only, I do
not like the fashion of your garments : you will
say, they are Persian attire; but let them be
changed. [ToEdgvr.
Kent. Now, good my lord, lie here, and rest awhile.
Lear. Make no noise, make no noise ; draw the
curtains : So, so, so : We'll go to supper i' the
morning : So, so, so.
Fool. And I'll go to bed at noon.
Re-enter Gloster.
Glo. Come hither, friend : Where is the king my
master ?
Kent. Here, sir; but trouble him not, his wits are
gone.
Glo. Good friend, I pr'ythee take him in thy
arms ;
I have o'erheard a plot of death upon him :
There is a litter ready ; lay him in't.
And drive towards Dover, friend, where thou shalt
meet
Both welcome and protection. Take up thy master :
If thou should'st dally half an hour, his life
With thine, and all that offer to defend him,
Stand in assured loss : Take up, take up ;
And follow me, that will with some provision
Give" thee quick conduct.
Kent. Oppress'd nature sleeps : —
This rest might yet have balm'd thy broken senses.
Which, if convenience will not allow,
Stand in hard cure. — Come, help to bear thy master ;
Thou must not stay behind. [To the ¥001.
Glo. Come, come, away.
[Exeunt Kent, Gloster, and the Fool,
bearing off the King.
Edg. When we our betters see bearing our woes,
We scarcely think our miseries our foes.
Who alone suffers, suffers most i' the mind ;
Leaving free things, and happy shows, behind :
2 A blood-hound.
But tlien the mind much sufferance doth o'erskip,
When grief hath mates, and bearing fellowship.
How light and portable my pain seems now,
When that which makes me bend, makes the king
bow ;
He childed, as I father'd ! — Tom, away :
Mark the high noises 3 ; and thyself bewray.
When false opinion, whose wrong thought defiles
thee,
In thy just proof, repeals, and reconciles thee.
What will hap more to-night, safe 'scape the king !
Lurk, lurk. [Exit.
SCENE VII. —A Room in Gloster'5 Castle.
Enter Cornwall, Regan, Goneril, Edmund, and
Servants.
Com. Post speedily to my lord, your husband ;
show him this letter : — the army of France is landed :
— Seek out the villain Gloster.
[Exeunt some of the Servants.
Reg. Hang him instantly.
Gon. Pluck out his eyes.
Com. Leave him to my displeasure. — Edmund,
keep you our sister company ; the revenges we are
bound to take upon your traitorous father are not
fit for your beholding. Advise the duke, where you
are going, to a most festinate preparation : we are
bound to the like. Our posts shall be swift, and
intelligent betwixt us. Farewell, dear sister; —
farewell, my lord of Gloster.4
Enter Steward.
How now ? Where's the king ?
Stew. My lord of Gloster hath convey'd him
hence :
Some five or six and thirty of his knights.
Hot questrists ^ after him, met him at gate ;
Who, with some other of the lord's dependants,
Are gone with him towards Dover, where they boast
To have well armed friends.
Com. Get horses for your mistress.
Gon. Farewell, sweet lord, and sister.
[Exeunt Goneril and Edmund.
Com. Edmund, farewell. — Go, seek the traitor
Gloster,
Pinion him like a thief, bring him before us :
[Exeunt other Servants.
Though well we may not pass upon his life
Without the form of justice ; yet our power
Shall do a courtesy 6 to our wrath, which men
May blame, but not control. Who's there ? The'^
traitor.
Re-enter Servants, with Gloster.
Reg. Ingrateful fox ! 'tis he.
Corn. Bind fast his corky 7 arms. ^
Glo. What mean your graces? Good my>
friends, consider
You are my guests ; do me no foul play, friends.
Corn. Bind him, I say. [Servants bind him.
Reg. Hard, hard : — O filthy traitor !
Glo. Unmerciful lady as you are, I am none.
Corn. To this chair bind him : — Villain, thou
shalt find — [Regan plucks his beard.
Glo. By the kind gods 'tis most ignobly done
To pluck me by the beard.
3 The great events that are approaching.
4 Meaning Edmund invested with his father's title.
» Enquirers. « Bend. ? Dry, Uke cork.
Act IV. Scene I.
KING LEAR.
805
Reg. So white, and such a traitor !
Glo. Naughty lady,
These hairs, which thou dost ravish from my chin.
Will quicken « and accuse thee : I am your host ;
With robbers' hands, my hospitable favours &
You should not ruffle thus. What will you do?
Corn. Come, sir, what letters had you late from
France ?
Reg. Be simple-answer'd, for we know the truth.
Com. And what confederacy have you with the
traitors
Late footed in the kingdom ?
Reg. To whose hands have you sent the lunatick
king?
Speak.
Glo. I have a letter guessingly set down,
Which came from one that's of a neutral heart,
And not from one oppos'd.
Com. Cunning.
Reg. And false.
Com. Where hast thou sent the king ?
Glo. To Dover.
Reg. WTierefore
To Dover ? Wast thou not charg'd at thy peril —
Com. Wherefore to Dover ? Let him first answer
that
Glo. I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the
course.
Reg. Wherefore to Dover ?
Glo. Because I would not see thy cruel nails
Pluck out his poor old eyes ; nor thy fierce sister
In his anointed flesh stick boarish fangs.
The sea, with such a storm as his bare head
In hell-black night endur'd, would have buoy'd up.
And quench'd the stelled ' fires: yet, poor old
heart.
He holp the heavens to rain.
If wolves had at thy gate howl'd that stern time.
Thou should'st have said, Good porter, turn the key ;
AH cruels else subscrib'd^: — But I shall see
The winged vengeance overtake such children.
Corn. See it shalt thou never : — Fellows, hold
the chair :
Upon these eyes of thine I'll set my foot.
[Gloster is held down in his Chair, while
Cornwall plucks out one of his Eyes,
and sets his Foot on it.
Glo. He, that will think to live till he be old,
Give me some help : — O cruel ! O ye gods !
Reg. One side will mock another ; the other too.
Com. If you see vengeance, —
Serv. Hold your hand, my lord :
I have serv'd you ever since I was a chilcj :
But better service have I never done you.
Than now to bid you hold.
Reg. How now, you dog?
Serv. If you did wear a beard upon your cliin,
I'd shake it on this quarrel : What do you mean ?
Corn. My villain ! [Draws, and runs at him.
Serv. Nay, then come on, and take the chance of
anger.
[Draws. They fight. Cokthwavl v; wounded.
Reg. Give me thy sword. — [To another Serv.]
A peasant stand up thus !
[Snatches a Sword, comes behind, and stabs him.
Serv. O, I am slain ! — My lord, you have one
eye left
To see some mischief on him : — O ! [Dies.
Com. Lest it see more, prevent it : — Out, vile
jelly !
Where is thy lustre now ?
[Tears out Gloster's other Eye, and throws it
on the Ground.
Glo. All dark and comfortless. — Where's my
son Edmund ?
Edmund, enkindle all the sparks of nature.
To quit 4 this horrid act.
Reg. Out, treacherous villain !
Thou call'st on him that hates thee : it was he
That made the overture ^ of thy treasons to us ;
Who is too good to pity thee.
Glo. O my follies !
Then Edgar was abus'd —
Kind gods, forgive me that, and prosper him !
Reg. Go, thrust him out at gates, and let him smell
His way to Dover. — How is't, my lord ? How look
you?
Com. I have receiv'd a hurt :— Follow me, lady. —
Turn out that eyeless villain ; throw this slave
Upon the dunghill. — Regan, I bleed apace :
Untimely comes this hurt : Give me your arm.
[Exit Cornwall, led by Regan; — Servants
unbind Gloster, and lead him out.
1 Serv. I'll never care what wickedness I do.
If this man comes to good.
2 Serv. If she live long,
And, in the end, meet the old course of death.
Women will all turn monsters.
1 Serv. Let's follow the old earl, and get the
Bedlam <5
To lead him where he would ; his roguish madness
Allows itself to any thing.
2 Serv. Go thou ; I'll fetch some flax, and whites
of eggs.
To apply to his bleeding face. Now, heaven help
him ! [Exeunt severalfy.
ACT IV,
SCENE L — The Heath.
Enter Edgar.
Edg. Yet better thus, and known to be contemn'd,
Than still contemn'd and flatter'd. To be worst.
The lowest and most dejected thing of fortune,
SUmds still in esperance ^ lives not in fear :
'llic lamentable change is from the best ;
The worst returns to laughter. Welcome then,
" Live. » Feature*. • SUrrcd
'' Yielded, submitted to the neccMity of the occasion.
•■' III hope.
Thou unsubstantial air, that I embrace !
The wretch, that thou hast blown unto the worst.
Owes nothing to tliy blasts. — But who comes here ?
Enter Gloster, led by an old Man.
My father, poorly led ? — World, world, O world !
But that thy strange mutations make us hate thee.
Life would not yield to age.
Old Man. O my good lord, I have been your te-
nant, and your father's tenant, tliese fourscore years.
• Requite * Laid opea « Bedlamite, madman.
3 F 3
806
KING LEAR.
Act IV
Gto. Away, get thee away ; good friend, be gone :
Thy comforts can do me no good at all,
Thee they may hurt.
Old Man. Alack, sir, you cannot see your way.
Glo. I have no way, and therefore want no eyes ;
I stumbled when I saw : Full oft 'tis seen,
Our mean secures us ; and our mere defects
Prove our commodities. — Ah, dear son Edgar,
The food of thy abused father's wrath !
Might I but live to see thee in my touch,
I'd say, I had eyes again !
Old Man. How now ? Who's there ?
Edg. \_Aside.'] O gods ! Who is't can say, / am
. at the worst ?
I am worse than e'er I was.
Old Man. 'Tis poor mad Tom.
JErfg. [^«cfe.] And worse I may be yet: The
worst is not.
So long as we can say. This is the worst.
Old Man. Fellow, where goest ?
Glo. Is it a beggar-man ?
Old Man. Madman and beggar too.
Glo. He has some reason, else he could not beg.
I' the last night's storm I such a fellow saw ;
Which made me think a man a worm : My son
Came then into my mind ; and yet my mind
Was then scarce friends with him : I have heard
more since.
Edg. How should this be ? —
Bad is the trade must play the fool to sorrow,
Ang'ring itself and others. ^Aside.] — Bless thee,
master !
Glo. Is that the naked fellow ?
Old Man. Ay, my lord.
Glo. Then, pr'ythee, get thee gone : If, for my sake.
Thou wilt o'ertake us, hence a mile or twain,
I' the way to Dover, do it for ancient love ;
And bring some covering for this naked soul,
Whom I'll entreat to lead me.
Old Man. Alack, sir, he's mad.
Glo. 'Tis the time's plague, when madmen lead
the blind.
Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure ;
Above tlie rest, be gone.
Old Man. I'll bring him the best 'parel that I have.
Come on't what will. [JExit.
Glo. Sirrah, naked fellow.
Edg. Poor Tom's a-cold : I cannot daub 7 it fur-
ther. [Aside.
Glo. Come hither, fellow.
Edg. [Aside.] And yet I must. — Bless thy
sweet eyes, they bleed.
Glo. Know'st thou the way to Dover ?
Edg. Both stile and gate, horse-way and foot-
path. Poor Tom hath been scared out of his good
wits : Bless the good man from the foul fiend !
Five fiends have been in poor Tom at once. So,
bless thee, master !
Glo. Here, take this purse, thou whom the hea-
ven's plagues
Have humbled to all strokes : that I am wretched,
Makes thee the happier : — Heavens, deal so still !
Let tlie superfluous, and lust-dieted man.
That slaves your ordinance, that will not see
Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly ;
So distribution should undo excess,
And each man have enough. — Dost thou know
Dover ?
Edg. Ay, master.
7 Disguise.
Glo. There is a cliff, whose high and bending head
Looks fearfully in the confined deep :
Bring me but to the very brim of it.
And I'll repair the misery thou dost bear.
With something rich about me : from that place
I shall no leading need.
Edg. Give me thy arm ;
Poor Tom shall lead thee. lExewii.
SCENE II — Before the Duke of A\hax\fs Palace.
Enter Goneril and Edmund ; Steward meeting}
them.
Gon. Welcome, my lord : I marvel, our mildl
husband
Not met us on the way: — Now,where's your master?)
Stew. Madam, within ; but never man so chang'd : •
I told him of the army that was landed ;
He smil'd at it : I told him you were coming ;
His answer was. The worse : of Gloster's treachery, |
And of the loyal service of his son,
When I inform'd him, then he call'd me sot ;
And told me, I had turn'd the wrong side out :
What most he should dislike, seems pleasant to him ;
What like, offensive.
Gon. Then shall you go no further,
[To Edmund.
It is the cowish terror of his spirit.
That dares not undertake : he'll not feel wrongs.
Which tie him to an answer; Our wishes, on the way.
May prove effects. 8 Back, Edmund, to my brother :
Hasten his musters, and conduct his powers :
I must change arms at home, and give the distaff
Into my husband's hands. This trusty servant
Shall pass between us : ere long you are like to hear.
If you dare venture in your own behalf,
A mistress's command. Wear this ; spare speech ;
[Giving a Favour.
Decline your head: this kiss, if it durst speak.
Would stretch thy spirits up into the air ; —
Conceive, and fare thee well.
Edm. Yours in the ranks of death.
Gon. My most dear Gloster !
[Exit Edmund.
O, the difference of man, and man ! To thee
A woman's services are due ; my fool
Usurps my bed.
Stew. Madam, here comes my lord.
[Exit Steward
Enter Albany.
Gon. I have been worth the whistle. 9
Alb. O Goneril
You are not worth the dust which the rude wind
Blows in your face. — I fear your disposition :
That nature, which contemns its origin.
Cannot be border'd certain in itself ;
She that herself will sliver ' and disbranch
From her material sap, perforce must wither.
And come to deadly use.
Gon. No more ; the text is foolish.
Alb. Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile :
Filths savour but themselves. Wliat have you done ;
Tigers, not daughters, what have you perform'd ?
A father, and a gracious aged man.
Whose reverence the head-lugg'd bear would lick,
Most barbarous, most degenerate ! have you madded,
s i. e. Our wishes on the road may be completed.
9 Worth calling fer. i Tear off.
Scene II.
KING LEAR.
807
Could my good brother suffer you to do it ?
A man, a prince, by him so benefited ?
If that the heavens do not their visible spirits
Send quickly down to tame these vile offences,
'Twill come,
Humanity must perforce prey on itself,
Like monsters of the deep.
Gon. Milk-liver'd man !
Thou bear'st a cheek fbr blows, a head for wrongs ;
Who hast not in thy brows an eye discerning
Thine honour from thy suffering ; tliat not know'st,
Fools do those villains pity, who are punish'd
Ere they have done their mischief. Where's thy
drum?
France spreads his banners in our noiseless land ;
With plumed helm thy slayer begins threats;
Whilst thou, a moral fool, sit'st still, and cry'st,
Alack ! why does he so ?
Mb. See thyself, devil !
Proper deformity seems not in the fiend
So horrid, as in woman.
Gon. O vain fool !
Alb. Thou changed and self-cover'd thing, for
shame,
Be-monster not thy feature. Were it my fitness
To let these hands obey my blood.
They are apt enough to dislocate and tear
Thy flesh and bones : — Howe'er thou art a fiend,
A woman's shape doth shield thee.
Gon. Marry, your manhood now !
Enter a Messenger.
Alb. What news ?
Mess. O, my good lord, the duke of Cornwall's
dead?
Slain by his servant, going to put out
The other eye of Gloster.
Alb. Gloster's eyes !
Aless. A servant that he bred, thrill'd with remorse,
Oppos'd against the act, bending his sword
To his great master ; who, thereat enrag'd.
Flew on him, and amongst them fell'd him dead :
But not without that harmful stroke, which since
Hath pluck'd him after.
Alb. This shows you are above.
You justicers, that these our nether crimes
So speedily can venge ! — But, O poor Gloster !
Lost he his other eye ?
Mess. Both, both, my lord. —
This letter, madam, craves a speedy answer ;
'Tis from your sister.
Gon. [Aside.] One way I like this well ;
But being widow, and my Gloster with her,
May all the building in my fancy pluck
Upon my hateful life : Another way.
The news is not so tart. — I'll read, and answer.
[Exit.
Alh. Where was his son,when they did take his eyes?
Mess. Come with my lady hither.
Alh. He is not here.
Mess. No, my good lord ; I met him back again.
Alb. Knows he the wickedness ?
Mess. Ay, my good lord ; 'twas he inform'd
against him ;
And quit the house on purpose, that their punishment
Might have the freer course.
Alb. Gloster, I live
To thank thee for the love thou show'dst the king,
And to revenge thine eyes. —Come hither, friend :
Tell me what more thou knowest. [Exeunt.
SCENE III. — Tlie French Camp near Dover.
Enter Kent, and a Gentleman.
Kent. Why the king of France is so suddenly
gone back know you the reason ?
Gent. Something he left imperfect in the state,
Which since his coming forth is thought of; which
Imports to the kingdom so much fear and danger,
That his personal return was most requir'd.
And necessary.
Kent. Who hath he left behind him general ?
Gent. The Mareschal of France, Monsieur le Fer.
Kent. Did your letters pierce the queen to any
demonstration of grief?
Gent. Ay, sir ; she took them, read them in my
presence ;
And now and then an ample tear trill'd down
Her delicate cheek : it seem'd, she was a queen
Over her passion ; who, most rebel-like.
Sought to be king o'er her.
Kent. O, then it mov'd her.
Gent. Not to a rage : patience and sorrow strove
Who should express her goodliest. You have seen
Sunshine and rain at once : her smiles and tears
Were like a better day : Those happy smiles,
That play'd on her ripe lip, seem'd not to know
What guests were in her eyes ; which parted thence.
As pearls from diamonds dropp'd. — In brief, sorrow
Would be a rarity most belov'd, if all
Could so become it.
Kent. Made she no verbal question ? ^
Gent. 'Faith, once, or twice, she heav'd the name
of Father
Pantingly forth, as if it press'd her heart ;
Cried, Sisters ! sisters ! — Shame of ladies ! sisters !
Kent! father I sisters! JV/iat? i tlie storm? i t/ie
night 9
Let pity not be believed / ^ — There she shook
The holy water from her heavenly eyes.
And clamour moisten'd : then away she started
To deal with grief alone.
Kent. It is the stars.
The stars above us, govern our conditions "» ;
Else one self mate and mate could not beget
Such different issues. You spoke not with her since "*
Gent. No.
Kent. Was this before the king returned ?
Gent. No, since.
Kent. Well, sir ; The poor distress'd Lear is i' the
town :
Who sometime, in his better tune, remembers
What we are come about, and by no means
Will yield to see his daughter.
Gent. Why, good sir ?
Kent. A sovereign shame so elbows him : his own
unkindness,
That stripp'd her from his benediction, turn'd her
To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights
To his dog-hearted daughters, — tliese things sting
His mind so venomously, that Lurning shame
Detains him from Cordelia.
Gent. Alack, poor gentleman !
Kent. Of Albany's and Cornwall's powers you
heard not?
Gent. 'Tis so ; they are afoot.
Kent. Well, sir, I'll bring you to our master Lear,
And leave you to attend him : some dear cause,
* Discourse, conversation.
' i. e. I<et not pity be tui^posed to exist
4 Dispositions.
3 F 4
808
KING LEAR.
Act IV.
Will in concealment wrap me up awhile ;
When I am known aright, you shall not grieve
Lending me this acquaintance. I pray you, go
Along with me. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV The same. A Tent.
Enter Cordelia, Physician, and Soldiers.
Cor. Alack, 'tis he ; why, he was met even now
As mad as the vex'd sea : singing aloud ;
Crown'd with rank fumiter 5, and furrow weeds.
With harlocks ^, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers.
Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow
In our sustaining corn. — A century send forth j
Search every acre in the high-grown field,
And bring him to our eye. [Exit an Officer. ] —
What can man's wisdom do.
In the restoring his bereaved sense ?
He, that helps him, take all my outward worth.
Phy. There is means, madam :
Our foster-nurse of nature is repose.
The which he lacks ; that to provoke in him.
Are many simples operative, whose power
Will close the eye of anguish.
Cor. All bless'd secrets,
All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth,
Spring with my tears ! be aidant, and remediate,
In the good man's distress ! — Seek, seek for him ;
Lest his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life
That wants the means to lead it.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Madam, news;
The British powers are marching hitherward.
Cor. 'Tis known before ; our preparation stands
In expectation of them. — O dear father,
It is thy business that I go about ;
Therefore great France
My mourning, and important 7 tears, hath pitied.
No blown 8 ambition doth our arms incite.
But love, dear love, and our ag'd father's right :
Soon may I hear, and see him. [Exeunt.
SCENE V — A Room in Gloster's Castle.
Enter Regan and Steward.
Reg. But are my brother's powers set forth ?
Stew. Ay, madam.
Reg. Himself
In person there ?
Stew. Madam, with much ado :
Your sister is the better soldier.
Reg. Lord Edmund spake not with your lord at
home?
Stew. No, madam.
Reg. What might import my sister's letter to him ?
Stew. I know not, lady.
Reg. 'Faith, he is posted hence on serious matter.
It was great ignorance, Gloster's eyes being out.
To let him live ; where he arrives, he moves
All hearts against us : Edmund, I think, is gone.
In pity of his misery, to despatch
His nighted life ; moreover, to descry
The strength o' the enemy.
Stew. I must needs after him, madam, with my
letter.
Reg. Our troops set forth to-morrow j stay with us ;
The ways are dangerous.
5 Fumitory. « Charlocks.
1 Importunate. s inflated, swelling.
Stew. I may not, madam ;
My lady charg'd my duty in this business.
Reg. Why should she write to Edmund ? Might
not you
Transport her purposes by word? Belike,
Something — I know not what : -^ I'll love thee
much,
Let me unseal the letter.
Stew. Madam, I had rather —
Reg. I know, your lady does not love her husband j
I am sure of that : and, at her late being here.
She gave strange oeiliads 9, and most speaking looks
To noble Edmund : I know, you are of her bosom.
Stew. I, madam ?
Reg. I speak in understanding; you are, I know it :
Therefore, I do advise you, take this note ' :
My lord is dead ; Edmund and I have talk'd ;
And more convenient is he for my hand,
Than for your lady's : — You may gather more.
If you do find him, pray you, give him this :
And when your mistress hears thus much from you,
I pray, desire her call her wisdom to her.
So, fare you well.
If you do chance to hear of that blind traitor.
Preferment falls on him that cuts him off.
Stew. 'Would I could meet him, madam ; I would
show
What party I do follow.
Reg. Fare thee well. [Exeunt.
SCENE VI. — TAe Country near Dover.
Enter Gloster, and Edgar dressed like a Peasant.
Glo. When shall we come to the top of that same
hill?
Edg. You do climb up it now: look, how we
labour.
Glo. Methinks, the ground is even.
Edg. Horrible steep ;
Hark, do you hear the sea ?
Glo. No, truly.
Edg. Why, then your other senses grow imperfect
By your eyes' anguish.
Glo. So may it be, indeed :
Methinks, thy voice is alter'd ; and thou speak'st
In better phrase, and matter, than thou didst.
Edg. You are much deceiv'd ; in nothing am I
chang'd.
But in my garments.
Glo. Methinks, you are better spoken.
Edg. Come on, sir ; here's the place : — stand
still. — How fearful
And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low !
The crows, and choughs, that wing the midway air.
Show scarce so gross as beetles : Half way down
Hangs one that gathers samphire ^ ; dreadful trade !
Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head :
The fishermen, that walk upon the beach.
Appear like mice ; and yon' tall anchoring bark,
Diminish 'd to her cock 3 ; her cock, her buoy
Almost too small for sight : The murmuring surge.
That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes.
Cannot be heard so high : — I'll look no more ;
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight
Topple 4 down headlong.
Glo. Set me where you stand.
9 A ca=,t, or significant glance of the eye.
Observe what I am saying.
' A vegetable gathered for pickling.
3 Her cock-boat. "^ Tumble.
■
Scene VI.
KING LEAR.
809
Edg. Give me your hand': You are now within
a foot
Of the extreme verge : for all beneath the moon
Would I not leap upright.
Glo. Let go my hand.
Here, friend, is another purse ; in it a jewel
Well worth a poor man's taking : Fairies, and gods,
Prosper it with thee ! Go thou further off;
Bid me farewell, and let me hear thee going.
JEdg. Now fare you well, good sir.
[Seems to go.
Glo. With all my heart.
Edg. Why I do trifle thus with his despair,
Is done to cure it.
Glo. O you mighty gods !
This world I do renounce : and, in your sights,
Shake patiently my great affliction off:
If I could bear it longer, and not fall
To quarrel with your great opposeless wills.
My snuff, and loathed part of nature, should
Burn itself out. If Edgar live, O, bless him ! —
Now fellow, fare thee well.
[He leapsy andfaUs along.
Edg. Gone, sir ? farewell. —
And yet I know not how conceit may rob
The treasury of life, when life itself
Yields to the theft : Had he been where he thought.
By this, had thought been past. — Alive, or dead ?
Ho, you sir ! friend ! -^ Hear you, sir ? — speak !
Thus might he pass indeed * : .^Yet he revives :
What are you, sir ?
Glo. Away, and let me die.
Edg. Hadst thou been aught but gossamer,
feathers, air,
So many fathom down precipitating,
Thou hadst shiver'd like an egg: but thou dost
breathe ;
Hast heavy substance ; bleed'st not ; speak'st : art
sound.
Ten masts at each make not the altitude,
Which thou hast perpendicularly fell ;
Tliy life's a miracle ; Speak yet again.
Glo. But have I fallen, or no ?
Edg. From the dread summit of this chalk y bourn;
Look up a-height ; — the shrill-gorg'd ^ lark so far
Cannot be seen or heard : do but look up.
Glo. Alack, I have no eyes. —
Is wretchedness depriv'd that benefit,
To end itself by death? 'Twas yet some comfort,
When misery could beguile the tyrant's rage.
And frustrate his proud will.
Edg. Give me your arm :
Up : — So ; — How is't? Feel you your legs ? You
stand.
Glo. Too well, too well.
Edg. This is above all strangeness.
Upon the crown o' the cliff", what thing was that
Which parted from you?
Glo. A poor unfortunate beggar.
Edg. As I stood here below, methought, his eyes
Were two full moons ; he had a thousand noses.
Horns whclk'd?, and wav'd like the enridged sea;
It was some fiend : Therefore, thou happy father,
Think that the clearest 8 gods, who make them
honours
Of men's imi)ossibilities, have preserv'd thee.
Glo. 1 do remember now : henceforth I'll bear
Affliction, till it do cry out itself.
» Thus might he die in reality.
'> Twifltt'd. convolved.
« Shrill-throatcd.
f" I'he purest
Enough, enovgh, and die. That thing you speak of,
I took it for a man ; often 'twould say,
Thejiend, thejiend : he led me to that place.
Edg. Bear free and patient thoughts. —But who
comes here?
Enter IjKajl, fantasticalli/ dressed vp with flowers.
The safer sense will ne'er accommodate
His master thus.
Lear. No, they cannot touch me for coining ;
I am the king himself.
Edg. O thou side-piercing sight !
Lear. Nature's above art in that respect. — There's
your press-money. That fellow handles his bow like
a crow-keeper : draw me a clothier's yard. 9 — Look,
look, a mouse ! Peace, peace ; — this piece of toasted
cheese will do't There's my gauntlet; I'll prove
it on a giant. — Bring up the brown bills. ' — O, well
flown bird ! — i' the clout, i'the clout '^ : hewgh ! —
Give the word. 3
Edg. Sweet marjoram.
Lear. Pass.
Glo. I know that voice.
Lear. Ha ! Goneril ! — with a white beard ! — They
flatter'd me like a dog ; and told me, I had white
hairs in my beard, ere the black ones were there.
To say ay, and no, to every thing I said ! — Ay and
no too was no good divinity. When the rain came
to wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter ;
when the thunder would not peace at my bidding ;
there I found them, there I smelt them out. Go to,
they are not men o' their words : they told me I was
every thing ; 'tis a lie ; I am not ague-proof.
Glo. The trick < of that voice I do well remember :
Is't not the king ?
Lear. Ay, every inch a king :
When I do stare, see, how the subject quakes.
I pardon that man's life : what was tliy cause ? —
Adultery. —
Thou shalt not die : for Gloster's bastard son
Was kinder to his father, than my daughters
Born in the lawful bed.
Glo. O, let me kiss that hand !
Lear. Let me wipe it first ; it smells of mortality.
Glo. O ruin'd piece of nature ! This great world
Shall so wear out to nought. — Dost thou know me?
Lear. I remember thine eyes well enough. Dost
thou squiny » at me ? No, do thy worst, blind Cupid ;
I'll not love. — Read thou this challenge; mark but
the penning of it.
Glo. Were all the letters suns, I could not see one.
Edg. I would not take this from report ; — it is,
And my heart breaks at it.
Lear. Read.
Glo. What, with the case of eyes ?
Lear. O, ho, are you there with me ? No eyes in
your head, nor no money in your purse ? Your eyes
are in a heavy case, your purse in a light : Yet you
see how this world goes.
Glo. I see it feelingly.
Lear. What, art mad ? A man may see how this
world goes, with no eyes. Look with thine ears ;
see how yon' justice rails upon yon' simple thief.
Hark, in thine ear: Change places; and, handy-
dandy, which is the justice, which is the thief? —
Thou hast seen a farmer's dog bark at a beggar ?
9 An arrow of a cloth yard long. ' Battle-axet.
2 The white mark for archers to aim at
3 The watch-word.
* Likeness, manner. * Look asquint
810
KING LEAR.
Act IV.
Glo. Ay, sir.
Lear. And the creature run from the cur? There
thou might'st behold the great image of authority :
a dog's obeyed in office.
Through tatter 'd clothes small vices do appear ;
Robes, and furr'd gowns, hide all. Plate sin with
gold,
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks :
Arm it in rags, a pigmy's straw doth pierce it.
None does offend, none, I say, none ; I'll able 'em :
Take that of me, my friend, who have the power
To seal the accuser's lips. Get thee glass eyes ;
And, like a scurvy politician, seemi
To see the things thou dost not. — Now, now, now,
now :
Pull off my boots: — harder, harder; so.
Edg. O, matter and impertinency mix'd !
Reason in madness !
Lear. If thou wilt weep my fortunes, take my eyes.
I know thee well enough; thy name is Gloster:
Thou must be patient ; we came crying hither.
Thou know'st, the first time that we smell the air,
Wewawl, and cry : — I will preach to thee; mark me.
Glo. Alack, alack the day !
Lear. When we are born, we cry, that we are come
To this great stage of fools ; —— This a good
block ? 6
It were a delicate stratagem, to shoe
A troop of horse with felt : I'll put it in proof ;
And when I have stolen upon these sons-in-law,
Then kill, kill, kill, kill, kill, kill.
Enter a Gentleman, mth Attendants.
Sir,
Gent. O, here he is, lay hand upon him.
Your most dear daughter ■
Lear. No rescue ? What, a prisoner ? I am even
The natural fool of fortune. — Use me well ;
You shall have ransome. Let me have a surgeon,
I am cut to the brains.
Gent. You shall have any thing.
Lear. No seconds ? All myself ?
Why, this would make a man, a man of salt 7,
To use his eyes for garden water-pots.
Ay, and for laying autumn's dust.
Gent. Good sir, —
Lear. I will die bravely, like a bridegroom :
What?
I will be jovial ; come, come ; I am a king,
My masters, know you that !
Gent. You are a royal one, and we obey you.
Lear. Then there's life in it. Nay, an you get
it, you shall get it by running. Sa, sa, sa, sa.
[^Lxit running; Attendants follow.
Gent. A sight most pitiful in the meanest wretch ;
Past speaking of in a king ! — Thou hast one
daughter.
Who redeems nature from the general curse
Which twain have brought her to.
Ldg. Hail, gentle sir.
Gent. Sir, speed you : What's your will ?
Ldg. Do you hear aught, sir, of a battle toward ?
Ge7it. Most sure, and vulgar ; every one hears that.
Which can distinguish sound.
Edg. But, by your favour,
How near's the other army ?
Gent. Near, and on speedy foot ; the main descry
Stands on the hourly thought. 8
^ Block anciently signified the head pari of a hat.
^ i. e. A man of tears.
** The main body is expected to be descried every hour.
Edg. I thank you, sir : that's all.
Gent. Though that the queen on special cause is
here,
Her army is mov'd on.
Edg. I thank you, sir. [Erit Gent.
Glo. You ever-gentle gods, take my breath from
me;
Let not my worser spirit 9 tempt me again
To die before you please !
Edg. Well pray you, father
Glo. Now, good sir, what are you ?
Edg. A most poor man, made tame by fortune's
blows ;
Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows.
Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your hand,
I'll lead you to some biding.
Glo. Hearty thanks :
The bounty and the benizon ' of heaven
To boot, and boot ! 2
Enter Steward.
Stew. A proclaim'd prize ! Most happy !
That eyeless head of thine was first fram'd flesh
To raise my fortunes. — Thou old unhappy traitor,
Briefly thyself remember : — The sword is out
That must destroy thee.
Glo. Now let thy friendly hand
Put strength enough to it. [Edgar opposes.
Stew. Wherefore, bold peasant,
Dar'st thou support a publish'd traitor ? Hence ;
Lest that the infection of his fortune take
Like hold on thee. Let go his arm.
Edg. Ch'ill not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion.
Stew. Let go, slave, or thou diest.
Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait 3, and let
poor volk pass. And ch'ud ha' been zwagger'd out
of my life, 'twould not ha' been zo long as 'tis by
a vortnight. Nay, come not near the old man;
keep out, che vor' ye, or ise try whether your cos-
tard * or my bat ^ be the harder : Ch'ill be plain
with you.
Stew. Out, dunghill !
Edg. Ch'ill pick your teeth, zir: Come; no
matter vor your foins. 6
[Thei/Jight ; and Edgar knocks him down.
Steiv. Slave, thou hast slain me : — Villain, take
my purse ;
If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body ;
And give the letters, which thou find'st about me.
To Edmund earl of Gloster ; seek him out
Upon the British party : O, untimely death !
[nies
Edg. I know thee well : A serviceable villain
A s duteous to the vices of thy mistress.
As badness would desire.
Glo. What, is he dead ?
Edg. Sit you down, father ; rest you. —
Let's see his pockets : these letters, that he speaks of
May be my friends. — He's dead : I am only sor
He had no other death's man. — Let us see :
Leave, gentle wax ; and, manners, blame us not ;
To know our enemies' minds, we'd rip their hearts j
Their papers, is more lawful.
[Reads.] Let our reciprocal vows be remembered.
You have many opportunities to cut him off: if your
will want not, time and place will be fruitfully offered.
There is nothing done, if he return the conqueror :
9 Evil genius. ' Blessing. ' Reward, recompence.
3 Go your way. ■» Head. * Club. ^ Thrusts.
J
Scene VII.
KING LEAR.
811
Then am I the prisoner, and his bed mi/ gaol ; frotn
which deliver me, arid sxipply the place for your la-
bour. Your wife, (so / would say,) and your
affectionate servarit,
GoNKlilL.
0 undistinguish'd space of woman's will ! —
A plot upon her virtuous husband's life ;
And the exchange, my brother! — Here, in the sands.
Thee I'll rake up "i, ;ind, in the mature time,
Witli this ungracious paper strike the sight
Of the death-practis'd duke : For him 'tis well,
That of thy death and business I can tell.
[^Exit Edgar, draggirig out the Body-
Glo. The king is mad : How stiff is my vile sense.
That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling
Of my huge sorrows ! Better I were distract :
So should my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs ;
And woes, by wrong imaginations, lose
The knowledge of themselves.
Re-enter Bdgar.
Edg. Give me your hand :
Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum.
Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend.
\^Exeunt.
SCENE VII. —^ Tent in tlie French Camp.
Lear on a Bed, asleep: Physician, Gentleman, and
others, attending. Enter Cordelia and Kent.
Cor. O thou good Kent, how shall I live, and work,
To match thy goodness ? My life will be too sliort,
And every measure fail me.
Kent. To be acknowledg'd, madam, is o'erpaid.
All my reports go with the modest truth ;
Nor more, nor clipp'd, but so.
Cor. Be better suited 8 :
These weeds are memories of those worser hours ;
1 pr'ythee, put them off.
Kent. Pardon me, dear madam ;
Yet to be known, shortens my made intent :
My boon I make it, that you know me not.
Till time and I think meet.
Cor. Then be it so, my good lord. — How does
the king? [To tlie Physician.
Phys. Madam, sleeps still.
Cor. O you kind gods.
Cure this great breach in his abused nature !
Th' untun'd and jarring senses, O, wind up.
Of this child-changed father !
Fhys. So please your majesty.
That we may wake the king ? he hath slept long.
Cor. Be govern'd by your knowledge, and proceed
1' the sway of your own will. Is he array'd ?
Gent. Ay, madam ; in the heaviness of his sleep.
We put fresh garments on him.
Phys. Be by, good madam, when we do awake him ;
I doubt not of his temperance.
Cor. Very well.
Phys. Please you, draw near. — Louder the mu-
sick there.
Cor. O my dear father ! Restoration, hang
lliy medicine on my lips ; and let this kiss
Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters
Have in thy reverence made !
Kent. Kind and dear princess !
Cor. Had you not been their fatlier, tliesc white
flakes
' I'll cover thee (tlie dead steward) In the sands.
Dressed.
Had challeng'd pity of them. Was this a face
To be expos'd against the warring winds ?
To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder?
In the most terrible and nimble stroke
Of quick, cross lightning ? to watch (poor perdu ! 9 )
With this thin helm ? ' Mine enemy's dog,
Though he had bit me, should have stood that night
Against my fire ; And wast thou fain, poor father,
To liovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn,
In short and musty straw? Alack, alack !
'Tis wonder, that thy life and wits at once
Had not concluded all. — He wakes ; speak to him.
Phys. Madam, do you ; 'tis fittest.
Cor. How does my royal lord ? How fares your
majesty ?
Lear. You do me wrong, to take me out o' the
grave : —
Thou art a soul in bliss ; but I am bound
Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears
Do scald like molten lead.
Cor. Sir, do you know me ?
Lear. You are a spirit, I know ; When did you
die?
Cor. Still, still, far wide !
Phys. He's scarce awake ; let him alone awhile.
Lear. Where have I been ? — Where am I ? —
Fair day-light ? —
I am mightily abus'd. — I should even die with pity,
To see another thus. — I know not what to say. —
I will not swear, these are my hands : — let's see ;
I feel this pin prick. 'Would I were assur'd
Of my condition.
Cor. O, look upon me, sir.
And hold your hands in benediction o'er me : —
No, sir, you must not kneel.
Lear. Pray do not mock me :
I am a very foolish fond old man,
Fourscore and upward ; and, to deal plainly,
I fear, I am not in my perfect mind.
Methinks, I should know you, and know this man :
Yet I am doubtful : for I am mainly ignorant
What place this is ; and all the skill I have
Remembers not these garments ; nor I know not
Where I did lodge last night ; Do not laugh at me ;
For, as I am a man, I think this lady
To be my child Cordelia.
Cor. And so I am, I am.
Lear. Be your tears wet ? Yes, 'faitli. I pray,
weep not :
If you have poison for me, I will drink it.
I know, you do not love me ; for yoiu" sisters
Have, as I do remember, done me wrong :
You have some cause, they have not.
Cor. No cause, no cause.
Lear. Am I in France ?
Kent. In your own kingdom, sir.
Lear. Do not abuse me.
Phys. Be comforted, good madam : the great rage.
You see, is cur'd in him : and yet it is danger
To make him even « o'er the time be has lost.
Desire him to go in ; trouble him no more.
Till furtlier settling.
Cor. Will't please your highness walk ?
Lear. You must bear with me :
Pray now, forget and forgive: I am old, and foolish.
[^Exeunt Lear, Cordelia, Physician, and
Attendants.
> The allusion is to the forlorn hope in an army, called in
French, enfant jH'rdut. ' Thin covering of hair
' To reconcile it to his aitprchcnsion.
812
KING LEAR.
Act V
Gent. Holds it true, sir.
That the duke of Cornwall was so slain ?
Alint. Most certain, sir.
Gent. Who is conductor of his people ?
J^ent. As 'tis said,
The bastard son of Gloster.
Gent. They say, Edgar,
His banish'd son, is with the earl of Kent
In Germany.
JCent. Report is changeable.
'Tis time to look about ; the powers o' the kingdom
Approach apace.
Gent. The arbitrement 6 is like to be a bloody.
Fare you well, sir. [ExU.
Kent. My point and period will be thoroughly
wrought,
Or well, or ill, as this day's battle's fought. \_ExU.
ACT V.
SCENE I The Camp of the British Forces, near
Dover.
Enter, with Drums and Colours, Edmund, Regan,
Officers, Soldiers, and others.
Edm. Know of the duke, if his last purpose hold;
Or, whether since he is advis'd by aught
To change the course : He's full of alteration.
And self-reproving : — Bring his constant pleasure.''
[To an Officer, who goes out.
Reg. Our sister's man is certainly miscarried.
Edm. 'Tis to be doubted, madam.
Reg. Now, sweet lord.
You know the goodness I intend upon you :
Tell me, — but truly, — but then speak the truth.
Do you not love my sister?
Edm. In honour'd love.
Reg. I never shall endure her : Dear my lord.
Be not familiar with her.
Edm. Fear me not : —
She, and the duke her husband,
Enter Albany, Goneril, and Soldiers.
Gon. I had rather lose the battle, than that sister
Should loosen him and me. [Aside.
Alb. Our very loving sister, well be met. —
Sir, this I hear, — The king is come to his daughter.
With others, whom the rigour of our state,
Forc'd to cry out. Where I could not be honest,
I never yet was valiant : for this business.
It toucheth us as France invades our land,
Not holds 4 the king ; with others, whom, I fear.
Most just and heavy causes make oppose.^
Edm. Sir, you speak nobly.
jRe^i^. Why is this reason'd ?
Gon. Combine together 'gainst the enemy :
For these domestick and particular broils
Are not to question here.
Alb. Let us then determine
With the ancient of war on our proceedings.
Edm. I shall attend you presently at your tent.
Reg. Sister, you'll go with us ?
Gon. No.
Reg. 'Tis most convenient; pray you, go with us.
Gon. O, ho, I know the riddle: [Aside J] I will go.
As they are going out, enter Edgar, disguised.
Edg. If e'er your grace had speech with man so
poor.
Hear me one word.
Alb. I'll overtake you. — Speak.
[Exeunt Edmund, Regan, Goneril, Offi-
cers, Soldiers, and Attendants.
3 His settled resolution. "» i e. Emboldens him.
s Opposition.
Edg. Before you fight the battle, ope this letter.
If you have victory, let the trumpet sound
For him that brought it : wretched though I seem,
I can produce a champion, that will prove
What is avouched there : If you miscarry.
Your business of the wgfld hath so an end,
And machination ceases. Fortune love you !
Alb. Stay till I have read the letter.
Edg. I was forbid it.
When time shall serve, let but the herald cry.
And I'll appear again. • [Exit.
Alb. Why, fare thee well ; I will o'erlook thy
paper.
Re-enter Edmund.
Edm. The enemy's in view, draw up your powers.
Here is the guess of their true strength and forces
By diligent discovery ; — but your haste
Is now urg'd on you.
Alb. We will greet the time. 7 [Exit.
Edm. To both these sisters have I sworn my love ;
Each jealous of the other, as the stung
Are of the adder. Which of them shall I take ?
Both ! one ? or neither ? Neither can be enjoy'd,
If both remain alive : To take the widow.
Exasperates, makes mad her sister Goneril j
And hardly shall I carry out my side 8,
Her husband being alive. Now then we'll use
His countenance for the battle : which being done,
Let her, who would be rid of him, devise
His speedy taking off. As for the mercy
Which he intends to Lear, and to Cordelia, —
The battle done, and they within our power.
Shall never see his pardon : for my state
Stands on me to defend, not to debate. [Exit,
SCENE II. — A Field between the two Camps.
Alarum within. Enter, with Drum and ColourSt\
Lear, Cordelia, and their Forces ; and exeunt.
Enter Edgar and Glosteb.
Edg. Here, father, take the shadow of this tree
For your good host ; pray that the right may thrive.
If ever I return to you again,
I'll bring you comfort.
Glo. Grace go with you, sir !
[Exit Edgar.
Alarums : afterwards a Retreat. Re-enter Edgar.
Edg. Away, old man, give me thy hand, away ;
King Lear hath lost, he and his daughter ta'en :
Give me thy hand, come on.
Glo. No further, sir ; a man may rot even here.
6 Decision. ? Be ready to meet tlie occasioa
'* J. e. Make my part good.
Scene III.
itiNG LEAR.
813
Edg. What, in ill thoughts again ? Men must
endure
Their going hence, even as their coming hither :
Ripeness is all : Come on.
Glo. And that's true too.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. — The British Camp near Dover.
Enter, in Conquest, with Drum and Colours, Ed-
mund ; Lear and Cordelia, as Prisoners;
Officers, Soldiers, c^c.
Edm. Some officers take them away : good guard ;
Until their greater pleasures first be known
That are to censure ^ them.
Cor. We are not the first.
Who, with best meaning, have incurr'd the worst.
For thee, oppressed king, am I cast down ;
Myself could else out-frown false fortune's frown. —
Shall we not see these daughters, and these sisters?
Lear. No, no, no, no ! Come, let's away to prison :
We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage :
When thou dost ask me blessing, I'll kneel down,
And ask of thee forgiveness : So we'll live.
And pray, and sing, and tell old tales, and laugh
At gilded butterflies, and hear poor rogues
Talk of court news : and we'll talk with them too —
Who loses, and who wins; who's in, who's out; —
And take upon us the mystery of things,
As if we were Heaven's spies : And we'll wear out.
In a wall'd prison, packs and sects of great ones,
That ebb and flow by the moon.
Edm. Take them away.
Lear. Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia,
The gods themselves throw incense. Have I caught
thee?
He, that parts us, shall bring a brand from heaven,
And fire us hence, like foxes. Wipe thine eyes ;
ITiey shall not make us weep : we'll see them starve
first.
Come. [Exeunt Lear and Cordelia, guarded.
Edm. Come liither, captain ; hark.
Take thou this note ; [Giving a Paper.'] go, follow
them to prison :
One step I have advanc'd thee ; if thou dost
As this instructs tl)ee, thou dost make thy way
To noble fortunes : Know thou this, — that men
Are as the time is : to be tender-minded
Does not become a sword : — Thy great employment
Will not bear question ; either say, thou'lt do't,
Or thrive by other means.
Off. I'll do't, my lord.
Edm. About it; and write happy, when thou
hast done.
Mark, — I say, instantly ; and carry it so,
As I have set it down.
Off. If it be man's work, 1 will do it.
[Exit Officer.
Flourish. Enter Albany, Goneril, Regan,
Officers, and Attendants.
Alb. Sir, you have shown to-day your valiant
strain,
And fortune led you well : You have the captives,
Who were the opposites of this day's strife :
We do require them of you ; so to use them,
As we shall find their merits and our safety
May equally determine.
Edm. Sir, I thought it fit
» Paw judgment on them.
To send the old and miserable king
To some retention, and appointed guard ;
Whose age has charms in it, whose title more,
To pluck tlie common bosom on his side.
And turn our impress'd lances in our eyes
Which do command them. With him I sent the
queen ;
My reason all the same ; and they are ready
To-morrow, or at further space, to appear
Where you shall hold your session. At this time,
We sweat, and bleed; the friend hath lost his friend;
And the best quarrels, in the heat, are curs'd
By those that feel their sharpness : —
The question of Cordelia, and her father,
Requires a fitter place.
Alb. Sir, by your patience,
I hold you but a subject of this war.
Not as a brother.
Beg. Tliat's as we list to grace him.
Methinks, our pleasure might have been demanded.
Ere you had spoke so far. He led our powers ;
Bore the commission of my place and person ;
The which immediacy • may well stand up,
And call itself your brother.
Gon. Not so hot :
In his own grace he doth exalt himself,
More than in your advancement.
Reg. In my rights.
By me invested, he compeers the best.
Gon. That were the most, if he should husband
you.
Reg. Jesters do oft prove prophets.
Gon. Holloa, holloa !
That eye, that told you so, look'd but a-squint. 2
Reg. Lady, I am not well ; else I should answer
From a full-flowing stomach. — General,
Take thou my soldiers, prisoners, patrimony ;
Dispose of them, of me ; the walls are thine :
Witness the world, that I create thee here
My lord and master.
Gon. Mean you to wed him ?
Alb. The let-alone lies not in your good will.
Edm. Nor in thine, lord.
Alb. Half-blooded fellow, yes.
Reg. Let the drum strike, and prove my title
thine. [To Edmund.
Alb. Stay yet ; hear reason : — Edmund, I arrest
thee
On capital treason ; and, in thy arrest.
This gilded serpent : [Pointing to Gon. ] — for youi
claim, fair sister,
I bar it in the interest of my wife ;
'Tis she is sub-contracted to this lord.
And I, her husband, contradict your banns.
If you will marry, make your love to me.
My lady is bespoke.
Gon. An interlude !
Alb. Thou art arm'd, Gloster : — Let the trumpet
sound :
If none appear to prove upon thy person.
Thy heinous, manifest, and many treasons.
There is my pledge: [Throwing ^ovm a Glove.]
I'll prove it on thy heart.
Ere I taste bread, thou art in nothing less
Than I have here proclaim'd thee.
Reg. Sick, O, sick !
Gon. If not, I'll ne'er trust poison. [Aside.
> Authority to act on his own judgrment
« Alluding to the proverb : " Love »)eing jealoiu makes a
good eye look a-^qutnt."
814
KING LEAR.
Act V.
JSdm. There's my exchange : [ Throwing down a
Glove.] what in the world he is
That names me traitor, villain-like he lies :
Call by thy trumpet : he that dares approach,
On him, on you, (who not ?) I will maintain
My truth and honour firmly.
^Ib. A herald, ho !
Edtn. A herald, ho, a herald !
jilb. Trust to thy single virtue 3 ; for thy soldiers,
All levied in my name, have in my name
Took their discharge.
Reg. This sickness grows upon me.
Enter a Herald.
^Ib. She is not well ; convey her to my tent.
[Exit Regan, led.
Come hither, herald, — Let the trumpet sound, —
And read out this.
0^. Sound trumpet. [A Trumpet sounds.
Herald reads.
If any man of quality, or degree, within the lists
of the army, will maintain upon Edmund, supposed
Earl of Gloster, that he is a manifold traitor, let him
appear at the third sound of the trumpet : He is
bold in his defence.
Edm. Sound. [1 Trumpet.
Her. Again. 2 Trumpet.
Her, Again. [3 Trumpet.
[Trumpet answers within.
Enter Edgar, armed, preceded by a Trumpet.
Alb. Ask him his purposes, why he appears
Upon this call o' the trumpet.
Her. What are you ?
Your name, your quality ? and why you answer
This present summons ?
Edg. Know, my name is lost ;
By treason's tooth bare-gnawn, and canker-bit :
Yet am I noble, as the adversary
I come to cope withal.
Alb. Which is that adversary ?
Edg. What's he, that speaks for Edmund earl of
Gloster?
Edm. Himself ; — What say'st thou to him ?
Edg. Draw thy sword !
That, if my speech offend a noble heart,
Thy arm may do thee justice : here is mine.
Behold, it is the privilege of mine honours.
My oath, and my profession : I protest, —
Maugre * thy strength, youth, place, and eminence.
Despite thy victor sword, and fire- new fortune,
Thy valour, and thy heart, — thou art a traitor :
False to thy gods, thy brother, and thy father ;
Conspirant 'gainst this high illustrious prince ;
And, from the extremest upward of thy head.
To the descent and dust beneath thy feet,
A most toad-spotted traitor. Say thou, N'o,
This sword, this arm, and my best spirits, are bent
To prove upon thy heart, whereto I speak,
Thou liest.
Edm. In wisdom, I should ask thy name :
But, since thy outside looks so fair and warlike,
And that thy tongue some 'say ^ of breeding
breathes.
What safe and nicely I might well delay
By rule of knighthood, I disdain and spurn :
Back do I toss these treasons to thy head ;
With the hell-hated lie o'erwhelm thy heart ;
^ 3 ,-. e. Valour. ■» Notwithstanding. * Sample.
Which, (for they yet glance by, and scarcely bruise,)
'ITiis sword of mine shall give them instant way,
Where they shall rest for ever. — Trumpets, speak.
[Alarums. Theyjlght. EDiiuvn falls.
Alb. O save liim, save him !
Gon. This is mere practice 6, Gloster :
By the law of arms, thou wast not bound to answer
An unknown opposite ; thou art not vanquish'd,
But cozen'd and beguil'd.
Alb. Shut your mouth, dame.
Or with this paper shall I stop it : — Hold, sir :
Thou worse than any name, read thine own evil : —
No tearing, lady : I perceive you know it.
[Gives the Letter to Edmun'd.
Gon. Say, if I do ; the laws are mine, not thine :
Who shall arraign me for't ?
Alb. Most monstrous !
Know'st thou this paper?
Gon. Ask me not what I know.
[Exit GONERIL.
Alb. Go after her : she's desperate ; govern her.
[ To an Officer, who goes out.
Edm. What you have charg'd me with, that have
I done ;
And more, much more ; the time will bring it out ;
'Tis past, and so am I : But what art thou.
That hast this fortune on me ? If thou art noble,
I do forgive thee.
Edg. Let's exchange charity.
I am no less in blood than thou art, Edmund ;
If more, the more thou hast wrong'd me.
My name is Edgar, and thy father's son.
The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices
Make instruments to scourge us :
The dark and vicious place where thee he got,
Cost him his eyes.
Edm, Thou hast spoken right, 'tis true ;
The wheel has come full circle ; I am here.
Alb. Methought, thy very gait did prophesy
A royal nobleness : — I must embrace thee ;
Let sorrow split my heart, if ever I
Did hate thee, or thy father !
Edg. Worthy prince,
I know it well.
Alb. Where have you hid yourself?
How have you known the miseries of your father ?
Edg. By nursing them, my lord. — List 7 a brief
tale; —
And, when 'tis told, O, that my heart would burst ! —
The bloody proclamation to escape.
That foUow'd me so near, ( O, our lives' sweetness !
That with the pain of death we'd hourly die.
Rather than die at once !) taught me to shift
Into a mad-man's rags ; to assume a semblance j
That very dogs disdain'd : and in this habit -m
Met I my father with his bleeding rings, i
Their precious stones new lost ; became his guide,
Led him, begg'd for him, sav'd him from despair ;
Never (O fault!) reveal'd myself unto him.
Until some half hour past, when I was arm'd
Not sure, though hoping, of this good success,
I ask'd his blessing, and from first to last
Told him my pilgrimage : but his flaw'd heart,
(Alack, too weak the conflict to support !)
'Twixt two extremes of passion, joy and grief,
Burst smilingly.
Edm. This speech of yours hath mov'd me,
And shall, perchance, do good : but speak you on ;
You look as you had something more to say.
6 Stratagem. ' Hear.
Scene III.
KING LEAR.
815
Alb. If there be more, more woful, hold it in ;
For I am almost ready to dissolve,
Hearing of this.
Edg. This would have seem'd a period
To such as love not sorrow ; but another,
To amplify too much, would make much more.
And top extremity.
Whilst I was big in clamour, came there a man,
Who having seen me in my worst estate,
SImnn'd my abhorr'd society; but then, finding
Who 't was that so endur'd, with his strong arms
He fasten'd on my neck, and bellow'd out
As he'd burst heaven ; threw him on my father;
Told the most piteous tale of Lear and him.
That ever ear receiv'd ; which in recounting,
His grief grew puissant, and the strings of life
Began to crack : Twice then the trumpet sounded.
And there I left him tranc'd.
Alb. But who was this ?
Edg. Kent, sir, the banish'd Kent ; who in dis-
guise
Follow'd his enemy king, and did him service
Improper for a slave.
Enter a Gentleman hastily, with a bloody Knife.
Gent. Help ! help ! O help !
Edg. What kind of help ?
■^Ib. Speak, man.
Edg. What means that bloody knife ?
Gent. 'Tis hot, it smokes ;
It came even from the heart of —
■Alb. Who, man ? speak.
Gent. Your lady, sir, your lady : and her sister
By her is poison'd ; she confesses it
Edm. I was contracted to them both ; all three
Now marry in an instant.
Alh. Produce their bodies, be they alive or
dead! —
This judgment of the heavens, that makes us tremble.
Touches us not with pity. [^Exit Gentleman.
Enter Kknt.
Edg. Here comes Kent, sir.
Alb. O! it is he.
Tlie time will not allow the compliment.
Which very manners urges.
Kent. I am come
To bid my king and master aye « good night ;
Is he not here ?
Alb. Great thing of us forgot ! —
Speak, Edmund, where's the king? and where's
Cordelia ? —
See'st thou this object, Kent ?
[_The Bodies ^Gonkril arvd Regan are
brought in.
Kent. Alack, why thus?
Edm. Yet Edmund was belov'd :
The one the other poison'd for my sake.
And after slew herself.
Alh. Even so Cover their fac^.
Edm. I pant for life : — Some good I mean to do,
Despite of mine own nature. Quickly send, —
Be brief in it, — to the castle ; for my writ
Is on the life of Lear, and on Cordelia : — >
Nay, send in time.
AU). Run, run, O, run —
Edg. To whom, my lord ? — Who has the office ?
send
Thy token of reprieve.
" For ever.
Edm. Well thought on ; take my sword.
Give it the captain.
Alb. Haste thee, for thy life. \^Exit Edgar.
Edm. He hath commission from thy wife and me
To hang Cordelia in the prison, and
To lay the blame upon her own despair.
That she fordid 9 herself.
Alb. The gods defend her! Bear him hence
awhile. [Edmund is borne off".
Enter Lear, with Cordelia dead in his Arms;
Edgar, Officer, and others.
Lear. Howl, howl, howl, howl ! — O, ye are
men of stones :
Had I your tongu